Raining. Hash. Wet. Cold. Damn. This was my thought process as I woke up this morning. Knowing, however, that the weather was no-one's fault, and that the alternative was chemistry revision, I got up anyway.

The weather aside, the run was a good one. The Wimps and Rambos split up very early, and didn't meet up again until the end, which was an unusual tactic. Apparently they were supposed too, but the Rambos missed part of the trail. All of them. The Wimps route went through many fields, and lots of long, wet grass, in which running was difficult, at least if you didn't want your legs lacerated by thistles. (Like Lurch.) In all fairness though, the previous trash had warned about thistles and nettles, and advised long trousers. Not everyone did, (Lurch, Muff-diver and Slackbladder, we know who you are.) but they had been warned, so that means it's their problem. We were assured that the route was very scenic, but the clouds didn't do much to help that. We did see some views, but not many. Forever Blowing found her vocation as a cow-scarer, doing a valiant job in removing the bovine menace from a stile. The wimps rout e was obviously too much for Tom, however, as at one point he decided not to do any more, and hitched a lift. On Rowena's back.

The route was very well marked out, however, and we always found where we were meant to be very quickly. Except the Rambos, that is. Apparently they were "Going too fast" to be able to see minor details such as the route. Whatever.

Evidently the Rambo's trail was a hard one, twice the length of the Wimps one, I was told. Chicken was unfortunately sick on route, why, I was not told, but he looked happy enough with his chips and soup in the On Inn, so it can't have been too bad.

The Circle was a busy one though. There were two Virgins, Sue, and Rowena, who were surprised by the difficulty of actually drinking from the bowl, the Hares, obviously, Antiseptic, Cyberseptic and Gossamer. No More Cum was viciously victimized, for a variety of offences. There was not shutting a gate behind him, which also earned him ice, being a Hare last run (along with P-Dough and Tom) which also earned them ice. No More Cum taking his pants down on both occasions, without being asked, and on one being asked not to. He seems to enjoy taking his pants down in public places. Lurch and No More Cum also received punishments for blindness, missing trail markings that were apparently obvious. No More Cum also got one for deafness, in not hearing the shouts of On On.

There were some namings to do as well, as both Chicken and Tom (the last time they shall be referred to as such in the trash - savour it!) had got through 3 runs.

Chickens naming didn't take too long, there was only one avenue of thought. After a short tale of rugby balls and bus stations, he was promptly lumbered with Fowl-Scrotum. Tom didn't get away with getting Rowena to carry him, as, following a family theme, he was named Piggy-Dough. He seemed pleased enough with his name, which is more than can be said for Fowl-Scrotum.

The down-downs were stopped short there, because everyone was getting cold and wet. So some of you probably had lucky escapes there!