So I got my gun out the other day and gave it a clean. The same stuff that’s used on tyres works wonders I find. Then again, my gun is rubber. We import them specially from the manufacturers in Nevada, along with real leather – real western! – holsters. We use rubber guns to teach people gunslinging skills from the movies and the rubber keeps it safe – no sharp edges to hurt people when the guns start flying as people try all the fancy tricks!
I never saw myself as a cowboy until some bright spark in our team came up with the idea of creating Wild West as a new team building activity. Now I can’t imagine a time when I didn’t don the boots, hat, bandanna, bootlace and, of course, the belt-holster-gun combo. I love it, but it isn’t without, shall we say, complications…
My admiration for the real gunslingers of old is unbounded. Not, as you might think, for their fast draws and fancy gunplay – hell, I’m a match for any of them these days! Nor for their ability to eat beans until the cows came home — I’ve never shied from a can of beans since I was a nipper. No – my admiration is for their ability to wear them darned boots all day and every day! For me, three things are guaranteed at the end of any Wild West event where I am the gunslinger. One – we have a happy client. Two – the winning team wear the widest grins. Three – my feet hurt!
So if you attend a future Wild West event and I’m on it, you’ll understand why I look grizzled. It’s not that I’ve spent ages perfecting an authentic enigmatic and tough look of the stranger with no name. It’s my feet.