When you meet at a viewpoint with the countryside laid out before you, it is fairly obvious that you will be going down. Good. That also means that there will be a time when you have to come back up. Bad. So we tended to ignore the JMs and paid scant attention to the news from Miss Perfect that the trail was flat.
So we set off and at the very first check the choice was a nice straight jog or down a mountain a bit smaller than Everest. Correct, the trail did go down the mountain side with the pack scrambling down like mountain goats. No sooner had we reached the bottom than Claire found a trail that went back up. The pack did the decent thing and allowed her to run ahead as they did not want to appear sexist. It is strange that she has spent most of the previous runs near the middle or back but as soon as she purchases a hash T-shirt she is running at the front. Does the hash T-shirt hold special powers? So back up the hill and then to another check which along with many others today had been eaten by animals... yes I did say that, because that is what the hares told me and I always believe what the hares tell me. The pack then fanned out and tried to find the trail and within ten minutes we did find a spot of flour. 20 metres from the next check which was nice. We then scurried up the hillside cutting our legs with brambles until we came to a photoshoot and pics were taken by all and sundry.
Mr. Bean then found a trail which disappeared and the pack fanned out again before finding another spot only a quarter of a mile away. Another quarter of a mile and we found another spot and we knew we were on to something. The hares of course blamed animals, dogs, each other and the pack in no particular order until we heard Sinbad bellowing On On. So running AWAY from the chariots at 12 p.m we came upon a duckpond and found not one but two checks - we were being spoilt now.
By now we had a clue as to the way home. We were at the bottom of the valley and the chariots at the top so even very dim hashers guessed we were due for a climb. We were. Puffing and blowing up the hill we had two more checks before seeing the On In and a nice brisk trot into the car park. Mussolini was there waiting for us having woken up late as it was his birthday. We were going to give him the hashit but decided not to as he had brought a nice birthday cake to share so we gave the hashit for Spiderman for being Spiderman. A good fun day out in brilliant surroundings, thanks to the hares.
I had a complaint from Rasta that she is unhappy with her hashname as she is (a) not black and (b) not a Rastafarian. I put this point to the hash naming committee who felt that as they are a forgiving bunch her request to be Resta would be acceptable. However one of the naming committee (Iain Duncan Smith) said that in the new caring conservative party it would be politically incorrect to be anti black. Elvis agreed. So they reached a compromise and Resta the Rasta is acceptable. Isnít that nice?