I'd spent the night in the loft trying out the new matress and 350 percale sheets (whatever that is all about) and was disturbed earlier than the chosen time by rain battering the Veluxes. I thought about Baldbrick laying flour out in it and was tempted to pull the duvet over my head and say bollocks to the idea. However, being a dedicated hasher and all-round good sort, I bounced out of bed on hearing the alarm and headed down the two flights for my breakfast. Cum Yak Yak would be left undisturbed for once, having contracted a second installment of tonsilitis. I'd shared the fact with her that I'd caught it prior to taking my "O" levels from kissing girls. I got no response.

As I was still benefitting from lending my Dad's diesel with no working CD player, I was feeling a bit unfulfilled as I pulled into the A site, a feat which might have posed some problems in the low-slung BM. The cast appeared in a somewhat unpredictable manner, especially in that the Adam's family were not last, thanks to the advantages of Septic fuel. We started out as dry as we had arrived, but it would not last.

My lasting memories of the run were two. The first was the mayhem caused by stiles each side of a footbridge and the ensuing downpour, which didn't wash any of the confusion away. Lurch was the saviour, as so often he is. The second was our encounter with a field of frisky cows and the lucky brown bull. They seemed determined to block our route out of the field and didn't look too happy when it became clear to them that we weren't going to let them out. I was sure that the following pack would be trampled to death and so made steady progress to avoid the extra burden of carrying their bodies.

Morticia ruled in the circle and was kind and just enough to silence the rabble and praise me for my efforts on a previous Sunday and for setting a run that would be remembered throughout history.