THE COUNTY show season has begun. The signs start early. First, huge amounts of money suddenly disappear from your business account months before the event. Then the marketing bumph starts arriving. It’s a bad way to start the day finding your cat crushed on the doormat beneath an avalanche of envelopes from show programme publishers, plastic bag purveyors and invitations to advertise in the local press.
But the joy does not end there. Having got up at four in the morning, driven to Devon County showground, all ready to set-up shop, the last thing you need is to be met by show staff who obviously don’t want to be there.
I stopped at the gate to exchange pleasantries. A figure in tweeds (a muzzle would have been more appropriate) got in first before I could even say “good morning”:
“Why don’t you people have your paperwork in the windscreen when you arrive?”
Let’s answer that, shall we? Normally because there is too much of it, it’s full of stuff that isn’t relevant and I am not going to juggle this mess whilst driving a large van down the M5 running the obvious risk of killing not just myself but perhaps some other unfortunate road user.
“… you just hold up the traffic and clog up the gates.”
I looked in both wing mirrors. Guess what? I am the ‘traffic’. Years of trying to get on with silly little people has taught me that it’s only going to make matters worse if you answer ‘gateman’ in kind, namely:
“But wait! I have a better idea. Why don’t you naff off to California and become a lifestyle coach. You plainly don’t want to be here. I am sure that there are lots of drug-damaged Americans with whom you can share your startling insights on the modern human condition.”
And so to my pitch. A small knot of ‘security’ staff is forming nearby. For some, this their first show. Unhampered by this they seem intent on sharing their wisdom with the traders. The traders do shows every week. On the whole, traders get on with each other and are happy to shift vehicles when needed. We have to. We see each other on a weekly basis. Really, trust me. We don’t need help from the security staff.
But the temptation is too much. Armed with the communication skills of a traffic bollard and half a pipette of charm, security man/woman begins ordering traders about into positions which make set-up nigh on impossible. No trader, with or without a heart condition, is going to carry a 20ft tent and up to a ton of stock, piece-by-piece for a hundred yards just to make some jobsworth feel good about himself. When traders tell them this – occasionally with a raised voice and intemperate vocabulary – obstinacy sets in.
But are these shows retaining the rural content suggested by the title ‘county show’? Devon in particular has a good turnout of livestock, and the beer and cider tent is amongst the best, but the shooting interest gets less and less. Even those who can afford to take the Thursday off, buy less and less shooting kit. Five years ago, I sold a dozen cartridge bags and few 12 bore belts. This year I sold three cartridge bags, a couple of 20 bore belts and one for a 410.
It’s clear that the show is becoming more and more suburban with each succeeding year. Some visitors clearly had difficulty with the concept of hunting and though I was intent on arming the criminal community of Exeter (there’s another market I’ve missed).
Some even had difficulty with the concept of something as useful and basic as a belt. My stand includes a large central table of belts and I still have lots of visitors on the stand whose opening gambit is something like: “So, these are belts, then, are they?”
It’s as if belts are some fabulous thing they’ve heard about in legends. I have to fight the temptation to switch into Darth Vader mode and reply in a suitable voice: “Your powers of observation serve you well, Young Skywalker.”
Or deny it entirely: “No. These are all, in fact, Arab Straps to prolong sexual enjoyment. Ann Summers was having a clear-out.”
Even if the welcome becomes a little more Las Vegas and a little less Vladivostok, the truth is that the market for shooting goods at county shows diminishes with each succeeding year. This isn’t the fault of the organisers or even ‘gateman’ or ‘security’ man/woman. It’s all part of the gradual suburbanisation of the countryside.
Specialist shooting shows throughout the year are beginning to look like an attractive option.
