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Scribes Q4 2006
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834 The Hare Tells the Truth…..Mostly We assembled in front of the pub, and the hare gave the usual type pre-run instructions. Here’s a pub quiz. 1. Only
one of the following statements by the hare is false. Which one? 2. Again,
Rob told the truth, mostly. Which of his statements below turned out
to be false? 3. Compared
with Rob’s usual runs, this one was 4. The
food at the on-in was 5. Lenore
is taking this opportunity to (shamelessly) advertise a good Christmas
concert
Run
no 833 Unexpected
place at dog skool. I followed on about 5 minutes later, and soon caught up. In that 5 minutes the hash had progressed a full 150 ft, and what were they doing when I caught them up, resting! It was here, well I think it was here, that the Hash split into two, the long and the short. The shorts went straight on, and the longs went down the hill and back up again to join the shorts at exactly the same time (Ed’s note, that sounds like time travel to me did I miss a breakthrough?). All very impressive just like when the two parts of the London marathon join, But with only 1000th the impact. Still it makes a change, the short's usually slip off to the pub at this point, when there is no one watching. Gypsy Mick was having such a good time that it all got the better of him, he started talking about entering the Cardiff Marathon next year as he had heard that it was flat. Mick, it’s flat and 26 miles. If he's taking his medication he's not taking the correct dose. Of course I'm forgetting it's through the streets of the city, plenty of opportunity to sell some pegs on the way, and maybe the odd drive to tarmac. Now you may be aware of the dog obedience school that tacks on to the hash every week, the one run by Whipping Boy ..well it’s at this time that it becomes apparent the one of the charges has gone AWOL. After a count up it is revealed that Dexter is missing and a search is put into place. Meanwhile the rest of the hash has moved on and discovered a large hole in the middle of the woods. When I arrive Yob and Potter have already thrown themselves in, and Ewan (keen to show that driving his brother's VW camper is all about life style) is about to surf down the sides on his arse! All this after last week, acting as the perfect gentleman and clearing a wooded path of branches for Jo with his genitalia. (Ed, Ade seems to be implying that Ewan is clearing the path but that Jo has his genitalia, again, perhaps I missed it) What a man!! We move as one up through the woods to a road. Whipping Boy thinks that his school is intact, when it dawns on him that the wayward Dexter has cleared off again. Lots of calling and whistling results, good echo is discovered and trying it out on confuses the dog and sends him belting off in the wrong direction. He eventually returns with a long line of cars trailing behind him. Next bit is a long straight road with a large puddle stretching right across the road. This has been put there to run through, and run through it was, except the GM. and a couple of the committee I think. THIS IS JUST NOT ON and is setting a bad example to the younger and less experienced members like myself. Now that's the runs report done. But wait a mo, it’s Tosca night again, just as I thought that I had finished. Why it happens every time I have to write this stuff, no one reads this tosh anyway. Anyway in the pub it’s Tosca night like I said, and Rob decides to play a little jokey pokey on the GM. and makes out that he has forgotten to bring it with him, only just as the GM is about to burst a blood vessel at his stupidity he produces it from under his jacket. Oh Dear, teasing the GM is playing with fire let me tell you, there will be retribution have no fear. Watch this space. Any way guess who won the Tosca, Yes Ewan, the first member of the hash ever to snag his wedding tackle on a tree. Beat that. Well I expect there will be more next week, so set your alarm clock and make sure you're there early, Rob's going to die for his cheek and it should be good. Oh and by the way, I think a place in the dog school has become available. Good bye. What of Dexter's schooling? Well he's coming along…..
