Date : 19/09/17
Scribe : Mr Chips
Hounds : 37     Dogs : 0
Recorded distance : 10.01 km
Recorded time : 94.97 min
Uphillness : 368.30 ft

“Fake news!” The Donald whines. Before we mock him, should we not put our own house in order?

The report from our own correspondent last week claimed that Crazy (Alan) helped to set Mr & Mrs Chips’ r*n. Now, as we all know, Alan is a great chap, the first (of many) to have turned up for the r*n and the first to deny any knowledge of setting it – all credit to him, therefore, to be shared with Mrs Chips for doing most of the preparation and setting.

Nor should we ignore the Chips’ unending generosity in supplying a box of choccies to round off the pizza snacks: more credit to Mrs Chips for preventing Mr Chips from getting at the contents until everyone else had.

And, talking of chips, all respect to James Hilton for writing ‘Goodbye Mr Chips’ – is our correspondent’s ‘Goodnight Mr Chips’ the, as yet unpublished, sequel?

Finally, where’s Fort Knok? Colonel Bloodnock’s residence (from The Goon Show)?

But to R*n 1420, set by Aud, who ignores medical advice by running until one or both of her legs simply drop off, in which case we take it in turns to push her round in a shopping trolley (instead of it ending up in the Misbourne).

Aud adopted new hasher Jo for this hash, explaining to her the process of flour production through the ages, trail laying in the Appalachians, whale hunting in the Antarctic and how to get into advertising jewellery on the telly. Jo, feet firmly in contact with the ground, voiced her objection to drinking out of a trainer – a practice foreign to those who have missed out on expat hashing. A warning note here therefore for any leering bachelor who fancies his chances with Jo – whatever other items of clothing you remove in your efforts to impress her, leave your shoes on.

Aid, on the other hand, gave a private view of his own builder’s cleavage to illustrate the ravages wrought by Lyme’s disease which he claims to have caught recently from a Local Authority toilet seat. Fake news! What really happened is that, as a young lad, he misheard his mum’s sound advice “When you go down in the woods to-day, beware of a big tick’s size!” The rest is, as they say, history, my deer.

Sad to say, misfortune struck Elvis who had to take Our Kev home in mid-trail: how Our Kev knew that Elvis was off colour when everything – including the sky – was the colour of the mud we were squelching through, is shrouded in mystery but it is known that when all is well, the hip wiggle of both Elvis and his master are in perfect sync: when, however, Our Kev wiggles to the right and Elvis wiggles to the left or not at all, an early bath beckons.

Another new r*nner joined us for the start but as it was a bloke and with far less attractive calves than Jo’s, he’ll have to wait until he does something interesting to earn his place in future dispatches. He could do worse than produce Aud’s serving up of oodles of thin, crisp chips, followed by thick, fat ones and crisp chicken/fish wings/fingers – fitting compensation for the trail’s Passchendaele conditions.

Mr Chips