The first surprise was there was plenty of room in the pub’s car park.  Lots of room, so hold that thought for later.  Also there were lots of Northants Hash members lolling about, though not many from Surrey Hash.  About 10 in total, hmm, most odd.  At least we had the mellifluent tones of the co-Hare to start us off, expounding the merits of the trail he’d laid: lots of trees to provide shade on a stinking hot day; well-marked checks, lots of ‘em; a five and a half mile run with a three and a half mile route for walkers, and all was jolly well settled.  Now, I’ve got to state this carefully – what a fantastic trail it was.  Classic Hash material – some difficult checks and entirely in the forest.

  So off we went, feeling fit, feeling fresh, to the first check.  Where the hell was the trail?  Oh, a distant cry deep in the forest meant someone had found flour.  Off we went again.  Now this is where I have to give credit to Ms Bean.  It was only about the third check and I was completely lost, but she took off on a side path, which wasn’t at all a path and to my astonishment called ”On On”.  Hot diggety an amazing track opened up before us!  Well, I was up for this and just so the record book shows, I cracked the next two checks.  Yessir, ME.  But then the woods took back control and I was consigned to the back of the pack pretty much for the rest of the run. Brogan, son of Hermes, sailed past me and was gone, calling “On On” as he cracked check after check.  Sheesh, the magnificent trees, the suffocating bracken and the odd bit of open countryside suggested terrain only a country bumpkin could be pleased with; and that’s not Bigfoot.  At 11.35, and I mean that precisely, Atalanta made her first appearance, overtaking the pack on a hill.  Yes, the Hares had even managed to place a hill or two into the 5.5 miler just for variety.

  Eventually we came upon the Sip Stop. Not many of these on SH3 these days.  It was July 13th, the day before Bastille Day, so Bigfoot and Missing in Action had provided a séance d’apéritif with Pastis, French beer and nibbles to sustain the English rabble.

  Nicely sustained, we carried on for what should have been only 1.5 miles to the finish if the Hares were to be believed.  I was with Belcher, SBJ and Stevie Blunder for the remains of the run, taking it easy, chatting in the sunshine, except at some point we lost Belcher.  He just disappeared.  [Ed: I think he enjoyed it so much he went round again.]

  The circle at the Down-Downs was much larger that you would have expected – several SH3 members had deigned to turn up: DoYou? and Le Pro, Mr and Mrs Dormouse, Briain with the camera, Lord Raleigh and others.  Proceedings began with Merchant (I think that was his name)   [Ed: Machinist, but close!] who explained at some length why he’d missed the run through going to the wrong pub [Ed:The Bat & Ball, close again!].  The Hares were given their D-Ds, then Le Pro took over and rather unkindly wanted to know how SBJ and I had got our Hash names. In her case she’d flown to England in a storm called Hurricane Fran and became Special Blow Job, and it’s best left unwritten where mine came from.  For about half an hour there was no sign of Belcher, but he turned up sheepishly, which might have been what he’d been up to, and told a joke at RHUM’s expense and we all knew everything was right with the world. He was given a D-D together with Veggie Queen.  Birthing Blanket made an announcement about Bodyshop’s memorial event and we readied for the pub – only to be halted by Bigfoot’s revelation that the pub had no beer.  WHAT? The pub has NO BEER?  No wonder the car park was empty.  He’d found out that morning there had been trubble at ‘mill in their cooling equipment and they’d shut off the taps.  One of the best runs, one of the best Sips, followed by an unconscionable event like that. BIGFOOT? One big foot, in the grave.

  On On,
  Blue Suit