Moose’s
Birthday Run Dear Reader,
The Birthday Boy arrived in the rear car park with a smirk on his face. What were we in for tonight? Was it to be another vertical mud slide up to the Motorway? How many times would we go up and down the dry ski slope tonight? Do we get another lung searing grind up to the redundant Ercol Factory on the north of the valley? Was it to be another run along the toxic waste area masquerading as a stream? It was all the more surprising really, as all portents of a miserable night before us proved to be utterly wrong, - we had a cracking run over beautiful countryside - and at a fair clip too. Have you noticed that as Ade gets older, he has gained more of a gentle nature? Ade was kind to us before we even started having given the ‘Shorts’ the opportunity to split off from the pack at the entrance to the pub car park. However, trouble was brewing not far away. We might have seen it coming whilst being briefed, - had we been more astute. ‘Disaster on the M40 Motorway near High Wycombe’ Sally Traffic announced on BBC Radio 2. ‘M40 Carnage caused by excessive noise in a pedestrian underpass by rogue runners’ screamed the much read Wycombe Evening Sentinel. The next day. I’m told that a certain Mr Eddie Stobart, Mr Christian Salvesen and Mr Wincanton Logistics are about to sue the rowdy running crowd whose shouts and whistles distracted 3 of their drivers 30 feet beneath their haulage vehicles whilst driving along the motorway at 50mph. On On down to The Crooked Billet then back up through Bloom Wood, Warren Wood and onto Hard to Find Farm we went. It was superb canter on a Tuesday in November but, this must surely be a wonderful run in the summer. Please note the next Hare to volunteer for this area. Unlike the poor unfortunate Euan, who, half a mile later careered into a branch the width of a cricket bat handle and fell down on the ground clutching a private area iin agony. Now, Whipping Boy knows a thing or two about animal husbandry having inflicted several injuries to sheep on hashes before. ‘Wow, did you hear the noise of the branch breaking and shall I rub his Xxxxxxs for him’ he enquired? (Ed's note, after a quick look around to check that Lucy wasn't there a lady who will remain anonymous, (but if she wasn't anonymous would be called Jo) offered a similar service. Thinking quickly for once, I advised Whipping Boy to refrain from becoming a field hospital medic but I have to confess that I did hear the loud retort. On reflection however, I’m not so sure that the breaking noise ACTUALLY came from the branch itself, - but I’m sure that that is something that Lucy with verify with us next week when we recount the incident around the bar Now if you don’t already know it, Euan actually works with timber all day at the Wycombe University. How fitting therefore that this testicular injury will become the source of mirth with his work mates for the next week or so. It certainly proved to be the highlight of Ade’s run and we all hope that Euan’s voice will soon drop from falsetto. Back on down the hill to Chez Ade fortunately without the annual visit to Chernobyl Channel, - where jam doughnuts and beer awaited us. Thank you Ade and Gilly for your hospitality, but is it just me or does a mixture of sugar, jam and hops curtail or assist our running performance? -’cos the run back to the pub seemed to take forever. If Ade failed at all with his run it was observed in the assembled fraternity’s communal disappointment of not seeing the world’s most expensive mountain bike he has been telling us about for 3 weeks. Oh what a laugh we could all have had in testing it to loosen it up a bit. Now, having tried out Moose’s, - ‘new last year’, - carbon fibre, all singing, Sturmey Archered, £3million beast when I nearly split my tights on the upturned axe purporting to be a saddle, I was left wondering just how much sharper the upturned axe would be on his ‘new this year’ latest investment. Sadly Dear Reader
Ade, yet again, watched by his two sons and the rest of the Hash in
the pub,- what with senile dementia firmly setting in, - we found
that the Birthday Boy’s breath was so short and laboured that
he failed, several times, to blow out the two imaginary candles on
his imaginary cake that we failed to organise for him. All he could
manage was to ram a peanut up his nose whilst attempting to emulate
the well known bar trick of ramming a peanut up your own nose.
Date
14 November 2006 Roll
up, tune in, log on to “Drinkers in need”, the weekly
show that seeks to raise public awareness about the problems that
some drinkers have and that alcohol cannot fix. Tonight’s
venue is Denham, a quiet street by a quiet stream near a six lane
byway. David, and Miss L too, (a Xmas pun) chose this setting because
they hoped to irritate the Nimby-c nerve of the residents and so raise
awareness for the cause.
