Where's Ken when you most need him? Probably safely tucked up where he likes being tucked.
So, it befalls to me to make good.
Farnham Common. Home to rich, and slightly less rich, alike.
As I approached from the cold and distant North, I mentally turned on Radio 4 (local) in my Walter Mitty alternative universe. The same old, same old, news. As there is no crime in Farnham Common, there is nothing to report. And why is there no crime? At this moment in my musings I passed the answer on my left. Robo-cop was whirr-clicking at great speed towards the Stag and Hounds, long range battery pack steaming on his back.
When I eventually got to the S&H, I found that he had prevented potential disorder (probability 17.3%) by shepherding some flat footed ne'er-do-wells into the outdoor smoking area and turning up the heat(ers).
Unfortunately, the heat started a chain reaction that culminated in a blast from the past from the master of the greens. OI (only really big and bold). "I've got two things to warn you about:
1. The publican has received an award for the quality of his beer (cue Mick, who dashes over to the local ATM) and
2. The run is flat and not very longish.
If only all warnings were as benign. It must be the Robo-Cop effect.
End of fore-chat. No checking. Go south. The blonde half of the joint hare was taking command.
One of our younger brethren decided he would overtake me. And promptly ran into a bollard, hitting it amidships. "Silly boy Pike". (I won't give his true identity because I do not want to embarrass his mother). Afterwards, he told me that it caused no real damage. His propects remained undiminished.
Past the village hall, scene of many a happy quiz night complete with home made beer.
Sarah decided that being a Robo-Cop acolyte was the way forward, and promptly overtook me as we ran into and through THE Farnham Common (which happens to be heavily wooded). My shiggy meter pointer (it is analogue/non digital, I am afraid to say) was firmly stuck on moderate.
The hares must have decided that the common was TOO common because we were then lead a merry dance around the outside to the North. Sarah overtook me again. I can tell it is her because her whirr-clicky sound is higher pitched than the other.
Upon hitting Templewood Lane, we made a right swerve and took our chances with the traffic and the locals. House prices seemed to added another digit or two, even with us there. Curiously, there was a Timber wood and a Stoke Wood on our route, but no Temple Wood to be seen.
The trail quickly regained shiggy moderate status as we hit Stoke Wood, and ran around what looks like an Egyptian Hieroglyph (probably means MINE. KEEP OUT).
At Gypsy Lane, the shorts said Sayonara (or was it See you later). We longs were treated with the respect we deserved and lead a merry loop around Timber Wood before galloping over to Hanging Wood (fortunately deserted) where the Blonde took pity on us, and turned for home. In Footpath wood we were spoilt for choice (or the hares were) before hitting the aptly named Christmas Lane.
Hitting the A355, we tripped over an old geezer lying in wait. "Come with me and I will show you a good (shorter) time". We declined, being 'ard 'ashers who had listened to our mothers in our yoof, accepting the travails of Egypt Lane rather than easy seducements.
A quick tour of the Blondes front garden and we were back.
The beer was overwhelming (choice and quality) and the chips seemed to be on a conveyor belt (which we coped with). Good choice of venue. Excellent run. Great to see the hares again. Many thanks from your fellow hashers.