No Words received from the Hare this week, so this report has been invented by your scribe:

A weak sun and cool air greeted the hash family as they gathered at Blunham for the run. It may have been the first run for H5 from Blunham, and let's hope the last - but more of that later!

Following a few minutes silence to remember the people injured and bereaved by the atrocity in USA last week, DONUT (him who can't write Words) introduced the run to the hash. At this point, a good hare would have forewarned of dangers to come. Our hare of the day didn't do that, either from forgetfulness or downright cruelty. I'll let you decide. OnOn was called and the ever fleet PECKER found the dust and set off along the trail. You can guess that it was of course a falsie. Laggards became FRBs at the about turn and soon the pack was trotting through the village, sniffing out the trail.

A falsie over the river footbridge was checked out before KNOBBER found the true trail. Lots more of the same followed in the usual fashion with the trail winding along the footpaths and bridleways of Blunham. Along the river footpath and across another footbridge, just pausing to pick a few fat blackberries. It seemed like it was going to be a pleasant run. However... a held check was reached at the twin road bridges. While waiting for the laggards to catch up, two ramblers appeared from the woodland path across the road. "You don't want to go down there dressed like that" they warned pointing at the shorts and T shirts Hfivers were wearing. "Check it out" called the sneaky hare. Of course the trail was found on the path recently vacated by the ramblers. The pack soon found out what the ramblers were referring to. A narrow path running along the river, both sides covered in evil stinging nettles, stretching from ankle to head height. Single file the pack began to pick their way painfully along what had to be a false trail. The cries of pain ejected by the FRBs were soon repeated by the following hashers. "Come on Donut, call the falsie!" was the communal thought. But it was all quiet at the rear.

"Oh well" thinks I, "it can't last all that long." Well dear reader, I have to tell you that 20 minutes later the end had not been reached. By now legs and arms were just a mass of nettle stings. WHITE RABBIT and BED PAN attempted escape by climbing through the adjacent barbed-wire fence but soon had to rejoin the path of pain. Only at this time did your scribe realise that the hare was not with us! The sadistic bastard had not even ventured down the path but had short cut back to the pub! "I had to lay the OnInn" he later whined!

Down-Downs for the hare of course (staking out naked in the sun would have been better), Christening for Stephen, now know as TIGHT WAD (he had no hash subs) and to Jo who apparently is a SCREAMER (it was the nettle stings this time), SHAGPILE for allowing UNDERLAY's dog to bark during the two minutes silence! and then SHAGPILE again for doing 200 runs (only one of which I didn't enjoy).

All-in-all it was probably the best run for Pongo not to have been on.

ON-ON SHAGPILE