Date
7 November 2006-11-12 The hash started in the usual way – Roger explaining the rules followed by me checking in the wrong direction. Well, actually there was a twist – though I didn’t find any flour and had to turn back towards the pub (passing the window of a Chinese restaurant for the second time. There were two diners in the window, a man and a blonde – do remember these people as they turn up again). Half way back the pack started running in my direction – so I had to run back past the somewhat startled faces of the diners in the restaurant yet again. Then someone who will remain nameless (Phil Crooks) called us back again! – with me passing the diners for a fourth time. Only to find that I had been going the right way all along – so I turned around and ran past the diners for THE FIFTH TIME. I am sure the gentleman (who was a big bloke) was getting up to find out what I was playing at – but fortunately the site and sound of a screaming hoard of hairy hashers sent him scurrying back to his table, his date, his food and his reflections. After that the run went a bit downhill for me. It shouldn’t have done, as Roger had said it was totally going to be flat, but it did. (Aside, I actually counted three “totally flat” hills on the way around the 5.5 miles of the hash). We soon turned off the A40 onto the first of a series of roads. If we hadn’t, about a mile further along we would have arrived at the archaeological site of a Roman Kiln (at the appropriately named Kiln Court). But we didn’t, we turned right into the Spinny, followed by Wattlington Road, Butlers Court Road and Tilesworth Road before leaving the tarmac and heading into Wood Walk - named, presumably because it is a wood and you can walk through it (aside: on the same theory I wonder what the Butler was caught doing to have a road named after him?) Three roads further on came the Long Short Split and the shorties headed back to the pub. All of a sudden Helen came into her own – and started dashing everywhere at maniacal speed and dragging the pack reluctantly along behind her (usually falling further and further behind her). Some of the more sedate and august hashers (OK, slower) at the back started muttering things like “Nobble her”, “Cut her legs off below the knee” and “Time for a kneecap job”- but it was only talk (they wouldn’t have been able to catch her to do it anyway). Eventually we found ourselves in the high street and knowing where the pub was we headed back towards it – the entire pack following Helen yet again. This was a shame as Roger sneakily took us down to the railway station. The knowing hashers then realised that there were only two ways back – over the railway bridge or, as Ken elegantly put it “Bl****” miles in the wrong direction (yes, he has a way with words at times of stress doesn’t he). So over the bridge we went. With hindsight this too was a mistake, as we had to go back and go the other way! By now the back runners were beginning to flag – but we still had to run almost to the other side of Beaconsfield before doubling back and wiggling through the oldest part of the town. Because the buildings we passed were so old I decided to look up the history of Beaconsfield on the internet and was somewhat surprised to find that Beaconsfield was the scene of a minor gold rush in back in 1877 and “by1896 the mine reached depths in excess of 250 metres”. Soon after this it flooded and, although it was eventually pumped dry by the “Beaconsfield Pumpers …. the rising costs and equipment breakdowns were outweighing the revenue from gold recovered”. And if you think I just made that up here is the reference http://www.tco.asn.au/oac/community_history.cgi?oacID=29 Then it was back to the pub for a well deserved pint and the inner peace that only comes from knowing either you have had a good run or you don’t have to do it again for another 7 days!
Run
No 828 Those awaiting the release of the latest result of the now regular collaboration between legendary director Gerry Palmer and HWH3wood film studios have finally had their blood thirst quenched. In fact judging by the blood splats in the toilets, I would judge that many a vessel was filled to more than overflowing. Loosely based on the 80’s classic tale of human endeavour pitting man against man, Gerry’s ‘Chariots of Fear’ instead pits a lone runner against a motley crew of beasts and ghouls as a simple evenings hash turns into a night of torment and terror. Set in the gloriously spooky woods of Speen and Hampden the wonderful array of spectres and miscreants left nothing to the imagination, with fangs and fearful faces a plenty. Given the history of litigation against his last epic, the extent of Gerry’s plagiarism is even more risky than his most ardent fans have come to expect and his inclusion of characters lifted straight from the soon to be released remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre must rank as suicidal. However, his ability to seamlessly merge such diverse players as Martin Bell (suffering from a single gunshot wound to the head but still able to affect an admirable stride), an elf from Toytown and two female surgeons with an unhealthy desire for the open jugular is nothing short of incredible. Even Scooby’s shaggy made an appearance with a knife deftly slung straight through his temples. As the plot unfolded and the blood mixed with the untainted mud of the Chiltern Hills, it became apparent that Gerry had been unable to persuade the studios to part with the huge fees now demanded by the likes of Souper Cooper & Whipping Boy (fancy dress boys not women’s clothing). However, with only the three wolves available to him the fang count was still as high as we come to expect. Undeterred, Gerry was able to cast the GM in a multitude of characters ranging from highwayman to French maid (who’s a dandy highwayman now then) as the story took an excursion into local folklore surrounding a certain Master Cooper highwayman & nearby witches pond at Highwood