Sunday morning 7.45am, and yours truly awakes to the sound of rain battering against the bedroom window. Poor old Full Member, I thought to myself as I chomped on my hasher's breakfast of a bowl of flour washed down with beer - he must be out by now with his bag of white stuff and teaspoon, laying the trail.

I needn't have worried, though - he stayed dry, and so did we. Well, from the knees upwards at least. The squelchiness of recent outings was maintained, and I really feel I must complain at this point about the shoddy, slapdash standard of haring we are forced to endure these days. A few hours with a squeegee mop, a couple of duck boards and some matting here and there, a quick once-over the stubbornly soggy bits with a hair dryer, a squirt or two of air freshener, and the trail would have been of an acceptable standard. Sadly, all of these basics were lacking, so we just had to rough it.

Grotesquely bloated and horribly unfit after three weeks without a r*n, not to mention the fact that most of us were still recovering from a night of wild partying chez White Noise & Off His Trolley (don't worry OHT, you can go and queue for your pension at the post office for the first time safe in the knowledge that I won't reveal your age), we viewed our impending ordeal with some trepidation, but our fears were unfounded: FM had laid on no fewer than three Wimp/ Rambo splits and, it has to be said, the number dragging their sorry carcasses round the Wimp routes was noticeably higher than usual.

Passing by a river with the beer stop in view, Baldbrick asked "Is that the loon?", which I thought was a bit unkind; like most of those actor chappies, FM may be a little eccentric at times, but I'm sure he's just as sane as the rest of us - not that that's any great recommendation.

We made it back to the pub nice and early, probably due to the fact that we didn't have to spend an hour looking for Upperskirt this time round. Quite amazing that, given the minuscule proportions of some of FM's piles of flour - barely enough to make a cupcake, let alone a Victoria Sponge. Wouldn't have done on one of my r*ns, let me tell you! Very few down-downs, most of which seemed to go to the hare; serves the b*gger right, I say.

Many thanks to FM for another enjoyable outing - a little more flour and a little less water and the lad could have the perfect recipe for hash! Who's next on the haring roster? Ah yes, Speedbump and Dormouse. No danger of getting wet there, then.

It being Remembrance Sunday, a one minute silence was held at 11.00am Today's subscriptions will be donated to the Poppy Fund.