Cool Hand Luke

I was at a hen do in Harrogate this weekend; it was all very restrained - no drunken tarting around town dressed in T-shirts with the bride's name on the back, chatting up unsuitably young men. Thank God. Anyway, that's by the by. This was one of the conversations that I had:
Bride's Mum to me: Wow, your nails are amazing, nice manicure!
Me: Thanks, I did it myself, on the train on the way down. I've done them on the Tube before now, actually, I'm quite practised at it.
Bride to be: Hmm, so if you wanted an alternative career, you could be a...
[rest of table fills in the word 'manicurist']
... Sniper.
All: Eh?
Bride to be: She's got really steady hands! You need steady hands to be a sniper!
Brilliant.

This reminded me of two stories:
1/ The time I had to go out to dinner with a Russian author who'd written a book about his violent life in a tiny community in the middle of nowhere. I hadn't read the book, and had run out of small talk (rapidly). I knew he'd been a sniper in the army, so in desperation, I was forced to ask:
So, um, how far away from someone can you be and still kill them?
The thoroughly alarming answer was two kilometres.

2/ The one and only time I tried clay pigeon shooting. I was with a female friend and two blokes - none of us had done it before. After a quick run through with the instructor ('Hold it really tight into your cheek - otherwise the recoil will smash your cheekbone' - it was at this point I thought it might not be the sport for me), the boys of course were hitting everything in sight. My female friend had her first go, and was told dryly by the instructor that she was, 'nearly in the same postcode with that one'. I went one better and panicked so thoroughly that I loosed off a shot, and then shouted, 'Pull'. Steady hand or no, I think it's going to take quite a lot of training before I qualify as a sniper.