In keeping with procedure now, the GM called the pre-run circle to give the Hare a chance to explain himself in the furtherance of well-arranged chaos. Today, we were advised that there would be two trails with a short cut for walkers, the directions being indicated by some symbols. Nobody seemed too clear what the symbols were but one of them seemed to be a ‘W’. Obviously that would be for the walkers and short cutters. So, after some debate about the time and consultations with the azimuth of the sun, the GM waved a finger in the air and the pack set off.

  Now, most orchestral works by the great composers are known by names as well as numbers. Beethoven’s 5th is known as Eroica, Mozart’s 41st as Jupiter for example. So might SH3’s composition, the 80’s, be known as the Knee symphony, a paean to octogenarian exuberance. As the pack moved smoothly into a fluid flow of motion a cacophony of sound rose harmoniously into the air as a hundred joints creaked into action. The rumble of the knee section accompanied by the grind of the hip section and the sweeter clicks of the ankle section. Sunday’s glorious music.

  Off out of the car park and across the road onto Normandy Common. For those who were anticipating a gallop around that, disillusionment. Our in house, very own Scotsman had more devious plans than that in mind. A twist here, a turn there, all micromanaged by the Hare in his car. Generous and frequent blobs of flour marked the trail. No mean Scotsman this. Around the pond with the check marked through even before the pack had got there. Back across the road for a stretch along that before turning south towards the greener slopes of the Hogs Back.

  I must now become a bit personal since I had got somewhat detached from the pack by the time I got to the parting of the ways. Even though the W seemed to be indicating the correct ‘out’ direction, ‘W ‘clearly stands for walkers. There being no alternative, it followed that the other squiggles indicated the full trail [Blunder & I made that mistake too]. Where precisely the pack had gone was uncertain but the Hare must have a more devious route in mind. So, never being one for shortcoming the trail unknowingly I took off to the right.

  Unfortunately, not long after that a brief glimpse of the Hare driving off in his car confirmed my fears that this was the short cut and that the pack had been taken the opposite way, probably across to the other side of the railway. Some adaption would be necessary on my part. Off I set off on an alternative route to the railway. This entailed the rediscovery of some ancient rights of way, possibly dating back to the days preceding land ownership, and the surmounting of some obstacles. Eventually I arrived on the ‘in’ trail by the station on Glazier’s Road, shortly thereafter to be caught up by the front runners, Spud and Atalanta then SBJ and Blue Suit [There was some argument over whom Spud was following despite his reputation for doing his own thing]. Others followed.

  An interminable mile down the road and into the car park where a substantial part of the pack were already gathered. It would seem that a lot of short cutting had been going on but no further comment on that now.

  The GM duly called the circle. Worryingly he has been exhibiting some rather uncharacteristic traits recently which might be cause for concern. Having welcomed ‘King Wally back he then was almost kind to the Hare, praised him for the bits of greenery interspersing the lengthy stretches of tarmac that connected them and the surprising lack of shiggy that might have been expected in that area. No mention that he had been driving around and popping up at odd intervals like a mother hen.

  And, no mention that it was the 2600th run. Something of a milestone really.

  Up stepped the RA for our weekly history lesson. Today, why the area was called Normandy – because the Norman army marched along the Hogs Back and started a farm around there. The sinners were really too numerous to list here. At one point the RA reprimanded a couple of bodies for leaving the circle when in fact there was no circle left. Everybody was inside an imaginary gyration getting down downs.

  Some discourse as to which pub to go to followed with the decision to stay with the original Plan A Worplesdon Place. Many were lost on route it would seem since half the pack never got there.

  And a footnote. The nice farming lady I chatted to on the way round asked if I would tell any hares setting runs there in the future to use paper or wood chips as the flour gave her dogs constipation.

  On On,
  Tosser