Having taken a trip to the BM Worx hospital in Darlington the previous day, the rejuvenated car drove so fast that I got to Ings before I set off! I noted that the village offered an opportunity to avoid the speed camera on the main drag, but concluded that my inability to navigate the narrow village street at speed negated the advantage.

So, I was there far earlier than I needed to be, but became somewhat concerned as 1100 was approaching and I was still on my lonesome in the pub car park. I suspected that I had missed some important detail on the website and so went to explore the village. My suspicions were confirmed by Baldbrick 50 metres up the road with the others. I had, as usual, ignored the “more” button, where we had been advised not to park in the pub car park. Being German, I continued to ignore this advice and left the car where it was. The Tommies were lucky I was not in my small tank!

Highway was the hare and, once prompted, whispered the day’s secrets to the apprehensive pack, augmented today by Rabbi, who is developing a habit of visiting us. The threatening clouds were brightened for me to some degree with the news that there would be no fish-hooks today – whoopee!

My r*n started by sharing a false trail with Antiseptic and, several hills and dales later, reached a crescendo in the village of Staveley, outside a familiar pub by the river. This time our r*n was thankfully dog-free and the local plod was a mere siren in the distance. It was at this point that Baldbrick noticed that Upperskirt had once again gone astray. His obvious solution to this dilemma was to gravitate towards the pub bar for advice. Sir Tom Tom had already by-passed the beer stop for the same quirkily named brews.

While the ominous clouds had spared us on the first part of the r*n, they soundly made up for it on the final leg. I was glad that I’d remembered to pack mobile and wallet in plastic at the start. Thunderdick was the first of the FRBs to make it back, having set off at a withering pace, as soon as he had left Twisted behind on the brow of the penultimate hill. I had to remind her of the age difference when she wondered at Thunderdick’s supposedly “unfit” performance. This clearly ruffled her to such an extent that she couldn’t resist an unsuccessful “small boy in big clothes” swipe at me at the On Inn. I will resist the temptation offered to me here by the all-conquering pen, but take the opportunity to wish her future success in finding chinks in my armour.