It was a drizzley Monday night in Heysham, following a long run the day before. Nevertheless, LVH3 turned out in force for a r*n verging on the macabre. I couldn’t decide whether it was Winter’s dark cloak descending prematurely or simply low cloud, but for an evening in early September , it certainly wasn’t bright.

The trail took in Heysham Village’s back passages, churches, the barrows, the outskirts of the power stations and housing estates. The residents of St Peter’s churchyard were abruptly shaken from deep slumber by the sonorous pounding of hasher’s feet. Upperskirt and Major Twit pondered their preferred locations for having their ashes scattered, before we arrived at the second church. St Patrick’s is only a ruin these days, but inspiring enough for hashers to prompt a photo opportunity. The next opportunity was a half-moon (by Upperskirt of course), as we careered over the barrows towards Half Moon Bay. Maybe we can rechristen it Arse Crack Bay.

The fluorescent tops worn by some hashers seemed appropriate as we enjoyed our beer stop in the shadows of two nuclear power stations! I was busy finishing off my beer as we snaked our way beneath electricity pylons, when I heard a crunch and a yelp behind me. In a heap was Major Twit claiming that my protection for the fairer sex was somewhat lacking.

The evening was drawing in as we wended back towards the A-site via some housing developments and following flour without a torch was becoming somewhat difficult. I remembered that I had to pick up Cum Yak Yak from Tae Kwon Do class at this stage, so I took advantage of a wimps split and got back to the car before the circle. Unfortunately, I was probably at Salt Ayre before the ritual sacrifices and spiritual awakenings began.