Standing outside the Horseshoes on a gale-swept Saturday morning, having not laid a run (or even participated in one) for a considerable time, the old grey matter was desperately trying to drag back memories of what to do. One thought kept coming back to me repeatedly - WHY WHY WHY?

Somewhere scattered around the village are 4 kilos (8.5lb to those with longer memories) as the wind swept away every handful of lovingly laid dust, never mind I could always partially relay it on Sunday morning.

Sunday morning loomed with no change in the weather, the only difference was that a tree had blown over (allegedly) blocking the main route into the village. Consequently there was a slight delay to allow lost souls to find alternative routes before the GM called the circle. With no announcements of any significance - other than the English had once again beaten the Welsh on the field of play, it was on on.

The trail lead off back towards the A1 and a fork in the road. At this juncture Cunning Linguist decided to sit on a park bench and wait for the stragglers and the completion of the huge loop that we were about to embark on. Off down the road to the river where a lovely false trail was ignored past a renovated Georgian House and the pack headed off down the bank towards Tempsford. A cunningly placed number check allowed the front runners chance to run to the back and thus avoid the possible wrath of the insane farmer from Tempsford who accosted us in the same place last year.

From this check we headed over a bridge and back in exactly the opposite direction down the other bank of the river - and then the grey cells broke into life & I could answer the question WHY? The sight of late-comer G-String running up the opposite bank trying to catch up with us, knowing full well he had a choice of swimming over to join us or doing the entire trail to the bridge & back was a joy. The shouts of "Bas***d" disappearing into the distance indicating he had chosen the dry option was music to a hare's ears. This is why we lay runs, just to get those brief moments of sadistic pleasure!

The run eventually took us back through the village and down the river again behind the church where a big bar which Shagpile kindly found took us back into the field (missing out a huge loop put in for the absent Pecker). The On Inn was wind swept and barely legible but eagle eyes BOF spotted it and call was on to get back to the pub - smack on the hour.

The circle is now a bit of a distant blur as the old grey matter returns to its quiescent state of slumber. I do remember Shaggy getting an award for something or other and a number of brollies in the circle as the heavens opened (would never have been allowed in my day!). Oh yes and a few very nice pints of Eagle - more reasons WHY answered!

On On