You do, of course, get script from my larger canine colleagues.  Raffles is a bit of a woofter.  Only comes along on the promise of a bag of Salt and Vinegar crisps but he does have a great sense of humour and gets to the nub.  Spud is an absolute master of the trail with a sharp eye for diversion.  However, I thought it time you heard from me, got you something from the ground floor.   Closer to the roots of things as it were.  And if you think my view may be limited, think again.  You’d be surprised just what can be gleaned from a study of trainers; the smell, the condition and age, how they move around.

  On top of that, occasionally, I may be seen tucked under the arm of my Associate, opening up even wider horizons and an alternative view on the events around me.  Please note the use of the word ‘occasionally’.

  I will also explain my use of the word ‘Associate’.  I consider the title of ‘owner’ to be quite politically incorrect.  The canine / human relationship is much more one of mutual support. Ownership is demeaning.

  But I digress.  There you all are, sitting in front of your computers or clutching your mobiles, waiting agoggle to read my take on the run.

  Well, the main event seems to have been the sighting of a topless young lady on a paddle board.  No, don’t bother to rush down to the bottom of the page.  There are no photos.  Petal claimed that he wished to respect her privacy and Master Bates got lost in the reeds trying to get a close up.  I couldn’t see the spectacle myself, having diverted earlier on.  Quite how anybody could be on a paddle board so far from any substantial body of water is strange but I have it on good authority that it was the case.  Anyway, that was in the second half of the run and much ground was to be covered first.

  Now, Portugal sired Henry the Navigator hundreds of years ago, who set out to discover the world and SH3 has Ever Ready the Navigator.  He, having done his navigation bit, stayed at the pub while partner Eskimo the Adventuress set out to guide the pack around the Surrey wilderness.  We haven’t been around here for a time I think and so the trail seemed quite original with spasmodic moments of Déjà Vu.  On tarmac through the village to the north then a swing back towards Capel. Plenty of trees in case of I felt the need to scent the trail, an assortment of fields with grass I could see over and the sun shone. The pack stayed quite packed with some Bolshy bastard grumping because he had to stay at the back of the pack scattering flour to compensate for any shortcoming of the hares.

  On east over the Rusper Road.  Here, the trail continued on the other side into less hashed country.  North through more fields, past a bit of water made picturesque by paddle board mounted Diana, and so back to the pub.  I must admit that I did not do the bit over the road.  Each of my legs has to take about six steps for every pace any two legged hasher takes.  And I’ve got four of them. That means I would take 225,280 steps over a four mile trail.  Puts all these FitBit posers to shame doesn’t it?  The long and the short, particularly the latter, is that I sometimes feel justified in taking an alternative route.  Yes, I can cadge a lift under my Associate’s arm but it is smelly and one has one’s pride.

  So, a dignified return to the pub to coincide with most of the rest of the pack in about an hour and a quarter.

  Despite the punctual return I must comment on lengthy time before the GM got back to call the circle.  It can only be that, having got to the Rusper Road, Gibber had decided to take a short cut and had then turned right instead of left, thus greatly increasing his tarmac time.  This may explain why, having toasted mostly the visitors, dregs from Nash Hash, we were subjected to a rant about an alleged excess of tarmac on the run.

  As to the RA’s circle delivery, I can tell you little.  That took longer than the run itself.  So long, in fact, that it had to be carried out over three sittings with more down downs than there were hashers.  The JM got Bolshy and refused to pour any more, and the stand in JM ran out of beer.  Fortunately the car park was surrounded by brambles so many took the opportunity to do a bit of cropping for the Sunday dinner B & A crumble dessert as a diversion.  That J Arthur at least should know better.

  And you think us shorties can’’t see what’s going on!

  Love and On On

  Bugsie