Ever tried paintballing? Fun, isn’t it? Ever driven a tank? That’s fun too! But put them together and we’re talking about an experience which may require surgery to remove the grin from your face. Now I happen to know this, because I was lucky enough to try it, and it really is a huge amount of fun.

We turned up at the farm in Leicestershire and were met by some of the staff whom, on reflection, may actually have one of the coolest jobs in the world. They dressed us up in tank suits, fitted us with a Kevlar helmet each, and then led us out to our vehicle for the day. The steed in question was an FV432, which I suppose by absolute technicality is an Armoured Personnel Carrier, but ours was the variant with the 30mm cannon turret on the top. Well whatever, it was a tank to me and frankly I’d have happily driven it home. And who would have stopped me? Very few people I suspect, but I might have had a job hiding in the car park when I got back.

Once I’d climbed in I began to wonder just how on earth squaddies put up with that sort of thing on a regular basis. It’s not exactly comfortable if I’m honest, and the specifications claim that it’ll hold 12 people. Military dwarfs perhaps, because spacious it is not. Anyway, there were four of us, including the instructor, and that was plenty. We all took turns in one of the three main positions; driver, ammunition loader, and turret controller. Sitting up top with your head poking out of the cannon turret is not an unpleasant place to be. You have a feeling of security and of power, the breeze is quite pleasant as you go along, and that’s probably why we see pictures of our servicemen in Iraq looking happy when they are doing it. I was last to drive, and to my surprise I found that it really is quite easy once you get the hang of the controls. You sit at the front with your head poking through the hatch, there’s an automatic gearbox which makes life pretty simple, a traditional throttle pedal under your right foot, a few of the usual gauges, and a some switches for the lights.

You steer by pulling back one one of two levers in front of you. Each lever applies the brakes on one of the tracks, so to turn left you pull on the left lever which makes the left track run slower than the right. The harder you pull, the faster you turn, and then vice-versa with the other lever for a right turn. To stop you just take your foot off the throttle and wait whilst it trundles to a halt (demolishing anything in its path). Alternatively you can pull back hard on both levers and motion tends to slow a lot more rapidly. Stopping by the latter method really isn’t a gracious affair, but you’re strapped in to prevent you from knocking out your front teeth on the dashboard (which incidentally is not made of nice soft Audi-esque plastic), so that’s a good thing.

Just when I thought I’d got the hang of driving it, our instructor asked me to lower the seat and he then shut the hatch. Ah. Not quite so easy, and my respect for our squaddies began to grow a bit. Let me assure you that the view from a tank periscope is not too clever. Trying to drive something weighing 17 tons, but without the ability to see very much is not at all amusing. In fact, try to imagine viewing the world through the opening of a tissue box, and you’re probably quite close to appreciating the experience.

Nevertheless after a few laps, we were told by our instructor that we’d received more training than the Russian army. A flippant comment for sure, but perhaps not entirely untrue. We were now ready for phase two so I stopped next to a small flock of unwisely trusting sheep (apparently they were there, but I couldn’t see them through my periscope), and received some tuition about how to shoot at things. The Health & Safety executive are apparently interested in tanks too, so we also battened down the gun turret hatches and switched to using the rear periscopes. The cannon on top had been modified to take paintballs, but they were the size of golf balls and were launched using a very large amount of compressed air (you can see the tank strapped to the back of the turret in the photos). The breech of the cannon had to be unscrewed, a paintball inserted, and then locked shut again. Aiming was achieved by rotating the turret left and right using a winding handle, and via a similar handle for the elevation. Sights? Errr, no. Educated guesswork? Yup. The sheep were off limits, so we took a few pot shots at a conveniently placed lorry. We’d apparently not done too badly, because our instructor told us we were ready for war and so we parked our tank (not easy when you can’t see behind you – no mirrors) and we went inside for a mug of tea. Once we’d finished scowling at the opposing tank team and mocking them for their hapless gun control, it settled into a very civilised and British affair. Battle plans were soon formed, with aid of diagrams and hand waving in finest alpha-male tradition. They were not, on reflection, very elaborate battle plans I must admit; something along the lines of “drive very quickly to the firing point, load quicker than them, shoot the crap out of them, and scarper pronto”. But it was a plan and we decided to go with it. Back out on the battle field it was all systems go. I was designated driver, and so I hurtled between the firing points avoiding as many sheep as I could see. Behind me the rest of the crew were loading, aiming, and shooting like mad. Happily our simple plan worked, and we beat them by 7 shots to 5. More mocking ensued, comments about the inability to hit a barn door were exchanged, and instructor rivalry was kept up.

The verdict? If you’ve got the inclination to guiltlessly shoot other people, aren’t scared of dying, have no pressing desire to wash in the morning, and you don’t mind sitting around in a cramped, hot, sweaty tank for weeks on end, then by all means join the army and go for it full time. If you generally prefer a little more comfort from your daily vehicle, but just have “boy’s toys” tendencies and a free weekend, then you should give the nice people at Armourgeddon paintball a call. Either way, I’m sure you’ll have lots of fun and a day to remember.

A while ago I wrote about a bay tree that wasn’t looking too good. I think the end may be near, so if anyone knows how to revive something that looks like this then I’d welcome the advice please.

On the positive side, it appears to be making an attempt at reincarnation, because there is a small shoot which has just broken through the soil. So now what do I do? Hack off the old tree trunk with a saw and nurture its offspring instead? Oh I’m no good at this stuff – it’s all too complicated!

OK perhaps “gardener” is a bit strong. Let’s just say that I’ve grown something, from a seed, and it didn’t die, which in itself is something of a personal best. Anyway it’s the right shape and almost the right colour and it has many siblings which seem to be hot on its heels. All in all I’m really quite surprised and I think I need to go for a lie down to get over the shock. Or perhaps to buy some mozzarella? Mmmmm….. cheese.

That’ll teach me – The moment I write that I can’t find a 50p coin then I start getting taunted. Within just a few weeks of complaining to you all about the lack of shield-bearing 50p’s in the world, I hear from someone that I’ve known since college gloating to me that he’s not only started looking for the special edition coins but actually completed the set.

Then, as if to rub salt into the wounds, I find this page on the web. It would appear that my good friend, whom for the purposes of this exercise will be identified by his blogging name of “Plutus”, has decided to mock me. “Everything has a price” does it? Pah! At the time I sent him an e-mail politely informing him that he was a git. It seemed only appropriate. But in fairness to him, he did offer me the coin for which I am grateful. However, it would seem that whilst I was recently away on holiday the “50p coin elf” has visited my flat and completed the collection for me. I suspect that actually it was my Dad, who was looking after the flat whilst I was away. Naturally I am delighted, and I can now bring an end to the whole sad affair. It’s must be the most stress I’ve ever had from trying to find £1.88 .