Bottom. Refreshed on gory details and chuffing good brain fodder, the lone hasher attempted an escape by checking to the right, only to be pulled back into the fray for further scares as the ghostly Martin Bell momentarily became full bodied once again & swapped platelets with a blood soaked surgeon during an on back. As the troop emerged from the darkened woods onto a partially lit tarmac surface, Count Dracula and The Scream (appearance courtesy of some Danish museum or Police evidence room I forget which just now) along with other walk-on extras took fright at the alien running surface and scurried off back into the woods for more blood letting before dawn. Meanwhile the remainder of the characters (including Day-Glo pumpkin, Pumpkin head & Pumpup pumpkin) made their way from Turnip End down the valley to Guy’s Spring before things got really nasty and all hearts were ripped apart by a horrendous incline that left both Brother Fishnet and Ken’s ghoulish reincarnation getting close to being pierced through the heart by wooden stakes as the stiles fought back with vengeance. So, grim was the next passage in the story that the director even issued a voice over warning about the depth of the darkness approaching and the rattling of bones from the devilish skeletons proved particularly eerie, so the local landowners had installed totem poles and issued noise abatement notices to ward off the evil spirits aroused by Palmers film making. In my mind the
grand finale should have seen a regrouping of the full cast of creeps
& ghouls returning to their natural haunt to feast upon the flesh
of the lone runner, however this is probably something a bit too close
to my our personal fantasy & shouldn’t be expressed in this
hallowed page. Instead, once returned to their favourite hostelry
and with the hapless locals dispatched scurrying into their nearby
motor coaches in mortal fear of their lives. Palmer & the GM blew
a further few raspberries at the Hollywood establishment by conducting
their own mini Oscar ceremony amongst the ghouls whilst feasting upon
the fine flesh of potato and drinking the blood of hops. A fitting
end to one of Palmers best productions of late, unfortunately unless
any bootleg copies were made, this production copy has been seized
by lawyers representing the top five Hollywood studios and is unlikely
to see the light of day (or should that be dark of night) ever again.
Run
No 827 The Lions at
Bledlow is a famous old pub with the attraction of a humungous car
park excellent for our ever-increasing following.
Run
No. 826
There once was
a man called Palmer However, I never seem to learn from my mistakes and I opened the envelope only to discover…. There once was
a hasher called Barney The long and
short once again did part OnOn and OnOn
we went We ran on like
a rutting young buck The hare had
left us one surprise,
Well Done Barney and all this with not feeling well. Remind me not to turn up whe you are better, in Ken’s words “More flour lets give Tesco even more power!! Ed’s note (1) The long run
got lost, it turned and it tossed Ed’s note (2) As of always
our Lenore Then went back
- a whole five feet “Is there
“Kick me” on my back?
Run
Report No 1 (Yes, there are two this week!)
The Plough nestles amongst the beech woods at the foot of the Chilterns so there is really only one way to go. So it was no surprise when on-on was called in the general direction of up. Having myself subjected the hash to several stinking climbs the previous week there was considerable grumbling as we ascended the footpath at the side of the pub heading towards Whiteleaf Soon afterwards the hash split and the short cutters headed off in a downhill direction while we long cutters were subjected to an extended crippling gradient, eventually emerging on top of the hill overlooking the Whiteleaf Cross. On previous occasions Rob has taken the hash across the brow of the hill onto the cross itself (a huge carving in the chalk) and I was looking forward to seeing the fine views over Princes Greensborough and beyond when “on-on” was called and we plunged back down the hill and into the wood again. Further down the hill we came to the cricket field were we met the short cutters again. The hare then proceeded to give them a dressing down for not waiting back at the golf club as intended. Anaracistic lot those short cutters not like us law abiding long cutters! Time to climb some more hills so off we all went through some twisting footpaths until we came to the road which was Whiteleaf hill. We were now below whiteleaf Cross and crossed the road to climb the hill on a footpath parallel to the road. It was a hard slog but we eventually gained the top of the hill after crossing back over the road once more again just missing the fine views over Princes Risborough. From here it should have been downhill all the way back to the pub, but hashing isn't like that especially with Rob as the hare. He sent us down the hill then up again on false trails and climbs that had everyone climbing hand over hand with numerous on backs until eventually we arrived back at the pub tired and weary. Good hash Rob maybe a little more flour next time would be good. Run Report No 2 Date
Tuesday 10 October Set off from home, on time and went via Naphill, Walter's Ash (don't ask) and West Wycombe, to Cadmore End. At The Ship Inn, the car park was remarkably empty. No matter, there is another pub up the road. Up the road we went. One Pub. No Hash. Maybe we're where we're not meant to be? Quick call home. Push sprog off MSN and find that we should be in Cadsden. Moral. Never trust your memory of an indistinct conversation with the hare to be. Called Karen. She, being a bright girl, had come to the same conclusion as my party. Not enough time to get to Cadsden. Why not have a live, flourless, HASH of our own? Good plan. Off to the Old Sun. Obligatory wee stop then off we went. Karen lead the way as it is her local area, adapting one of her dog or kiddie walks for the occasion.
