Sorry about how vague the words are, but we didn't get time to write them before Friday and in the mean time the memory has started to fade.

It was a fantastic day on Saturday, the sun shone brilliantly as we set off across the fields around Gravenhurst. Hardly met a soul during the two hours of laying the trail (three people all told). Back at the pub, we have a quick couple of pints, before we set off back home for dinner.

Unfortunately the weather on Sunday evening was pants. Still twenty-two intrepid hashers still decide to turn out. Ringer calls the circle and the cutest newie you have ever seen is introduced. No birthdays or anniversaries, no sex prior to the hash or anything else to note.

Then it's off. Shagpile immediately calls On-Inn due to the check outside of the pub. This is now a tradition and was only put there for the sole purpose of aggravating Shagpile (He's right; bad haring always agreevates me - Ed).

Generally the run went by without too many mishaps, apart from the occasional scrubbed out hash markings. Everyone thought we were on run A (i.e. the anti-clockwise version of the Gravenhurst hash) until an unexpected detour was taken into Shillington. There was a risk that this detour would mean that the run was slightly overcooked, but at least it did relieve the sense of deja-vu that some of the hashers were feeling.

A small short-cut was offered as we approached Shillington. Most chose the longer version, but all those with dogs had no choice as the alternative was across a field that was occupied by some rather skittish horses.

Eventually a new style of check was encountered. It was a sprint course for the intrepid few that were still bursting with energy. The result was Giblets, F'ka Duk and Screamer by a short nipple in front of Ringer.

Back at the pub, the land-lady has laid on trays of sarnies for the hungry hashers, a gesture that was much appreciated. The winners of the sprint were bought drinks by the hares. And after a bit of coaxing the land-lady allows us to hold the circle inside of the pub.

Ringer awarded down-downs to the two excellent hares and Fergus (the newie). Count Roadkill, the secret RA, awarded down-downs to White Rabbit for endangering a new-born (I think the crime was referred to as cute envyism) and to Screamer for using her anatomical advantage in the sprint. There were others, but the memory is fading, so many apologies to those I have forgotten.

On-on to run 717 at chez Dan-Dare & Mekon

Capt F and WWW (Walnut Whip Willy)