Whilst driving past the pub one night I noticed a sign outside saying "Wanted, Customers - no previous experience necessary". This, coupled with a bit in the local rag about village pubs that were threatened with closure in the local area, prompted me into a rare show of compassion (and some self interest at keeping a pub within walking distance operating) and I took pity on the Landlord and agreed a run before looking at the map. Not to worry, Smiffo gallantly came to my assistance and agreed to help out, I'm sure between the 2 of us we could devise some cunning plan and lo we did!

Out of the pub and the first big falsey caught out all the FRBs that had run from here before - no we weren't going across to Northill we were breaking new ground. Down the road to Shefford and into the newly-formed gravel pits, complete with signs warning unwary hashers to steer clear of the quick sand. This did somewhat hamper our ideas for checks as even the Hares would have been somewhat miffed having to wait for someone to be dragged clear. Besides which the colour of the sand clashed badly with Captain Haddock's newly acquired silver wig.

At this point the hares had a dilemma. After laying a big part of the trail the bridle way that was to take us back to the road on into Shuttleworth had been blocked by a big sand moving conveyor belt and the path diverted back to where we came from. Never mind a big loop will p a few people off and give a chance for the knitting circle to short cut. At this point the knitting circled had been joined by Donut & Skidmark on some pretence or other - maybe in an attempt to learn how to knit one, purl one.

The long run in to Shuttleworth Park took its toll on G-String as neat alcohol started to gush from his pores and the hangover kicked in. A few others were also starting to suffer from the party at Ringkisser's the night before - serves you right, you should know when to stop! White Rabbit knew when to stop - it was when her face hit the dirt and Good Crack kindly escorted her back to the pub in a grand show of self interest and laziness.

A nice little run alongside the stream next to Old Warden Airdrome and we were at what seemed a logical on in - a sign post saying Upper Caldecote ¾ mile. Wrong but it was good enough to convince Pecker who set off like a scolded cat, only to be dragged back at a bar 100m down the trail. Still it was a good short cut for the back markers (me thinks the hares have been too considerate this week) as the rest of the pack ran a big loop through Ickwell Green and down the road to the pub.

Back at the circle the new mismanagement took instant control and mayhem ensued as to where the circle would be. The back garden was eventually chosen as the coldest & windiest place that could be found in Bedfordshire on what was a glorious autumn afternoon.

Down downs to the hares and Pecker who for some reason decided to get his shirt off in expectation of the hashit (which had been breeding since we last saw it as there were now two). The hashits were duly awarded to Paintball and Shaggy (I think) for some sort of sexual misdemeanours (the afternoon was a blur after the Ruddles organic ale) and we all retired to the bar in an attempt to keep the pub running for another few months.

On On
Cardiac & Smiffo