Run
No. 824
Run
No. 824 Eds Aside - 43 runners - Our biggest hash ever bar the children's runs! Unaware (or possibly forgetful?) of the rule that last week’s hare is the next week’s scribe, a combination of late from work and failure to use my GPS this week, resulted in me arriving too late to find pen and paper to take notes for the Hash Trash diary, so details may be lacking this week! In fact it was only through the generosity of Beverley and Roger, who valiantly stayed behind to guide me that I caught the trail at all! However, to the event itself. Firstly, our special thanks must go to Aud and Ryan, who valiantly overcame their wounds and injuries from the Chiltern marathon run and walk combination to organise a hash without using either quad bikes or zimmer frames to assist them! Starting from the wonderfully scenic village of Hambledon, (which was new to me – has it ever been used as a film set?) the pack trotted off into the woods, chatting away as hashers do - after a busy day at work and with the thought of plenty of exercise to clear the mind and help develop a thirst for proper beer in a proper pub in a proper village in our fine land! Amongst the stories recounted that night, was the saga of our illustrious GM and his recent marathon coast to coast cycle ride – 145 miles and various injuries over the course of 4 days if me ears and memory have served me right – good stuff David! The evening’s outing also provided rocket man, alias Peter Kettle, with the opportunity to conduct running negotiations with various volunteers and conscripts regarding our entries for the impending Clarendon marathon relay – dashing back and forth along the line of hashers, he cajoled and informed various members of their opportunities and/or duties, prior to later handing out full details, in the pub garden, whilst we recuperated from our exercise. But I get ahead of myself – with a turn out of about 40 runners, including even more virgin hashers or arrivals from other packs this week, we fielded a long string of runners who enjoyed the usual choice of long and short runs, with an intermediate split added later on. I intended to ask Aud for a map, to find out where we went, but I became so engrossed with Clarendon negotiations in the pub garden (“OK Peter, I will run a leg, but don’t forget I don’t do hills, so can I run a flat leg?”) that I forget to do so and I remain woefully ignorant of where we ran, including where the secret long/short split took place – I say secret because a large group of hashers stood nattering at a check in the wood for some time before we realised that Aud was no longer with us and someone asked if she had got lost, but a rough head count suggested that she had set of with the shorts, who were too modest to call goodbye!
Date
: 19
September2006 There can be no doubt that a lot of thought went into planning the run – also a GPS as, upon asking for a map I was also given a very impressive colour-coded print out of all 20+ checks, all complete not just with detailed co-ordinates and directions, but also with actual height above sea level! So we started off at 99 ft above sea level and went up 5 ft before we got to the first check point – which confused me as I had thought it was downhill. I eventually realised that there was a little bump at the end, so it actually worked out quite well. A left turn at Yew Tree cottage and an interestingly called “Straight on to the left” took us to Andrew Hill Lane (height 166 ft) where I overheard the question “Can you ever get tired of sleeping?” Sadly as I was checking I didn’t hear the reply. Through Little Wood and on to the first of a series of regroups where, at the third, the shorties left us and headed due south through Summerlins Wood. The brave and intrepid Long cutters pressed fearlessly on around the back of Burnham beeches. By the 8th check we had risen to a stunning 379 ft, each one of which I could feel in my legs. Lots of comments about the lack or Park Rangers as they normally tell us off when we run through the Beeches. Somewhere around here Jo, who on last week’s run had told us all about the things she was prepared to do in bed, continued with a very graphic account along a similar theme, this time about things she liked to do in her car, many of them involving her top. When she realised that it was my turn to do the write up I think her comment was “Oh God, I’m sunk” We descended to a regroup at a mere 287 ft somewhere in the middle of Staplefurze Wood. I looked up this wood on the internet hoping to discover why it had such a strange name. There is exactly one mention of it on Google – and that was on our own website and a run we did earlier in the year! We
skirted uphill around Egypt Wood reaching one of the highpoints of
the run (406ft), (aside, what do you call a mean Ancient Egyptian
leader? Un-fair-oh, before descending through the next four checks
down to 148 ft. Here we joined Dukes Drive in the Beeches and had
to run all the way back up to 384ft by the next check. Lesley did
her usual uphill sprint and Roger informed me that he had been slightly
offended by last week’s and the slur it cast on engineers –
so especially for him:- The second condemned person is a revolutionary agitator, the lever is pulled and again the blade doesn't stays up. He cries out: "The revolution cannot be stopped!" and he is pardoned. The third condemned man is an engineer. He looks up, points and says, "I think your problem is the cable is sticking right there..."
