As arrivals trickled into the car park a new face was spotted, "Is this the hash?" he asked, "my name is Phillip, I have hashed in Saigon and I would like to hash here, but I am worried that you will be too fit and fast for me, I am afraid that I might be substandard". "Yes" we said, "we are all very fast and extremely fit as it happens", fingers firmly crossed behind our backs, "do you have a Hash Name?" we ask, "I'm afraid not" he says, "well you do now" we say, "what is it?" he says, "Substandard!" we say.

By the appointed hour all that were expected had arrived, all except Prancer that is. Prancer it seems had got hold of a duff postcode and the beguiling lady behind the dashboard had lured him away for the morning with her authoritative "turn right now!" commands.

We had a vote, unanimously in favour of abandoning our Bubbles and hashing as a single pack, socially distanced of course, after all there were less than thirty of us, so it would be all Kosher.

A bit more like old times, the hares spun the usual lies before we departed North East gradually climbing through the green light of a new canopy of leaves among the beeches of Lambdown Hill.

So, what? just fifteen minutes after starting, the majority of the extremely fit and fast pack had started to walk, allowing a few to get well ahead as we reached the plethora of bike trails at the crown of the hill.

In their infinite wisdom, the Hares had foreseen this situation and laid a multitude of false trails at the main junction just North of the resting bench that overlooks Stoughton. This was going to be the check that brought us all back to our socially distanced togetherness. The "best laid plans" clause in the contract kicked in, as out of all the trails at her disposal, the first Hasher to arrive, Romping Donkey, chose the true trail first and was clearly heard calling us on to the East from the top of the ridge that overlooks Kingley Vale.

Now the pack became even more strung out as we headed North towards Blackbush House with a view clear to The Trundle on our right.

At last, the complicated check near the house served to gather us together and we all took the tricky descent through the tall old pines to Greatdean Bottom.

As the name suggests, most of the ways out of the Bottom are UP, accordingly it was not long before those with the energy, Romping Donkey, Snake Charmer, Kinky, Bika etc. were all over the various slopes while those with less energy engaged in distanced socialising at the Check.

It was not until Dr Blood got to the log piles in the only downward direction that we were all able to move on North into Wildhams Wood.

The lay of the land is relatively much gentler in these woods, with a good mixture of birch, beech, hazel and fir of different ages and the odd Yew adding dark green patches amongst fresh green spring growth.

This part of the Hash should have been straightforward, however a Hash saboteur had been at work, which strangely added some extra interest to the trail as parts became an exercise in forensic examination of flour residue.

Amongst the trees there was enough wild garlic in bloom to make ones eyes water after only a few sniffs, so with tears in our eyes we realised that we had reached the On-In after just one hour and seven minutes of stop go Hashing.

Out came the venerable Hash-It, not seen for some time, and it was presented to Romping Donkey for being just too lucky in finding the true trails, get her to pick your lottery numbers when you see her next.

A small circle remained on the grassy slope above the car park, nattering about nothing in particular, until a cool breeze from the North West attracted us to the warmth of a car heater on the way home.