Time was when the Hash was known as a drinking group with a running problem. Who would now deny that HWH3 is rapidly turning into a drinking group with walking problems?
There was our Aud, still suffering from bleeding toes and blissfully unaware that this is a sure sign of tertiary syphilis, as the impending ability to blow cigarette smoke through holes in her cheeks will testify. Tesco's may owe their 2010 profits to you, Aud, for setting the trail with blobs the size of termite hills, but don't look to them to cure those diseased digits.
Then there's Kerry with short term memory in serious decline as she opted to walk round the trail she had helped Aud to set but a few hours earlier only to find herself in Cheyenne country – strange, unknown and threatening. “I think we might have laid the trail somewhere else” was her oft repeated wail with only the mocking evening breeze to answer.
Our resident Red Lion expert (as in I've-been-to-every-one-in-the-area-looking-for-the-hash), Barney, had better luck with finding Bourne End's one and only Walnut Tree but has also joined the hobblers, complaining of a groin strain. No offers of help out from two harriettes, Barney, but they do have their own problems (see above).
Enter Dan, our erstwhile Fast Man, still concerned that last week's run would not turn out to be a re-run of the Seer Green run. Don't worry, Dan, you're bound to be on the same UK time as everyone else here by the time we put our clocks forward. Dan's problem? His feet hurt. Dan, anyone who moves theirs as fast as you do will have the same problem. Sleep easy, Aud's problem is far worse (see above).
Even your scribe had to walk Aud's trail, having carried out an unusual experiment at Wendover Woods earlier that day. You will all surely be relieved to learn that using one's head to knap flint (with or without a 'k') is inefficient unless you're looking to have your head stapled together. Do not try this at home – knapping or head stitching.
No lesser person than Ade signed up for the walking group. Long after the passing of those ambling round the short run, Ade appeared, having been round Cookham “to catch up on my shopping”. Yes, ladies, any man who uses Cookham to shop does indeed not do much of the household shopping.
It's not all bad news, folks. Any foot problem Steve might have is far outweighed by Screaming Millie – no, not Steve's bit on the side (whose real name escapes me) – but a pint-sized Border Terrier whose pre-run yelping has provoked a further storm of complaints, this time from the residents of Bourne End (and Marlow's) cemeteries. Be kind to your two footed friends, Steve: their impaired hearing is already provoking our lady runners to raise their endless chit-chat during the run to a bellow. Stick to walking well behind the pack, Steve – in return, we'll give Jane her own container load of chips each week.
Thanks Aud for finding a venue that served great chips in such quantity – just as well given that they had run out of beer before even the shorts trail runners had returned. Thanks too for issuing a pre-Beeching run map that showed a shed load of rail lines connecting villages that disappeared in Noah's time.