What a glorious morning for a game of Tetris. SH3 had apparently decided the car park was a spatial-awareness challenge, cramming vehicles in with the confidence of someone saying “that’ll fit” right before removing a wing mirror. By the time the rest arrived there was only one microscopic gap left for Atalanta, who launched her late-arriving BMW Dukes of Hazzard-style up a bank and wedged it heroically between two trees. Abandonment with flair.

  J Art had promised us a “traditional” run: 4½ miles for the runners in white flour and 3½ for the walkers in green. FRB set off confidently in the wrong direction, proving once again that confidence and competence are not always travelling companions. Half the pack obediently followed before the inevitable sheepish U-turn. Who can we trust anymore?

  OITE, Mee Sing and Bonn Bugle took on checking duties, before handing the baton to DTT with Bolshie limping along in hot(ish) pursuit. Meanwhile Wally demonstrated that men truly can only do one thing at a time. He was so busy using his mouth to complain that nobody was calling, he completely forgot to use his ears to hear ten people shouting “ON ON!” directly at him. Every hopeful “Are you?” was immediately drowned out by:
“No one is calling! I’m the only one who calls! Why does nobody call?!”
— making it utterly impossible for anyone to hear the actual calling.

  After last week’s endless black top [Ed: wasn’t it worth it?], it was bliss to be back on soft woodland trails among the greenery and glorious Surrey Hills views. (And yes Petal, we did admire the rhododendrons.)  J Art cleverly intertwined walkers and runners like some beautifully choreographed woodland ballet. Then, like a dramatic prima donna entering from the wings, Atalanta swept majestically from the back of the pack to the front, while SBJ and Blue Suit made an unexpected entrance stage right after accidentally running the trail backwards [again!].

  J Art then unleashed a series of deviously concealed back checks that split the corps de ballet completely: half exiting stage left, the others stage right, and Bluesuit apparently heading for another county altogether. In the end it seems only Mee Sing, Bolshie and Bonn Bugle actually came in on flour, while the rest seemed to have embraced what shall generously be called “alternative routing”.

  Back at the circle we were greeted by Dissa, returning from his long-term exile on the south coast. Sad news that Beryl has passed away, though Dissa told us some of her ashes had been scattered around the area.. Hopefully we’ll see him back on trail again soon.

  The GM was absolutely delighted to be back in the Surrey Hills — so delighted, in fact, that he celebrated by remembering exactly one song. Again.

  Our RA delivered several impressively long and deeply convoluted tales involving a crow (Velcro), a tick (Bonn Bugle) and, somehow, dogging (Petal). Quite how he linked those subjects together remains one of life’s great mysteries. Our ex-RA then piled in with additional charges, at which point Wally’s eyes lit up with dangerous enthusiasm until Brenda shut him down with terrifying efficiency.

  The final entertainment came when leaving the car park required an intricate reverse manoeuvre recreating the morning’s automotive Tetris in reverse. We then drove several miles to the Drummond Arms — a journey considerably longer than the actual run. Still, after all that, sitting in a sunny pub garden with a pint/glass of wine in hand felt like the true finish line.
  Don’t forget to sign up to lay a run in July / August / September with your Hair Razor – Bonn Bugle. Think not what your hash can do for you etc………

  On On,
  Bonn Bugle