A Sunday when many of our regulars found themselves elsewhere in fields afar, and although not cold, there was a bleak look to the way dark clouds were rolling over the Northern edge of The Downs culminating in a damp wind that cut through The Unicorn's car park.

One would have every right to be surprised that eleven souls and a dog, a quiet dog at that, turned up to sample the delights of wealdland running. No JMs, so Bambi stood in and welcomed all before The Hares, god bless um, sent us of in the wrong direction, and Slightly Disappointing was the only believer.

The rest of the pack headed North on The New Lipchis Way, try saying that with a mouthful of Jacob's Cream Crackers™ (other brands of water biscuit are just as awful). We diverted from TNLW a little east to take in a series of board bridges, a chance for Bambi to reach down and whip out his small camera for some action shots.

The Ref, always wanting to look good through a lens, attempted some snazzy foot work on the bouncy boards and managed to stub his toe (ouch!) on the step up, unfortunately not caught on camera.

Continuing North, the Cold Harbour fields proved to be distinctly heavy going, we emerged on to Mill Lane four inches taller, a thick layer of topsoil under our soles. De-clagging ensued, and should have erected "Mud On Road" signs, then noticed a FP sign just across the way, headed for it and found the trail over an ultra slippery moss bound rotting wooden bridge just about keeping us above some inky black peat boggy water, this time The Ref got it right.

Now, continuing North, it was a steep climb up through Starveacre Copse, with soft brown pine needles under foot, and Slightly well ahead of us despite complaining (and complaining and complaining ...) of sciatica, try saying that with a mouthful of Walker's Wotsits Giants™ (other brands of cheese puffs are just as gobsmackingly good). The flat bit at the top loomed, but not before a fish hook that caught Slightly (ha ha), Sausage Lottery, The Ref, and Bambi.

Now we were into the undulating, sandy, acidic, scrubland of The Weald, with paths thither and yon through the tall pines and low gorse and bracken. It took us a while to find our way, North yet again, into Goldballs Plantation, turning East through The Roughs, listening to Spiderman going on and on about how he has had cortisone injected into his big toe, presumably for hallux rigidus (no patient confidentiality here), one wonders if he has rigidus anywhere else.

As we were mulling over the pleasures of old age, Sausage Lottery was busy blazing a trail ahead as we made our way further East, towards Heyshott Common, pausing for a snap in front of the last remaining pillbox in The Rother valley. We mentioned Germans marching through the woods, but I think we got away with it.

Once out in the open on the common we were able to get our bearings from the well known power cables that bisect the area, wasting no time in taking the path South West to the road at Polecats.

With the spire of St James' church ahead we had no qualms about fanning out into the massive field across the road, and found a puzzling trail that it seems made a zig zag up the light incline, whatever the hares had in mind, it did not work, best laid plans etc.

At the Southerly end we of course ran straight into the On-Out, so On-In was declared after one hour, six minutes, and forty one seconds of cool, moist, muddy, marvellous hashing.

Back at the circle, a hasty round of Down Downs was served to The Ref and Spiderman (Toe related), The Hares of course, Slightly (failed attempt to herd us to the side of the road when petrol arrived), Bambi (short cutting, what?), and the Hash-It was dropped on Sausage cos she did so many bad things, the worst of which was likening the way that Bambi was running, to a "bucking horse", at least that is what it sounded like from the other side of a field.

We then adjourned to The Unicorn, where a table in the warm had been reserved, and we drank, beer, coffee,and peanuts before some got stuck into something or other from the menu.