Once in a blue moon, I go to a Full Moon Run.
Once in a blue moon, I go to a New Year’s Eve Party.
Once in a blue moon, I celebrate the end of a decade – a true hasher’s decade to be known for ever as the Noughties – and nobody is noughtier than a true hashman!
Once in a blue moon, we have a white Christmas.
Once in a blue moon, there is a partial eclipse of the moon (but we didn’t see more than part of the part).
Once in a blue moon, we have a blue moon.
Once in a blue moon, we have a tee-shirt run with rugby shirts emblazoned with the dates of all the blue moons between now and 2018.
Once in a blue moon the dates on our tee-shirts are printed correctly.

Thanks to the hares for explaining exactly what a blue moon is and printing it on our shirts so that we will never forget.

For those who are still guessing, a blue moon is the second full moon in a calendar month and happens roughly once every 33 months.

All those events happening on the same day must be a once in a lifetime experience, not to be missed by anyone, not even a geriatric hasher like me.

So I checked into the local 5-star hotel, known as Chateau White Noise, to enable me to enjoy the event and drink to my hearts content. Unfortunately the proprietor wouldn’t accept my booking without seeing the colour of my credit card, so my check in was delayed – and so was my Checking!

This caused my late arrival and the duty of writing up the run.

Bubbles, lately exiled to Scotland for some unknown misdemeanour, returned for the run and provided a full programme of running, drinking, eating, drinking, eating, drinking and even dancing.

At 2pm we were told the A to B run was unchanged by the icy weather except that B=A; and the first split was impossibly long. So we all set off from A, searching for flour among the snow, and finally reached the first split. I don’t know how long it was but the front runners were never seen again. The remaining Wimps searched for the trail which looped back into Brookhouse, passing temptingly close to the Black Bull – but no beer stop was to be found there or later. In fine sunny weather we climbed up to Caton Moor, the wind turbines idle and temptingly close – then came the second split (the one that anybody can do) so I Ramboed out and kept on up the hill in spite of the joyous hoots of the horn from the Wimps far below. We went up and up and up and up until the snowline was reached – and with it a fresh shower of the white stuff, accompanied by blizzard conditions and an absence of visible flour! The sound of the wimps was muffled by distance and on and on we plodded until finally down and down and down, to miraculously find Marybank Farm just across the road.

The circle was marked by numerous penalties and by the naming of 2 hashers from Sandy, Beds who we thought we would never see again. It’s a long drive from Bedfordshire, but here they were again like bad pennies, so we had to name and shame them in the hope that this will be their last run.

By popular acclaim, Al was named GrittySheets to remind him of the delights he left behind and Trish was named UpYours as she confessed to using Glove Puppets.

Bubbles and Forever Blowing didn’t want their clean farm sullied by hash clothes so we all went off to our 5 star hotels for tea and cakes before returning in cleaner garb for sausages and beer, followed 2 hours later by a grand feast including curry, chilli, turkey and beef and that was just for the vegetarians. Carnivores had more curry and more beef and more turkey, followed by puddings galore and then cheese – interspersed by more beer, more beer, more wine and more champagne.

Midnight was celebrated with more champagne and more dancing.

So here we are in the second decade of the millennium – it looks just like the first.

Happy New Year to all our readers and On On to the next Blue Moon!