R*n 297: Quernmore

Some things don't change. Despite having not run with LVH3 for several months, it was reassuring for me to find that the Addams Family still have no intention of making it to the start of a run by the correct time. Thus it was that we set off from a rather deserted car park at the base of Clougha, following a helpful trail of flour across the moorland for several hundred metres until the familiar gaggle of brightly-beclothed hashers came into view, checking out a split at the bottom of the hill.

Obviously the trail went up the steepest available route, only to come back down again thanks to a cruelly placed fishhook, before veering off above a stream in the direction of Littledale. The sadist hares' markings led the hashers on a merry dance through as much shiggy as possible, causing Highway to ingloriously end up on all fours in a bog, before climbing yet another hill to the awaiting beer stop.

A few drinks and biscuits later the run recommenced, heading through yet more boggy terrain, which could only have been deemed acceptable as a route by a morally bankrupt man. Lurch paid the price for this when his shoe was snatched from his foot by a particularly squelchy patch. Next we dipped into a small and picturesque valley where we were advised to beware the peacocks, but none appeared. Somewhat apprehensively we pressed on, the fear of being ambushed by brightly-plumed birds no doubt playing on the mind of even the most hardened runner present. Fortunately navigating the next section of 'path' was mentally demanding enough, as it erratically clambered over rocks, under spiky bushes and across fences. Finally we emerged onto a road and it was a short stretch back to the car park.

Bubbles and Forever Blowing presumably felt guilty for the ordeal we had been put through, so they opened up their home where a rather exotic but tasty selection of soups was laid on and the barbecue was fired up for some traditional sausage butties, which were appreciated by all.

On On