Run	Date	Hare(s)	Description	MapRef	1:50000	1:25000	1:10000	More
993	2022-10-09 11:00	Old Faithful & 2 Ferrets	Slindon Cricket Club Mill Road	SU968076

Slindon Cricket Club; the season is over, so the car park will be empty, right?...wrong!. Hiding, out past deep square leg, is a soccer pitch and also home to that old Sussex game of Stoolball, which is either hitting a ball with a stool or hitting stool with a ball one supposes. In any event there were already chariots all over the place as hashers were arriving because a soccer game was in full swing.

In some ways it is fortunate that we do not get large turnouts these days otherwise the parking situation would have been embarrassing.

The weather was as good as it gets, golden end of summer sunshine, a "The Simpsons" clouded sky and a fresh crisp light breeze, cool in the shade and warm when exposing oneself.

Did the Hares tell us anything ? I can't remember, oh yes, there will be NO fish hooks, apparently Two Ferrets holds them in low regard. We started off looking for trails West, around that soccer pitch but only false flour there, so we headed out towards the A29 and waited hours to cross it as car after car drove past, that is a busy road and no mistake.

Safely across we had a charge West to Park Lane with a little loop in that pie wedge of trees between the roads, already Slightly Disappointing with the bit between his teeth and swapping the front running with Snake Charmer Check by Check.

It didn't last too long though because on Park Lane he and Stallion ran right past the footpath North to Slindon Village pond, in a little race of their own. Meanwhile the rest of the pack meandered up the lush impossibly green grass to a regroup by the pond and the usual nattering broke out while waiting for the "boys" to catch up and basking in the warm sun.

No one felt like a swim, not even the ducks, they must have been away for the day, I have heard that they sometime fly to Ireland for The Quack.

We got going again and unsurprisingly headed South through that narrow strip of mixed woodland that has so many paths squashed into a small area. There were false trails in here, however their close proximity to the true trail lead to quite a bit of unnoticed short cutting or so I was told.

We continued South into the main wood, noticing how small the windblown chestnuts are this year and trying not to run into a tree while gazing up to see how big are the nuts that are yet to drop.

All the time the sound of traffic increased, until we had to rely on the kindness of a BMW driver, yes I know, who held up the flow to let us scamper across into the thin end of Slindon Common.

The local knowledge of some of the pack made short work getting East in this scrubby, brambly, mixed woodland until it broadens out, at which point there appeared to be Hashers not finding trails everywhere, all except Slightly who had no trouble and ended up on his own, on trail, but all alone, like in the start of one of those scary movies.

Bambi, Snake Charmer, and Kinky also managed to find themselves isolated on a false trail towards Mill Farm, turning back and seeing no sign of the pack. Then through a gap in the trees the soccer pitch came into view, and heading in that direction the words ON IN were discovered and the trail past the now deserted soccer pitch to the pavilion was completed after one hour and ten minutes of slightly bemused hashing.

The rest of the pack rocked up several minutes later, probably having covered the official route, but we did not draw their attention to this.

At the circle we congratulated the Hares for an innovative trail in a much trodden neck of the woods, then censured Popeye for arriving late, he said that it had taken longer than expected for him to see to his bees and did anyone know what he could do with 45 kilograms of honey, no comment.

Old Faithful, a hare had lost his bearings at some point but then that's what you expect from an ancient Hasher, so we gave the Hash-It to Popeye.

Then we joined the procession of cars on the A29 and visited The Old Stables on our way home, glugging the ale in the sunshine and fitting our conversation around the periodic wail of a Kawaski, or Susuki, or Honda, or Yamaha, or Ducati, trying to break the world speed record up Fontwell Hill, well you are only young twice.

On – On ! Bambi

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