There was snow on the passes as we drove to Alston on Friday night, afraid the whole weekend might be aborted by promised extreme winter weather unprecedented in living memory!

Unfortunately most of the LVH3 hashers made it and so did some very unwelcome Geordies and pseudo Geordies from Newcastle hash. The pseudo Geordies hailed from Scotland and the south of England but a few of the genuine Tyne spitting article arrived too.

The Septics laid on hot soup and bread to mop up the anticipated intake of beer later.

As we emerged from Alston YH at 8pm the snow had turned to rain mixed with sleet which fell persistently for most of the weekend.

Run 164 was nothing more than an indirect route to the Cumberland Arms, negotiating dark alleys and wet streets in a circular route around the suburbs before diving across the sports field for a quick game of water polo combined with ice hockey in complete darkness except for Off His Trolley's torch which shone like a car headlight and dazzled us all. After we had trekked far enough (no-one was seen running) to be soaked to the skin we headed for the pub where we dripped on the floor from our tartan kilts and scared away all the locals in double quick time. Perhaps they thought the reivers had come to life and galloped all the way from the border.

Not much more can be remembered that night as we had all consumed enough beer and whisky to dull the memories and ensure a good nights sleep in spite of cacophonous snoring.