Run No. 590 8th December 2002
The Engineer's Arms, Henlow
Ankle Biters: -
Knitting Circle: -
The Hareraiser from the previous committee (mentioning no names) wanted to have his little book complete and up-to-date before he handed it over to the next incumbent, so he asked us if we could come up with a pub asap. Oh ek! Can't think of a pub that quickly, so he volunteered a name, just off the top of his head like. "How about The Engineer's Arms in Henlow?" Not knowing anything about said pub, fell for the ploy hook line and sinker. We discover to our utter amazement, the week before the run, that it is a Real Ale pub with no car park, the area has been done to death, and so no fantastic trailly things. (At this point we would like the web chappy to refrain from making any comments in brackets.)(OK, Done - Ed)
Hmmm! Anythehoo, a trail of sorts was laid, and because it was so blasted cold it ended up being rather short. The weather forecast had promised a temperature (with wind chill factor) of -4 so we decided to put a hot soup stop in the middle of the run to keep everyone warm and to make the run appear longer.
We did ask awfully nicely in the circle, if everyone would pretend this was a new thing to do and kindly follow the blobs and not know instinctively which way to go, therefore shortening it even further. And by golly, that's what they did. Pecker, Smiffo, Five Bar, et al duly followed the markings which within five minutes brought them straight back to the pub. Mutterings of Rules, and On Inns were heard, and ignored. Needless to say there was amongst the pack one who did ignore blobs and bars and t's and went straight to the soup stop missing endless fun with the pack in a field. Missed it ourselves actually, as we were both back hares. Who was it? Really not much need for me to mention any names, but for the newies, Shaggy is a name you will soon know well.
Soup and sausage rolls were devoured thanks to G-String and his Land Rover and we all trotted back to the genuine On Inn.
Down-downs were performed in the 'dog's toilet' generally known as a beer garden. We were strategically placed to avoid stepping in the solid mounds, but obviously an intruder of a dog had been in the garden and left a miniature pile close to the edge of the step. For a good hour or so of down-downs we all carefully avoided this little pile, until Ringer was called into the circle for a misdemeanour and put his foot right in it, but worse, he didn't even know he'd done it and stood on the hash dress, marking it for life with light brown shit. Guess who got the dress!
There were many down-downs, the newie Vicky [No Knickers (to be) - Archive Ed] getting lots of practice, but out stripping them all was Shagpile and his shrunken dick. He was taking a leak somewhere on route, just managing to get hold of it (due to the cold naturally) when Ebony jumped up, dislodged dick from hand mid-flow, making him pee down his leg and make a mess of himself. There are bound to be brackets now.
There was also a christening, young Heather is now known as Muddy Waters. (Ha - wrong. Here are the brackets - Ed)
ON ON Good Crack and Skidmark