The first bubble in seasonal dress slowly emerged from their cocooning chariots into the misty gloom, to hear about arrows trumping falsies, I started to think that we were going to have a Whist Drive, while Aragorn for some reason was going mad trying to snap at those little blobs of water that bounce up when rain hits a puddle, this was much better than the usual ear splitting whine.

Soon we were splashing around in circles on the sports field looking for direction, like Homing Pigeons, until we were drawn to the west, to the road, by the war memorial, and then North on the road, passing a large frog that had not quite made it across, so unlucky considering the frequency of traffic in these parts.

The faltering rain gave up as we left the road to continue north on a farm track, following Stomping Donkey, meandering around the edges of the deep puddles in a futile attempt to keep dry feet.

With Popple Hill on our right, we descended through a delightful oak lined meadow with the sun suddenly beaming at our backs.

At the bottom we crossed the slick footbridge over a tributary of The Rother into the leafless oak, ash, and birch of Middleheath Copse. So far so good, in fact very good, lovely soft recent leaf fall under foot, dappled sunlight, undulating paths as we proceeded apace north east on the high ground above the boggy little valley below. Then we seriously ran out of trail.

The Hare whom we had left in our wake, eventually turned up and appeared as mystified as us. No matter, he whipped out his little GPS thingy, he wiped the sweat off his specs, focussed on the plastic wrapped master plan and said "interesting", just like a doctor about to give you bad news. Then "trust me I am a doctor", so we followed him, first west, then south, then east, then more or less back to where we started.

We noticed this, as we met up with the second bubble who seemed as sure of their position as we were. Anyway, an accidental violation of mingling regulations almost occurred as twelve people did their best to avoid each other.

Out came the GPS thingy, another perusal of the master plan, I think it was turned through 180 degrees, before we played follow the Hare back the way we had come, now going west, east and north into Graffham Common.

Mostly tall pine, and the bright midday sun was casting deep black shadows.

The trail now made a conventional clockwise loop of Gallows Hill, with falsies tempting us up and then down the slopes. This is very energy sapping, eventually the only Hashers in the bubble with any energy left seemed to be Stomping Donkey and Showjumper, I think that they are inexhaustible.

Yes we did see the big wooden sheep on a pig at the top.

I need to mention the shiggy, there is a band of shiggy to the south of the common, this was negotiated both on the way into and the way out of. The first time there was respect for the quagmire, weaving in and out finding dryer spots. The second time, straight through, knee deep in slurry. On both occasions the dogs emerge as dark brown lumps with legs at the corners, these reappear as dogs as soon as they shake off the slimy stucco as close to you as possible.

Leaving the Common by the outward path we found the rest of the way in to be a reverse of the way out. Stopping only to rinse our legs in some of the clear pools along the way we arrived back at the chariots after one hour and twentyseven minutes of mild, mad, muddy Hashing.

Distanced unfolded chairs, raised voice thanks to the Hares, some careful migration of the odd mince pie, a discussion of our JM's remaining in place until......?

Have a merry Christmas echoing as we left to get home and get to the hose pipes.