Claybusters It is all in the stance.

Left leg forward.

Lean until you’re about to topple over, then stick your bum out.


I had my first clay pigeon shooting lesson today with Rob Barber from Claybusters.

He has been doing this over 30 years and is a CPSA registered instructor and safety officer. He has police support and specialises in gun handling and safety.

As he says while patting his rifle, “I’m a doctor.. with this.”

You couldn’t be in more capable hands.

I hadn’t psyched myself up at all.

We were there for Master J to have his second lesson and my father to have his weekly one.

However, despite being warned, I had no armour against Rob’s Norfolk charm.

I succumbed.

Rob is incredibly patient and almost as excited as his students each time a clay pigeon shatters in mid-air.

Which, I must say is exhilarating.

I didn’t have much confidence in my abilities, not only due to my inexperience, but also to the fact that Master J left my spectacles on the London Underground.

Rob gave me the stance lecture, made me stick my bottom out like a randy peacock and sight down the barrel of my rifle.

I learned pretty fast that you need to keep it tucked firmly into your shoulder or it kicks like an incalcitrant donkey and knocks you on your sticking out bottom in the mud.

With my cheek firmly squished on to the unforgiving metal I gave it all I had.

I was bring down inanimate pheasant left, right and centre and then…

…then I stopped to think.

And it all went to pot.

Rod gave me a stern lecture on following my heart not my head and soon I was back in the game.

Out of my 26 shots I got exactly half. Not bad for a first-timer.

Watching my father was poetry in motion.

He strode across the field knocking targets out of the air as though they were nothing more than irritating flies.

If my boyfriends of ages past had known what I know now, they would never have dared enter the house.

Of course, the Look was enough to send them scurrying away anyway so why waste a bullet?

Master J had to use a very small rifle, which meant that he had to be a lot more accurate than the rest of us.

He was very good, largely motivated by his Grandfather promising him a pound for every hit.

I’ll make a country squire of him yet!  

Rob has an uncanny knack for teaching women and small children.

He manages to motivate, encourage and correct all at the same time.

He also provides services for Hen Parties. Shooting the hell of a small piece of clay beats a stripping fireman hands on.

It also serves the purpose of striking the fear of God into the husband-to-be.

It was enormous fun and well worth a go if you happen to be in Norfolk. If nothing else, pop in at the local karaoke evening and hear Rob belt out “I’ve got a brand new combine harvester”.

That’s English country living, that is.

You can follow Rob on Facebook here:

And you can find him online here:


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