I don't know, you just can't get the staff these days! I mean, just how much easier do we have to make this GMing lark? "Welcome to r*n..... (insert r*n number)", "Hares on in", "Today's scribe is.....(insert name of hapless hasher)" - simples, as the TV meerkat would say! Yet the latest appointee to the ancient and sacred order of GMs completely fluffed the final 33% of her lines, and we hoofed off into the inky blackness of the Ingleton evening completely scribeless.

Nor was it just the GM who failed to deliver; this being the first r*n after the AGPU, no-one had the faintest idea who was meant to be doing what anymore, so we all ran around the carpark like headless chickens, just waiting for someone to make a decision. The start of the r*n was, therefore, a merciful release from our indecision.

Hare Upperskirt (is this the same person as GM Upperskirt and Hash Cash Upperskirt? This looks like an attempt to seize total control of LVH3 to me, and I'm a bit worried - anyone remember Adolf Hitler?) had the brilliant idea of saving materials by using two-thirds of my r*n from December 2009, surmising that most of my flour-mountains would have survived the passage of time relatively intact. She was right, too - they were all still there.

Despite Upperskirt's attempts to throw us all off trail by constantly dazzling us with her car headlights so we couldn't see the markings, we eventually made it back to the Wheatsheaf Hotel. Cue rain, circle postponed, and the guilty (of which there were many) escaped a tongue-lashing from the RA, who was eager to try out his new "beer-boarding" technique - adapted from Guantanamo Bay - for the down downs. Have no fear, the miserable curs will get what's coming to them tomorrow at the Kirkby Lonsdale r*n.

Nice trail, some great squelching noises, mud up to your knees, lashings of rain - what more could you want out of life?