Hash 991

Moose's run the week before had been flat, dry and largely free of shiggy. But that was last week. Gathering round to listen to the usual blah blah, I noticed it was a bit brass monkeys. Fortunately we set off at a gallop; unfortunately I had led the pack round the wrong side of the pub, so it was back the other way to follow Roger's on on. The shorts had been promised a split at some point, so ten minutes in, Mike began belly-aching, wondering if we'd be back before sunrise and calling down obscure curses on our hare, Coxy. On we trotted through shiggy galore, Niffer's whoops indicating every patch of mud more than 6 inches square or half an inch deep. Jonesy's trainers soon looked like a pair of christmas puds, complete with a holly leaf on top.

According to the orange highlighter on the map Nick gave me later, we went through Bramley, Nairdwood, Atkins, Peterley, Crook's, Ninneywood and Hoppers Farms. I for one was unaware of this at the time. There was a crazy woman at one point who was wailing like a banshee about how her horses were going to kill us all. The horses meanwhile were enjoying a jolly gallop in the opposite direction. Judy, just to be on the safe side, decided to camouflage herself by sitting down and rolling about in the mud. Good tactic, as the horses (and everyone else) then stayed well clear.

"At least it's not raining!", I said to the hare after we'd come through an especially pleasant patch of shiggy. At which point it started raining. I think Mike was whinging at the time, and this only made it worse. Then finally, we reached a long/short split: "There's a short short for anyone who wants to take it" says the hare; all eyes turn to Mike; "too short" was his response. Never let it be said that he wastes an opportunity to complain. So on we went, until at last we managed to ditch the shorts, and us longs headed off into the unknown. Didn't take too long before we found ourselves wandering about in a series of fields with not a blob in sight. Various scouting parties were sent to all points of the compass, but in the end it was Hell's Belle who called it on, and led us back to the Heath End Road. Here Roger sensibly took a party of us back the quick, dry, asphalted, direct route; while the remaining loons went off for a final shiggy-hunt led by Helen.

Back at the boozer, I peered in the window to see the SCBs already tucking in to the chips - I changed in double-quick time and got stuck in as well. It was Tosca Night, so we had to endure more of the GM's droning waffle than usual - congrats to Jonesy for winning the Tosca again. One thing the GM did do was introduce the 3 virgins that Nick had brought along - one was named Victoria, and the GM, our in-house Methuselah, recollected that Coxy had once been accompanied by a lady of the same name; a wistful look crept into Nick's eyes, and a big grin broke out across his face - then we reminded him he was married now, and that was the end of that! Thanks for a brilliant run, Nick, and stunning chips to boot.