It’s one of those ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’ situations. Of course it is totally unacceptable to express spurious opinions here. No politics. However, I didn’t ask for this job, I got the finger pointed at me and told to do it. I’m just reporting the facts as I know them which, frankly between you and me, aren’t very many.

  As a result of the number of road works interfering with my progression from edge to edge of this fair county and the number of people taking their little darlings to Chessington Zoo I was somewhat later than planned getting to the start. On top of that, the run started 2 minutes early. [Ed: never known before in SH3 history?]  Thus I missed the Hare Talk and that brings me to the point of my opening paragraph. It seems Sir Ray delivered an incomprehensible explanation about the colour of the flour and his efforts to create a specific shade of azure. Evidently it was not to reflect the baby blue of his, or any other SH3 hasher’s eyes since on Sunday mornings, these tend to be a bright red. No, it was a political intervention. The idea was to cover the whole of Caterham with blue flour and thereby encourage people to vote Conservative at the forthcoming elections. Thank goodness green would not make for a very distinct trail!

  Anyway there was the pack, assembled on what had been the parade ground of what had once been Caterham barracks, from a time when we had an army to barrack, all set to follow a trail of whatever colour. And so, on the dot of 10.58 off set an eager bunch of SH3 plus a few token OCH3 hashers on another Sunday morning adventure. Through the barracks estate, across Coulsdon Common and skirting the Fox playing fields to arrive at the rim of Happy Valley.

  There are lots of Happy Valleys around the world, you know. The one in Curacao is a knocking shop [How do you know?]  There’s one in Wales which is miserable because it is always raining. The Hong Kong one is the best. That’s where the original race course is and where the H4 used to convene, in the member’s bar of the grandstand, at one minute past five on a Friday night to celebrate the beginning of the weekend. A couple of convivial beers before heading home to start the happy family weekend. A dinner out with the wife at some fancy restaurant kind of thing. Unfortunately, there were occasions when conviviality extended and a belated return gave rise to a very less than happy confrontation. [Too true!]

  But I digress. Charles Dickens got paid by the page. We scribes don’t get paid, of course, but one feels a certain obligation to fill up a page if only to save MB from taking more embarrassing photos of cavorting seniors.

  Anyway, there we were poised on the edge of the valley. The more able bodied – though some might say, the more intellectually challenged – plunged down to partake of a pleasant excursion along the Elysian Fields and woodlands at the bottom. On towards the golf course. Inevitably, then, slog up Dean Hill to the top.

  Meanwhile, the less able bodied / less mentally defective figured out the run was a left hander and that the more scenic route along the top was aesthetically superior. Somewhere the two routes converged and all were reunited back on the parade ground in good order.

  In due course our leader, Field Marshal Montgurney called the circle to regale us with recollections of his military days when he had stood on that very spot, clutching his Bren gun, ready to stop any attempts by Kaiser Bill to reach London. Of course, in those days he was only a Lance Corporal. Credit to an estimable career which has lead him to the position he holds now, for life. Every bit as noteworthy as that of Idi Amin.

  Evidently Sir Ray was similarly deployed some time back. Obviously a different war. A deterrent to De Gaulle perhaps.

  That diatribe complete, Belcher stepped in to fulfil his duties as RA (Have there been any changes in the Committee?) Having chastised some miscreants he proceeded to tell another joke. And this one was funny.

  On On,
  Tosser