Ignore the tired looking woman modelling the jumper
The jumper is an Olympic achievement for me technically, not to mention sitting down uninterrupted for that long. Well, uninterrupted if you don't count the farmer delivering pheasant poults, and Mike, and someone looking for Mike, and the postman, and a deposit of someone's unwanted chickens, and the Jehovah's Witnesses that stopped by (I graciously accepted a leaflet on creationism and gave them some eggs as a gift, and now I'm square with their god.)
I knitted this as my new lucky shooting jumper. I've joined a shooting syndicate, which is a group of people who spend the day shooting together. Just a few farmers who spend Saturdays walking the hedgerows with dogs and guns. I understand the average bag is about 5 birds a day, so it's the very definition of 'pot-shots'. Mike bribed a space for me on the syndicate by rearing their birds for them this year.
It's still a pretty sexist hobby and not all syndicates like to include women, so I'll just have to be a good sport and good company to change their opinions. And a nice new jumper will make a good impression as I hand over a bribe of home made sloe gin to the team.