At least as we gathered at the back of the pub we didn’t need our umbrellas, but the ground beneath our feet was just as wet and slippery as last week.

  The GM gathered the rabble together and proceeded to insult Ms Bean’s fine assets by suggesting that they were enhanced by rolled up tissue paper. He decided she should be checking chicken as likely to be near the front. Chas Titty Belt considered this unwise, of which more anon.

  Our inestimable hares informed us that the trail was about 8 kilometres and there would be a short cut and short cutters should not mark checks as the “front” runners would be behind them. This information was very confusing to the pack as most had only heard of miles and nautical miles. Arfur Pint was apoplectic , “What! We have to do our own checking???”

  The first instruction was “On out through that gate and turn left.” The Queen of the Vegetables pointed us out and the next vegetable out of the traps was Ms Bean. At this point several people took a different left, choosing the Green Party on grass rather the real left on shiggy.

  RAndy Pandy appeared from another left path having uttered, “We hash round here a lot, so we know it well.” Petal said, “It helps if you stay on flour!” Then RAndy Pandy discovered his inner philosopher concluding that local knowledge was far more useful at the end of a trail than the beginning!

  Next, Legolas veered left again, but this time the herd carried on. The hash had gone too far to the left. Henceforth it was quite straightforward, taking the centre ground, but in deep shiggy from time to time. Chastity Belt, however, decided that the GM had lost his marbles (that happened long ago) by appointing a fine checker (Ms Bean) to stand on the check while others had a chit chat around her. In the actualité it wasn’t such a bad idea because the pack was soon split into those wishing to saunter and the rest, with a big divide between. So the short cut served its purpose. Blue Suit & I elected for the long trail but he managed to strain his groin somehow.

  Back at the circle the GM congratulated Belchie & Veggie for a fine trail, or rather he pilloried them for the small bit that he knew anything about. Sir Ray announced the sad demise of Dynarod and clarified that there was more than one Dynarod who had been known to Surrey Hash. The poor soul who departed was principally an Old Coulsdon hasher.

  Petal was charged with lifting the mood despite not having recovered from watching England’s defeat in the rugby whilst in an Irish pub.

  Proceedings were rudely interrupted by Proxy taking a very loud telephone call from Lord Raleigh.  Eventually Petal was able to resume and he noted that he had just seen a story of why the great Rodney Marsh and friend of George Best had played only 9 games for England. He was dropped after Sir Alf Ramsey had told him, “If you don’t work hard I’ll pull you off at half time.” To which Marsh had replied, “Blimey we only get half an orange and a cup of tea at Man City!” He didn’t play for England again.

He then called in “you, you, you and you” to RAndy Pandy, Chastity Belt, Arfur Pint and Atalanta, who glowered (she does s good glower) and demanded “Call me by my name.” This summoned up thoughts of the film, Call Me By Your name” which is based on Aristotle’s views on friendship: the other person makes you more beautiful, the film being full of longing glances and things left unspoken. Hmmm.

  Atty was “done” for being there on

time again. Surprised she didn’t wait up the road to stage a late arrival. Arfur Pint for complaining about having to check; Chastity Belt for questioning the GM’s wisdom and RAndy Pandy for his Confucian philosophy.

  From there it ws onon to the pub with a thoughtfrom Mark Twain:

  “Do not complain about growing old. It is a privilege denied to many.”

  On On,
  Petal