Sunday morning, 8.00 a.m., and yours truly leaps out of bed full of the joys of summer and eagerly anticipating another fun-packed day with LVH3. Right, first things first, switch on the computer and see who's setting today's trail. Click on Next R*n. Look at the top right-hand side of the page for R*n 626 Hares. Slackbladder. Right. OK. Better make the necessary preparations. Take a torch just in case we're not back by nightfall. Take plenty of food just in case there's a c*ck-up on the catering front.

Not being fed is a bit of a longstanding LVH3 tradition when it comes to ol' Slacky. Who can forget turning up for lunch at the Rugby Club only to find the gates not only closed but padlocked too? Or those immortal words spoken as we gathered outside the Rifleman's Arms? ("Food? No-one said anything to me about food.")

True, steps had been taken to prevent a similar debacle today. We had all been invited to dine on lamb curry chez Slackbladder, thereby obviating any need to rely on the availability or otherwise of professional catering. But things could still go pear-shaped. The lamb could run away and avoid capture. The cooker could break down. Slackbladder could lose his house keys. The possibilities were endless.

Which brings me nicely to the r*n, which also had endless possibilities, it appeared. The Hares had laid a trail. The rain had washed away said trail. The Hares had laid another trail. A different one, seemingly. As minutes turned into hours, we listened to a lecture on the differences between Wimps, Uber-Wimps, Ultra-Wimps, Rambos, Super-Rambos, Super-Mega-Rambos, Ultra-Mega-Hyper-Rambos, and so forth. All, amazingly, duly marked with flour and chalk.

All 74 trails eventually converged at the beer stop, at which every biscuit in the buckets was consumed voraciously - please refer to paras 1 to 3 above. Then a further discourse on how the Ultra-Mega-Hyper-Rambos were to follow a marked trail, and how the Wimps were to ignore all the markings completely and follow a complex series of verbal instructions, about 10 minutes into which White Noise set off down the road, wishing to avoid information overload. We of the Wimp persuasion decided that the best course of action was simply to walk in a straight line until we reached civilisation, and take it from there.

It must be said that the trail was well-chosen and very picturesque - if you don't believe me just look at the photos above. And the lamb curry was truly delicious, even if we didn't know we had to book a table in advance and so ended up sitting on each other's knees. Even Baldbrick, who normally shuns any food which looks remotely foreign, partook with relish! Well done Hares, and thank you for your hospitality! Must sign off now - I need to work out a Mega-Uber-Super-Ultra-Hyper-Wimp split for my August r*n.

On on!