In Chichester it was a sunny Sunday, cool and bright. North of Harting Down was pea soup and five degrees cooler. Miraculously quite a few hashers found their way to the little car park by the church and most soon realised that they should have brought warmer gear.
Stitch-up was accompanied by his misses, French Virgin (aka Suvi) as the only new face in the pack.
As usual the JMs said very little which is strange considering they are both of the feminine persuasion, however the hares were full of warnings about mud, hills, and slippery roots which turned out to be justified for a change.
After a bit of messing about in the village we were soon on our way south through Mill Barn Farm with those ominous wooded slopes ahead somewhere in the mist. Flash and Stitch-up were working hard as we reached the first serious check that involved a petty little loop over two slippery as hell stiles Thoughts of the previous hash's casualty raced through the old grey matter, but we all managed to survive this time. By the way, Hairbrush is now really plastered and will be for weeks to come, just think of having an un-scratchible itch on your knee and take pity.
Meanwhile the pack made its way through Redlands and scaled the slopes of Mount Sinai. We do not have a religious adviser so no one made any jokes about taking the tablets etc, anyway the only sound around in the fog was that of the huffing and puffing and thanking of hares. Next it was east along the edge and no one wanting to check down hill when we came to the inevitable check. Flash and yours truly took the plunge down the obvious and easier path towards Elsted Hanger only to find it false and were then faced with a climb back up under the smiling face and folded arms of Mussolini. The rest had found the less obvious path down Rook Clift which was an elf and safety nightmare, imagine a narrow almost vertical embankment down a line of old trees with wet grass and dead leaves covering wet slippery roots at all angles. Another miracle and no fatalities was the talking point as we had a brief regroup at Manor Farm to calm down.
Old Faithful was then tempted to take the ploughed field path west while the rest of us found the true trail east and then north through Treyford and a bit of belt up the road with Bika showing good form in front. Another belt west along the road back towards Redlands with a check after about a million miles. No one was tempted to check further along the road so we all headed towards Westfield Hanger and then soon found the path over the fields to the On-Inn behind The Three Horseshoes after one hour and four minutes of wandering around in the mist.
At the circle the JMs said that they had not seen anything untoward on account of the fog and that Dogwhistle had forgotten to bring the Hash-It so they decided that Stitch-Up will carry it around on the next run to help slow him down a bit. Most then walked back to the pub for a bit of de-misting, and missed the return of Olive Oyl and Popeye who had arrived late and had spent the morning trying to catch up with the calling that was echoing around from all directions through the gloom.