One of the coldest runs this year, but a very good one set by Fowl Scrotum and Old Banger.

The run was delayed in starting by some awful navigational skills from No More Cum, but finally, after hearing some poor, half-arsed excuse for his tardiness we could begin, thundering down a steep hill.

A brief check at the bottom set us running across a suitably muddy field and through a little wood, to reach the first wimps'/rambos' split. After much searching for a trail set by the cunning Scrotum, the rambos climbed up a field and traversed a hillside to the bear/water/hot orange juice 'n' biscuits stop. The wimps were late in their arrival due to "reported" (by Morticia) lack of trail. They had spent some time searching woodland and beside a stream until Forever Blowing retraced her steps and found a teaspoonful of flour.

Through the dog-infested farmyard and down a selection of muddy fields we ran, until a steep woodland path led to a footbridge and inevitably, back upwards. A tiring flight of steps, a couple of fields later and a lesson on fungi from the soon-to-be-anointed Fugitive Nipple, the Hashers regrouped on a roadside. After a check, the route took us up a steep path past the church and on to the village hall, where the second beer stop mercifully waited.

Overly fed and watered, the hashers were awarded a final combination of fields, bogs, streams and roads, before arriving back.

Down-downs were awarded to:

• The hares, for a good run
• Fowl Scrotum, for being a cunning Scrotum
• Hash Drunk, for his disgusting rag-tissue-thing
• Lurch and Morticia for being weird
• Bubbles for being a joyrider
• Fugitive Nipple for being christened