Not exactly a stellar turnout in terms of numbers (only six of us at the off), but plenty of stars nonetheless! You know what I mean, the celebrity, regular, high-end hashers who get stopped in the street and asked for their autographs, not the hoi polloi and hangers-on. Yes sir, we go for quality in this organisation, not quantity. Our numbers swelled to eight following the late coming of Late Cummer and Chapped Lips, but I have to say - guys, just give it up; many over the years have tried to avoid crossing Upperskirt's palm with silver by turning up after she's cashed up - indeed some, most notably Dormouse and the Adams family, have developed it into a fine art - but it simply doesn't work. She will always catch up with you eventually.

Food orders were taken at the start, and I was really really really looking forward to my chicken in a basket, only to be told later by Bitter, in true Basil Fawlty style, "Sorry, chicken's off!". Now, this guy has previous form when it comes to the cruel dashing of people's hopes in catering matters. Who will ever forget r*n 664 (not I, certainly), when the tantalising prospect of ingesting the finest steak and kidney pie in the land (Royal Oak, Garstang, for your information) was dangled before us, only to be snatched away by this mean and spiteful person. As a result of that incident, he earned my eternal enmity, and, ever since that day, every time I think of steak and kidney pie, the red mist descends and I reach for my voodoo wax Bitter-effigy and pins. Fortunately for Bitter, the substituted Sunday roast was more than acceptable and very reasonably priced, so I shall refrain from taking any further punitive measures at this stage; be warned though, I shall be monitoring the situation very closely in future!

Lunch, however, very nearly killed one of our number. Highway was choking, and if ever there was a time we needed Dr. Fiddler and Nurse Morticia, this was it! Unfortunately, neither was in attendance and so it was left to Paramedic Baldbrick to save the day and Highway's life, ably assisted by Layby who sat mentally calculating the life insurance payout. Mind you, the absence of our usual medical practitioners was probably a blessing, as they are somewhat prone to mis-diagnoses; they would probably have amputated a leg. Admittedly, some Australian medical expertise was at hand, but they'd left their box of leeches at home and so were powerless to intervene.

Ironically, the one person most widely tipped to fall down dead (i.e. me) actually made it round the full trail, having been assured by the Hares that it was not too long (5.2 miles) and definitely not hilly; this I was inclined (see what I did there?) to believe, as Bitter and Twisted can usually be relied on to hire a steamroller and flatten out any undulations in the terrain. A well-thought-out, scenic trail, most of which was new even though we have hashed here several times before, and well-marked - although not sufficiently well-marked to prevent Highway getting lost on a straight bit of road!

On on to Speedbump and Dormouse's r*n on the 9th - with their luck, it'll probably rain.