My recent reports have failed to mention the early flowers – snowdrops, daffodils – which have added to the pleasure of our runs. Today we had so much tarmac and then bramble-tangled shiggy that no flowers bloomed, other than the ring of deep purple crocuses round the tree beside our Circle, doubtless carefully planted by the club whose car park we had monopolised. Now you will say that a report on a new hare should be especially courteous, and indeed Flasher got much of it right. To what extent he should attribute this to his mentor, Captain Webb, must remain obscure, since of Webb we saw nothing – he had gone home after helping with the trail in inappropriate footwear. Certainly we began with one of the pointless loops our readers have come to associate with my reports, 15 minutes on tarmac which took us back to where we had started; after that we found ourselves on the trail Dr Death laid here not so long ago. Thereafter, yes, the checks were at the right intervals, the solutions the right distance away, there were back checks, there were even stretches of the trail reasonably unfamiliar in this well-hashed area. We found eventually that this was a balloon-on-a-string trail, the finish a reprise of the early trail (after that loop, that is).

  I did not notice any short-cuts marked, but we were definitely more than one hash today; towards the end we even found one small group, led by Little Mo (Turn On), going outwards as we came home. Another large group who had most certainly not been with us finished at exactly the same time we did, so to this extent at least Flasher was extremely successful. Our group included Chastity Belt, whose husband’s knees are indeed buggered for many weeks to come (a blood clot identified after an operation), Atalanta – punctual today, No Nookie, whose husband SFB is also a non-runner at present, Miss Bean – are we not fortunate that so many of our best runners are of the gentler sex! Well, of course, we did have men, whether conspicuous by their efforts, such as Stevie Blunder and J. Arthur, or just keeping up gamely, Dormouse, Belcher. Popeye stayed with us instead of doing his own thing, which allowed him occasions for eloquence as RA. Avery good morning, even if road closures elsewhere made the traffic a crawl.

  Children go to school for two reasons: so that their parents can earn money, and to acquire social skills. What is taught in classrooms is largely beside the point; it is of little relevance in adult life, and is soon forgotten. Oh, a handful of youngsters (mostly girls – boys have an absurd culture of not shining in class) will do well in exams, and then forget what they learned. What then of home-schooled children? Less distracted by their peers, they will retain more of their lessons, but are in danger of not learning to mix with others. Sure, they will escape being bullied, a subject meriting an article on its own: nobody who has been bullied forgets it, ever, but those inflicting grief on them seldom look on what they are doing as bullying. “Just having a laugh! A bit of banter!”

So what does it mean that some schools are better than others? Some teachers better than others? I am suggesting that the real differences are outside the classroom, in the general ethos and atmosphere of the school: cheerful and friendly, or dull, hostile? It is in the corridors, playgrounds, dining halls, that real school life goes on.

  On On, FRB