Despite ample warning we had set off too late. Denmead always seems just that bit further than we had figured. Still, we were prepared, we had the precise location carefully loaded onto a GPS powered phone. It would be fine. In view of the late hour, we had a male rally driver wannabe revving away and a woman with the map and the GPS. Not such a good plan! Apparently we were in Hayling Island for most of the journey. It’s just as well there are street signs really. Due to our late arrival the debate had already started as to whether the run was quorate and should take place. Notable deserters were Spiderman and woman and our 1st choice of Humble Scribe, Linda and Soapbox (still being pleasured or is it cut into pieces?). The weather was perfect and we were not the last. However, let it be known, Paul Mortimer had turned up on time, so the hash had to be run.
The mighty hares were Torchy (many happy returns) and Old Faithful. We were warned of excessive length by Graham and we feared the worst seeing a mounted Torchy. Enough of that we had to run! The pack brayed and set off leaving Robin in full historical flood telling us that on this day sugar rationing ended in 1953. Dr Blood was taking notes, a pencil would have been fine, but another minor technical failure caused him to tarry and then sensing he was alone, he set off chasing a receding shirt, alas it was a devious solitary hare and the pack were elsewhere. There was an eerie silence in the woods and so there was no baying of the pack to follow. Torchy indicated vaguely leftwards so I was off seeking flour crosses to intercept the others. Meanwhile the pack was running round in circles in a wood, Graham took a few minutes to find the true trail as only falsies had been encountered. Dr Blood was missed, which is touching. Once again the phones let us down. In this sort of sticky situation (lost in a wood) lack of signal and voicemail is not a lot of use. The pack was being suitably entertained and keeping close knit, lest another was lost. ‘Twas the lack of trail finding that had inhibited the lustiness of the On On! cries, you see.
We were united in a little clearing where the pack came across a cross DrB on a cross doing his best to look nonchalant. Friends reunited, we entered the dangerous territories, inhabited by poisonous mushrooms the size of little people and numerous as a crowd. There we crossed; ditches, streams onto islands with crosses and back checks. Pru set off up a steep incline only to be thwarted by those three little dots at the top. Going up was the easy bit, so she was not best pleased and she stayed at the top, fearful she might not be upright at the bottom. On in to the Inn. The Hashit was not awarded, as it stayed with the person who had not brought it anyway. Just as well, since the scribes would have been very easy choices. Still when numbers are depleted, it seems much the best plan to award it to someone who was a no show.