Well the bad ole' hare for last week didn't write any Words, just the same as the previous week. Are things going to the dogs at H5 I wonder? Anyhow, here are the Words as made up by your scribe.

It was a New Year's Eve run from the GM's house (him wot don't write Words). The rain had been tipping down for most of the week so the going was definitely going to be 'soft' as they say at the nag track.

Expecting a fairly short run, it was a nasty shock to find out that co-hare was Pecker - known for his setting of long runs and lack of map reading skill. An extended circle meant that White Rabbit was able to join in, despite turning up 15 minutes late! By the time the pack was ready for the ON-OFF, it was pretty gloomy, so if this was going to be a Pecker marathon, I could see fumbling around in the dark being on the cards.

The small, but select pack of H5fivers set off around Arlsey, with the usual FRBs (Knobber, Penetrator, Shaggy) finding the falsies. It wasn't long though before the trail led into the bleak and dark countryside. The hares had let slip that the trail was going to lead to the Engineer's Arms at Henlow but it was an hour and a half later before Henlow village was entered. By now it was very black and cold, particularly so as the trail had led through flooded fields.

A pint in the warmth of the pub was very welcome. The scenery was also very acceptable as a couple of tarts in short skirts arrived as early New Year's Eve revellers. However, all too soon the pack was ordered out by the hares to complete the run. Now it was even less fun. Muscles had set - beer was sloshing around and it was dammed cold.

Head hare G-String ran out of steam alongside yours truly, but being a local suggested a short cut down to Arlsey station. This nearly turned out to be a Long-Cut as having got to the station the footpath was well and truly barred! Fortunately my SAS training kicked in, and with a giant leap I was able to scale the station fence and jump lightly down onto the platform. After a few minutes, preceded by moans and groans, G-String's head appeared peeking over the fence like some sort of be-speckled Chad. With a bit of verbal encouragement (get a f*****g move on you sloth!) he was able to drag himself over and onto the platform.

Fortunately that was the end of the run (too dark to see any ON-INN) and a circle was held in the warmth of the GM's barn/potting shed.

ON ON You Nice People