Another fine summer's evening in the County of Hertfordshire and amongst all the beautiful and peaceful countryside there is a mad pack of ejits going for a run (do they have lives or what?). Us 'ares had been concerned the previous day, when it had taken us nearly four hours to lay the run, even with a few minor stops including a pub. We did consider shortening the run due to the length of the last three previous ones but on reflection we reconsidered and decided they all bloody well needed the exercise.

So the circle gathered after saying that we needed a punctual start due to the possible extended length, and they moaned!! The keen group headed of towards Brocket Hall golf course, convinced, but an evil T appeared at the end of a quiet long trail which, I might add, was not the only one, and this was mentioned at the end by T T boy and his better half who gave me untold abuse and who took great pleasure in knowing that I was suffering from nettle stings (no respect for hares these days).

Back to the pub and away we all went eager as Shergar himself (Pecker) was off like a flash of lightning and of course Five-Baah with him (mind you, he is faster than lightning). They both headed off for Brocket Hall again and brought Shagpile plus doggy with them to a falsie. In the mean time F'k-a Duck decides to pick up and play with someone elses golf balls, and then he threw them at the hare, not looking good for the hare at the moment. A few more checks were attacked vigorously and headed on our way towards the wee village of Welwyn which brought some consternation from some hashers like "You can not be serious, that's miles away from the pub" etc, etc. Oh yes, his name was Donut, bloody moaner, he then gave out about the the width of the path as he said it was too narrow and it was slowing him down or was it someone else who said that? Down the hill we went and Capt Haddock heads the way to the right to another falsie and Pecker says, "We are in bloody Welwyn" (tough shit paddy). Capt Haddock and Lunchbox appear to be approaching senility, they gate crashed the community centre and joined in the senior citizens' line dancing. Handsome they looked.

Continued into the village and followed a steep decline down a path and came eventually to a ford with ducks in it which Ebony cleared quickly and was followed by Pec, Five Baah, Shagpile and Good Craic who fell into it and buggered her knees. Up to false trail and then back through the ford again (how refreshing). We then meandered through the village, one lot took the short cut and some others, unbeknown to themselves, had taken the long cut (B.O.F and White Rabbit gave me dirty looks, well I am sure they did anyway). Both groups met again past the hospital and at 8.20 headed back to the pub (still half an hour away). At this stage I was tempted to get Nik-Nak back for covering me with flour the previous week but she threatened me with the hashit so I abstained from doing that.

More meandering among the Hertfordshire countryside and we came across some horses and Lunchbox smartly said, "Oh! we found the horses, taught we'd never see 'em", as I had mentioned them in the circle and it was now approaching 8.35 and the feet where getting itchy and the longing for beer was on everyones face and the moaning was getting louder from the back, so we cracked on to Ayot St Peter and here we split up, the slowies took the road and the keenies took the nettle infested footpaths and there was not many of us brave enough. White Rabbit, Five-baah, Pec and myself took the lonely trip back, but some where among the nettles was Capt Haddock and Donut who had been duped by a cunning plan to lay just one dob of flour at the beginning of a foul and nettle strewn path through the wood, and had to head back by the greenway, something about not finding a T. Getting closer to home and we came across G-String coming the other way as he had arrived late (shame on you, there were arrows everywhere). We ambled On Inn to the pub thankful.

Stallion and B.O.F had to retire early as the troopes were not in good form which meant B.O.F had to do without a deserved beer. Circle formed, the beloved Pongo spoke and said it was the longest run he had been on (rubbish) and he got a down-down for his birthday, down-downs for the hares. Florence reached a milestone of 300 runs (well done) and received nothing, just a towel from F'k-a-duck for spilling beer on her head, Shagpile the guest RA for the night awarded a down-down to F'k-a-duck for playing other sports on the hash and gave the Hashit to Donut (which I believe was a great decision and well deserved) for his moaning and complaining (he wasn't on Pecker's Arlesey run). The circle broke up and more beers were supped and the night finished on a happy note.

OnOn Good Crack and Rajah