We don't often start at a pub and we have never started from this one before, so it was with eager enthusiasm that a relatively small number of hashers gathered outside this pub that has no large sign to declare its name to the world. Just a few days before the temperature had been in the mid twenties however on this day there was no fear of local warming as a darkening sky and strengthening ionic wind heralded the arrival of inclement and cold weather.
As the first specks of rain started to show on the dusty soil we welcomed another antipodean hasher by the name of Ping Pong who arrived with E Licks Her and Flash Woolly Socks (see run 740) all on their way back down under.
Can Man let us know that he had had news from Lilia Islas, whom some of you might remember and that she was happily running in Mexico and was somewhat derogatory about Mexican men, let's leave it at that. Tigger brought the news that our Hon president was recovering well from his recent heart operation.
So, on with the run report, and no prizes for guessing what the hares had to say, flat, dry, fish hooks and an apology for it being a ?bit of a runners hash?. As the rain became a steady stream of droplets we set forth on our quest for flour. FWS headed on the footpath north and stumbled on the On-In before being called back, while the rest headed east towards Quin Hay Farm.
Now the storm really set in with driving rain and howling wind from the south, and it was cold to boot, not warm summer rain, I did not know that Dogwhistle knew some of the words that she uttered as the wet yellow snake of runners made its way through the barley to Warren Corner and a regroup in the shelter of trees. I couldn't say who lead us there, as being a four eyed git my specs were misted up.
The downpour abated as we resumed our search for the now soggy stuff, and our number was swelled by the arrival of Pink Flamingo and Dr Blood who had followed the arrows that Bika had been laying from the start (we should try to remember to do this more often if you ask me). Soon we were following the trail north east along the high side of The Warren, definitely going off piste here as Old Faithful and Olive Oyl proved good spotters of obscure blobs on tree trunks in the gloom.
As we popped out of the trees on to the road just north of Warren Farm we were swelled further by the arrival of Mussolini, Splasher and Pancsi and the sun came out to greet them. So now quite a sizeable pack soon found the path north west from Five Ash Farm and then along the road to Slade Farm all in one go, quite a slog, but it was getting a bit warmer and ? Oh! Oh! Fish Hook (3) which caught yours truly, FWS and Olive Oyl, blast!
All that remained now was a long gradual climb south up towards Mill Mound through lovely meadow land with a heard of prime Limousine bullocks gently chewing the cud, well that was until Pancsi and Ping Pong barged through their midst.
Soon the inn with no name came into sight as we reached the On-In after one hour and seven minutes of damp but exhilarating hashing.
At the circle, we thanked the hares for a great trail on virgin ground, then yours truly was mentioned for wearing the knobbily knee enhancing long yellow socks and then there was Splasher who on late arrival had sensibly suggested just having a beer and not going out in the rain. Old Faithful however topped the list for displaying cunning and admitting to holding back on the long straight bits for fear of the dreaded fish hook.