(The next run is from The Three Moorhens in Hitchin)

Children - Here's a classic example of what happens if you experiment with substance sniffing and drinking wood alcohol - read on and be warned!

The pack lead by Airscrew charged off in the wrong direction god knows where, Walnut Whip Willy from here on referred to as WWW found the obvious trail to the Blakemore roundabout. From here WWW lead the eager pack up a small hill, no chalk, no sense. Meanwhile Lady P had found a large rabbit hole, sprain her ankle and returned to base. It was left to Shagpile to find the real trail on a badly hidden footpath past some no longer required children's garden furniture. Thoughtfully fly tipped in our fine countryside by a Neanderthal, probably from Stevenage. For Christ sake the dumps take this stuff for free!

Now you probably thinking, "hey that's unfair, you can't classify all Neanderthals as fly tippers", let 'em sue is what I say.

The FRBs, Airscrew, Five Baah and WWW soon passed the labouring Shagpile, found the obvious bridge and both false trails up slight inclines. Eventually the real trail was discovered along a broad bean field, up hill to St Ips village green. Where a visitor from Stevenage had kindly kicked out the held check, allowing Five bar to singularly check out another falsie. Broad bean field? That's a field full of broad bean plants, not a field shaped like a broad bean. A couple of more falsies through St Ips graveyard and on to a hold check. Graveyard? That's a pasture full of graves, not a solemn piece of ground, or maybe it is.

Once the herd had been gathered we set of down hill toward the Almshoes. Almshoes? Aren't they for people who can walk on their hands?

At the bottom a number check, catching five FRBs, Capt Fanta, WWW, Five Baah, Airscrew and Count Roadkill. Another kicked out check, allowed Airscrew to wander aimlessly across another field until Five Baah found the trail. However this path had obviously been neglected, with chest high nettles. So like true hasher we ran through the corn, crop buster to a man. At this point, Donut suddenly recognise the location, "I've been here before, laid here before". He promptly set off in total the wrong direction. F'ck-a-Duck however has been steadily laying trails all over Hertfordshire, so that he can short cut from anywhere to anywhere. He wasn't fooled and led the pack to the next check. Oh dear another number check? "That's three in a row" said Shagpile "That's against the rules!"

Digressing a little. We had strayed beyond the normal 4 squares to reach this scenic countryside, so needed to make a linear line home. Lots of hold checks? Not when you can use numbered checks. There followed a series of check directly designed for the obstinate FRB. The whining and moaning from WWW was only drowned by the occasional Easyjet airplane, subtly reminding us what the future hold for this green and pleasant land. Six more numbered checks followed in quick succession, check by Airscrew, WWW, Five Baah, F'Duck, and Private Parts. They never learn, but they do get tired. You could this by the fact that Gorjoyce was caught in one of the numbered checks. Up to the Redcoats, across the dual carriage and home via a small detour through Wymondley church. One last numbered check to remind the FRBs of fun evening they have had.

Food, alcohol and the circle. Stallion and White Lion were downed as hares. The birthday boys, Count Roadkill, Airscrew, and Stallion again were downed. The second bottle of Spit had got to Stallion and he felt and looked a little sick.

Finally a 250 run award for Stallion, showing his age by nomination WWW for his third DD of the night. So final thought of the day.

While standing in the fields near the Almshoes, I could see Preston hills in the distance. With the sun setting in the west casting dark shadows in the golden fields of corn. Over to the east I thought I could just make out the chimney of the incinerator at Stevenage hospital. Crickey I though I can see Stevenage from here, then it dawned on me soon from here I'll be able to see Stevenage all around me. Pass me the sick bag for Christ sake, now I do feel ill.

ONON - Stallion