A fabulous sunny mild day might have had something to do with the good number of hashers who made the trek to The Lands End, which is as far east as it gets for us.
Visitors Wild Bush and Keeps It Up, Brighton H3, were welcomed by our JMs before the hares warned us of welly deep water, steep muddy drops, and a regroup mark that looked like a CND symbol.
Off we went accompanied by a Kinky and Bambi horn medley, some up France Lane and some north alongside Patching Pond. The wetter route proved true, it being difficult to tell the difference between path and pond.
To save endless repetition during this account please understand that every step of this hash was into mud of various depth and consistency.
Barry and Kinky were the luck mud skippers to find their way past the north end of the pond and north west to Coldharbour Lane then up The Street to the church. A bit of a slog up the hill north behind the church with a fish hook j4 which caught Keeps It Up, Old Faithful, Keith and Bambi arrrgh! was followed by a dog leg east to a good check just above the reservoir.
Time ticked while all the front runners tried the marked FPs to no avail, they should have looked on the "wrong" side of the hedge to find a leg sapping trail north west to the regroup near the crest of Patching Hill. Pink Flamingo and Dr Blood joined us on the way, having been delayed by the need to apply sun tan lotion.
On the restart it was Sinbad who sniffed out the way west towards The Buckmans and then Barry and Keeps It Up went charging off south east through Barnstake Copse until they came to a big check south of Surgeon's Fields.
Time ticked again while we watched Olive Oyl heading south into the valley and then returning to follow us west to Selden Farm and bad boy Malibog shortcut his way through a crop of winter wheat.
Now it was toss a coin time, either south up the dry road to The Fox and On-In, or east through a swamp and then south through a quagmire and On-In. No prizes for guessing the route by which we returned to the chariots after one hour and twenty six minutes of dancing on a mucky sponge in the sunlight.
Some were already part way through their second alcoholic beverage of the day when the JMs raised a cheer for the Hares and counselled Spiderman on his proclivity for yelling "lost trail" every ten yards. Then it was pick on the youngsters time, Thom had managed to keep clean dry feet somehow, but even better James was presented with the wooden seat because the mud had sucked off both of his shoes twice.