Ocassionally, to those lucky few, greatness falls and however unprepared I was, today it seems was the day for me.  Not only was I asked to be the horn bearer and the Hash scribe, but now I know I've made it 'cos I was duly appointed GM (acting) a position deemed so high I could barely contain my thrall.  So my elevation (acting GM) was witnessed and can be attested by a small group of (er, 8) hashers.

We began by watching a Palm Sunday parade to the church opposite.  I asked Bubbles who helpfully explained that the tradition started when people walked in a parade to their church.  You can learn so much, you know...

After some tricky weaving around Holme, we sped our way along the canal bank with fine elevated views across to Hale.  A steep descent down the bank led us to a check with the hares watching for us and while I went the wrong way, the Confessor zoomed past the right way and then with me in hot pursuit.  After a good stretch across the moss, the hares pulled me up for speeding off and made us wait for the rear of the field to catch up.  Soon after, we stopped for refreshments.  Malfunction talked nostalgically of the Shetlands as we munched our biscuits next to a field of Shetland ponies.  And some sheep with two sharp prongs as horns.  These are small but dangerous looking beasties and I backed off, and so did Harry and we found something too small to see to look for in a ditch.  I duly noted there were no jammy wagon wheels to feed to the animals, or me even.  Further on we gambolled, with me ignoring a check because in the distance I could see Pick Me Up trying to hide behind a see-thru phone box in her bright yellow fleece.  After duelling with the cars on the A6 we reached tranquil lanes and fields, enjoyed in fine sunshine and a balmy breeze.  The hares had made clever use of cow-pats to deposit markers, good idea I thought in fields littered with sheep's wool.  So, we arrived back in Holme just as the churchgoers were, er, leaving the church, so I felt a bit heathen-like sipping my beer and wondering if I'd go to heaven and looking round at my fellow hashers I felt my chances slipping.

Anyway, puffed up as I was with my highly deemed position (acting GM), I awarded down-downs (without the assistance of a knob) to:

• Hares: a fine and splendid run
• Atomic Caton: for not providing jammy wagon wheels
• Forever Blowing: for picking up the chocolate digestives packet and not offering one to me (acting GM)

However AC awarded a down-down to me an' the Confessor for leaving the wimps behind.  (That can't be right!  I thought I was deemed very high today?)

Anyway, I'd had enough of loftiness and, besides, the best bit was blowing the horn really.  No-one commented on my Dvorak's New World Symphony piece though...

Talk returned to far off Scottish islands at the Inn.  Have good trips you hashers - PMU & Hash Drunk to Inverness, and Malfunction to Orkney!

Next run on Wednesday!!!  A scenic jaunt from Halton...