The hash got of to an interesting start. Our bearded Hare for the evening arriving 5 minutes later than everyone else had, in his absence, raised hopes of an early pint. Alas, out of the gloom he appeared just as several hands were reaching for wallets. A good start? It was to get better. Off we trotted, down a road I don’t know the name off, to a track heading off towards somewhere else, heading in a decidedly downish direction. The only sound drifting through the thick evening air was, as usual, Ade – heartily rejoicing Helens absence as he was under the impression that this would make the run easier. Not so, the glee was replaced by a flight a steps leading, according to the map, to nowhere. With On-Ons replaced by strangled moans the hounds limped of into some woods, somewhere. At this point it is customary to describe the remaining route. That’s not going to happen I’m afraid, and it’s not my fault. I challenge anyone to look where they’re running and eavesdrop on a conversation along the lines of: (female identity
hidden due to the personal nature of the conversation) With this off I ran, fingers in ears. Eds note - Ewan missed the best but was when the un named lady (Jo) said "I'll do anything in bed provided I can get to sleep eventually Through the woods we went, to some fields, between here and there, and over a couple of fences, over which a kind farmer had installed a sturdy style stile. Resting on said fence furniture, catching its slimy breath was a dainty little snail. Dick, monopod lover at heart, cried “Mind the snail” at exactly the same time the Alex’s foot landed with a heart wrenching ‘crunch’. So incensed by this act of savagery was Dick, I fear it no coincidence that when Alex took a high speed moose (smashing his torch and grazing his knee, with the face saved by beard alone) it was he stood behind him, with a strange look in his eye, and a smile beginning to curl around his lips. Moral of the story; Do as Dick says. This vicious encounter also coinsided with the second long short split, and those who did not want to risk the ‘Snail Mans’ wrath took a left that led somewhere, presumably back to the boozer. Those braver souls headed up, up, up up and away. After running in a uppish fashion for seemingly far further than possible the faint glow of the pub was visible, and with that came the on inn. Back in the pub was the usual eerie quiet often associated with full moons, the witching hour and GM’s holidays. It came upon Gerry to break the spell to announce, in her absence, Helens Birthday and 50th run. Always seemed a nice girl, but nothing compared with her twin sister (the one with the glasses and cardigan) what a looker! Ade upset the barman (surprised?) by leaning on the fish tank, and then telling everyone else, in his usual quiet and conservative manner, not to follow suit. Helen rounded off the evening by possibly arriving as late as possible, drinking a half, and being informed that her left breast was the most sought after slice of cake. Good firm cake it was too. Getting a lift home with Jo, I can confirm that her car seats are dry, so it is not the soft top that drips… All in all the sort of fun that you look forward to every Tuesday, now that the Bill is not on. Cheers Hare
Date
: 5 September 2006 Every now and
then on a HASH, we set a first. And last Tuesday’s HASH, from
the Black Lion in Naphill, was such an occasion. Two virgin hares,
the Brown girls, Lucy and Rewana (pronunciation silent R, silent a). At Piggotts Wood, shorts went left with Lucy, and the longs went astray with the lady in a red dress. We paused to admire the view down the valley, which is magnificent on a summer’s day, but had to be imagined when we passed by. There followed
a long stretch through Piggott’s Wood, with Bryant’s Bottom
below us on the right. As we ran, we could hear a loud and raucous
bellowing coming from the field beside us. It seemed to follow us.
Some likened it to a flock of grizzly bears, others to football hooligans.
However we were wrong. A newly thirty-something female informed us
that we were listening to the demanding sound of un-sated heifers.
The look on her face suggested she had just come back from holiday.
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