A trail from Abinger Village Hall was, for your Scribe anyway, a novelty and given the number of times SH3 has visited the Abinger area, that was a mild surprise. Russian GPS interference caused at least one hasher to be totally misdirected by Mr Google and his map, but finally, there we were, with 35 cars jammed cunningly in a space designed for 20, all under the instructions of Parkenführer J Arthur. Almost everyone turned out in Christmas themed gear, red hats, silly jumpers, even an Elf, so nothing unusual there. Only Uncle Gerry turned up dressed in fancy dress, as a Sunday Hasher and the eager pack were told by the GM that an entirely transgender compatible trail had been laid by Ms Christmas her/him/itself, all laid from a sledge pulled by ‘Rudolfina’. Ms Christmas promised all of those on the runners trail a ‘Special Treat’. It’s a long time ago now, but I recall that a female teacher at my old school got the sack for offering ‘special treats’ to younger boys, but obviously times have moved on. Abinger Hammer got the Hammer part of its name from the ‘hammer ponds’ which powered hammers used in fining forges making wrought iron from local hand mined ironstone ore, all in furnaces fired by locally grown vegan organic charcoal, the Weald, in the 15th to 18th Centuries being the industrial centre of England. The resultant destruction of forest cover resulted in the huge bare Hurtwood area, reforested in the 19th Century and heavily used by SH3 hares since the 1970s. Were we headed that way? After a stiff scramble up the bank by the car park, after only 300 metres, the answer was ‘no’, we were heading straight towards the A 25, a road Uncle Gerry always loves, then across, aiming, ominously, for the Hackhurst Downs. SH3 athletes are an exceptionally healthy group, so, bronzed by the scorching December sun, the last thing they would talk about on the trail are medical matters [Yeah, right!]. Travelling at a sedate pace uphill, your Scribe only heard snippets from those who flashed past –‘Much better since he had his brain removed’ – ‘new pills produce so much wind ‘’thinking of having a turbine installed’ ’enough electricity to power Weybridge’. Once across the railway, the stiff gradient of the North Downs tempted me and quite a few others, to the delights of the official short cut trail. This was perhaps a good move since those on the full trail suggested that Ms Christmas had laid a 7 mile trail rather than the promised 7 Km one, the two trails merging near the Roughs [Oops, she said!]  SH3 Harriettes like a bit of the roughs, I am told, so perhaps enjoyed the sylvan glades and the path down to the A25, into the Tillingbourne valley and back to the Village Hall. I don’t know how he does it, but Lord Raleigh is always back before me, though on this occasion he did admit to not doing the full trail, then on into the Hall for a truly sumptuous feast. Sadly, this year, missing the culinary touch of Clever Trevor and the company of too many absent friends, it was still a great event with less regularly seen attendees including Twiggy, Napoleon and Elle-t shirt. For those who couldn’t make it this year, well what a year to have missed! The Champagne flowed like water (from the taps in Tunbridge Wells), food was so abundant that I never even got round to the quails eggs or the roast turkey. The RA quiz baffled many, mostly because the acoustics meant the questions were completely inaudible, but then Sister Anna went on the rampage to get contribution for the SH3 supported charity. Threatened with being brutally savaged by Bugsy the chihuahua if they didn’t immediately cough up, most ended up with surprise gifts from the raffle. Suspiciously, Atalanta, as Harerazor, had somehow arranged for everyone on her trail laying hit list to be given full bags of ‘hare flour’. Worryingly, J Arthur, as Hash Cash was given a book, ‘101 simple ways to commit fraud’ while the JM’s all received ‘Very easy walks in Surrey for the over 90s’. The GM was however absolutely delighted with his prize, a badly misprinted ‘Where’s Wally?’ book in which Wally did not appear at all.  Sister Anna is already on the lookout for next year’s raffle prizes, so any unwanted Christmas presents to her but a special request from her, please, no more socks.

  As the special request of the GM, this writeup is entirely in Icelandic, translated into English by ‘google translate’. Gledileg Jol!

  On On,
  Eveready