A hardy band of seventeen hashers assembled at The Community Centre at Ingleton, eagerly looking outwards and upwards into the mist shrouding the Ingleborough massif, in high expectancy or even certainty that they would spend part of the day thereon.

One of my colleagues had warned me that he considered it a mistake to have two hares from "the same gene pool" (Bentham). This was at 8am on the morning of the hash as the two hapless hares were beginning to realise that they were going to have to go live in order to set the trail.

As the hares, Baldcock and P-Dough, were live and at large out there in Hash Land it fell to our beloved and revered GM to welcome all, and then to Slackbladder to explain the non-rules of the day. It was also explained that due to the amount of snow, the flour had cunningly been dyed with garam masala and custard powder, in order for it to be easily identified as looking like dollops of dog sh*t if it stayed dry, and p*ss if it rained and mixed with the custard powder.

The hashers set off in good spirits, with Cousin It blazing an early trail, and found themselves on a steep slope upwards with the FRB's making good early progress.

The knitting circle was more of a knitting line as its numbers seemed slightly depleted as Morticia allowed herself to be paced by Cousin It.  However the remaining knitters, Forever Blowing and Pick Me Up used all their hashing experience to manoeuvre themselves to the back of the pack.

Meanwhile Antiseptic was looking well prepared for whatever the elements threw her way and Cyberseptic appeared to be doing a curious impression of a one armed bandit.

So onwards and upwards until the stepping stones across the River Twiss were crossed Gossamer and her friend showing off exceptional balancing skills on the slippery stones. In fact all crossed without wet feet.  Darren had taken charge of the hash horn and proved to be by far the most tuneful hornblower to date. At one point it was positive showboating.

Storrs Common was reached and to the dismay of the hashers the trail now ascended away into the low cloud and drizzle towards Ingleborough.

As scribe I hid behind a dry stone wall in order to covertly survey the hash and spot sinners. However all hashers were on their best behaviour, with not a single moan despite the shiggy, mist, snow, sleet and general feeling of being a long way from the on inn.

The wimps-rambos split was reached and most opted for the former. INCLUDING the GM who cited a bad leg, old war wound and altitude sickness as his reasons for taking the direct route back to Ingleton.

The rambos continued up to Crina Bottom where confusion reigned. Surely the hares weren't sending us to the top? No we had merely missed the trail going over a wall and off towards Coldcotes. That mistake having been rectified the rambos were soon back home and all assembled in The Craven Heifer before going out into the rain for the circle.

The hares had had the forethought to provide a block of ice for the sinners to sit thereon and therefore it was only fitting that P-Dough should be the first to be punished. Along with Baldcock who deservedly donned the wet (and smelly) t-shirt. Their sins were:- not preparing in good time, confusing the hash, confusing a farmer(really), confusing themselves, not having the beer bucket available immediately after the run, being from Bentham and just carrying on breathing.

• Darren was called into the ring and after a brief history of his life he was duly named Muff Diver.
• Atomic Caton was down downed for not sinning on this or the previous two hashes.
• Slackbladder was iced to remind him of what it feels like to sin on the PH3... Slight difference in weather conditions though!