Doesn't Forever Blowing look after Bubbles! Well before there was a hint of on-out of the bunk barn, Forever Blowing brought in Bubbles' new shoes. A bottle of beer was opened and she poured a tiny smidgeon of beer into the pristine shoe. Bubbles duly drank his tiny down down from the shoe. Not for Bubbles the fulsome additional flavours of shiggy and sweat to alter the new plastic flavour. Forever Blowing then poured away the remaining 97.3% of the bottle's contents down the sink.

We formed a circle outside the bunk barn. Lurch told us that the r*n would be uphill, level and then steep downhill. Quite a likely combination for a run that starts in the bottom of a valley. In order to be quite sure that we knew which part of the r*n was set by which hare, we were told that one part was set with blue chalk and the other with girly pink chalk. Naturally Lurch used the girly pink chalk. The front r*nners were pleased to hear from a hare that there would be no fishhooks. More fool us for believing the hare.

The trail took us along tarmac to Buckden past one of pubs used on Friday evening's r*n. we passed Ed, the publican of the George, walking the other way with his terrier. He had asked our names and remembered them, even when we were not in his pub. He had even sent his missus to buy Baileys for Upper Skirt. Not that a drop of the Baileys passed her lips.

A bridleway was quickly found and the promised ascent began. A couple of hash viewpoints provided quick halts as some posed as dynamic Victorian explorers shading their eyes as they stared into the distance. Hard Astern reckoned he could count 15 waterfalls. A six inch drop hardly counts as a waterfall in my book, but the flow did change to be more downward. The Rambos and Wimps regrouped for a beer stop opposite a pub. Lurch asked for a photo for posteriority and our backsides granted his wish.

A farmer had inconsiderately parked his sheep in his farmyard and he suggested that we find another way round the steading. The trail was soon regained and continued along a level limestone terrace with good grass to r*n on run. The trail split with the Rambos carrying on to Yockenthwaite, adding two miles to their r*n. A lovely beck side trail brought us back to Hubberholme.

Some hounds checked out the church at Hubberholme. Forever Blowing told me that she saw a mouse in the church. I had to verify this and so I walked back later in case I missed saying hallo to one of my cousins. But it turned out that the mouse was wooden. Robert Thomson thought it was a good idea to carve as he reckoned he was as poor as a church mouse.

The trail apparently finished at the George, but flour on the other side of the beck from the pub called me on. Unfortunately, it turned out to be Friday's flour and Bubbles and Forever Blowing called me back.

We had completed the r*n at such a speed started early, and so there was time to return to the bunk barn and change, and some even showered. We returned to the George for some good food and excellent beer from publican Ed. The highly hopped Chinook, though not to everyone's taste, was the pick of the bunch for me.

Back in the bunk barn some downs downs were doled out:

• Bubbles - not doing Friday's run
• Your scribe - not doing Friday's run on Friday and attempting to do Friday's run on Saturday
• Forever Blowing - alcohol abuse in pouring drinkable beer down the sink
• Office Trolley - he was spotted leaning on the trail and had to support himself by leaning on a Harriette - so he was charged with lechery.
• Upper Skirt - losing a glove on Friday night and requiring Baldbrick to go and find the glove with her.

Two hashers were named. Mike was christened Hard Astern and Lynn Ready About