‘Twas four nights before Christmas and a not a mouse ….  but SH3 was out in force.  Uncle Gerry announced a world record in that both Atalanta and Petal had arrived before the start.  Could they be in anticipation of a demonstration trail or were they just there to witness the disaster for themselves?

  It was only three weeks since we last visted Ripley Green and methinks the hare protested too much!  He was perfectly capable, er, capable of cocking it up all by himself, so we didn’t really need Uncle Gerry to predict it beforehand, but he did, just to be sure, so that his script was already written for  the circle later.  Clearly not content with Bonn Bugle having interjected herself in the hareline at the last minute (Harerazors are grateful for all offers these days)  and having laid the longest check-back in history, Flash announced that he would compete with her and then you would have been Bugled.  In the event I think both check-backs were about 300m so the jury is out.

  For the second time in three weeks there was a complete absence of flour after the On Out.  What is it about the gremlins of Ripley Green?  You will see from the map below that we spent ages combing the area north of the trail desperately looking for flour.  Eventually there was a very loud On On called by Foghorn Wurzel.  Goodness knows why, because the only flour around was being laid by him.  We then proceeded for quite a distance with no flour (so how did he know which way to go?) before picking up the trail close to a stream, whereby there were big blobs quite close together, so something had been amiss.  A warning to all future hares for these parts, which at this rate could be half a dozen in 2026.

  The “huge” checkback (all things are relative, Flash), was at the back of the Talbot Inn (that’s Tall Butt, Uncle Gerry, not wot you said) from where we looped back almost to the car park, which was too early to return so we passed the pub, went up Rose Lane and over the A3.  When we crossed back an impressively agile Veggie Queen trundled down her own shortcut via a steep embankment that was too much for the rest of us.

  The most interesting thing about this trail (sorry Hash Flash) was finding myself adrift with Miss Whiplash and her amazing tales of derring-do!  As we crossed one field she recalled hitching a ride from there some years ago.  As an accomplished and enthusiastic motorcyclist she had been riding down the A3 and noticed that the field was full of microlight craft and thought to herself, “I always wondered what it would be like to fly on one of those!”  So she abandoned the bike, stepped into the field and repeated her thought to one of the people there.  A chap took one look at her in her leathers and said something like, “With a get-up like that I’ll take you up, as long as you can make your way back from Sevenoaks!”  So she did.

  On another occasion she did some wild swimming and upon getting changed afterwards she found a fish in her swimsuit.  It must have been invited in by her cleavage!  

  At the circle, “visitors” were welcomed: Alice, Wurzel, Sir Ray & Groin Biter.  Hash Flash was of course pilloried by the GM for his efforts, RHUM & Atalanta were “highlighted” for their matching fluourescent outfits and Tequil’Over treated everyone to a Christmas pantomome with his rendition of Rindercella [Words here in RS2600].  Then it was on on to the cozy Ship.

  On On,
  Petal