No one in their right mind goes to a Speedbump and Dormouse hash expecting to remain dry for very long, if at all, and we were not disappointed today. There are those who believe that God smiles favourably on our group - let's face it, we don't get rained on very often - but that he has it in for SB & DM, owing to the fact that DM still has a write-up to complete dating back to November 2008, hence the thunderbolts and monsoons which invariably accompany their outings. The Supreme Being doesn't appreciate tardiness - that's why dead people are always referred to as "the late......" Anyone remember Bardsea? Silly me, of course not - there were very few survivors. 

Those who decided to give today a miss - shame on you, hope you've all got a sick note from matron to support your aegrotat claims - actually missed a real treat; a lovely, scenic trail, plenty of woodland, hilly but with a paced, gradual climb, rather than sudden, vertical ascent, not too long, and with expertly timed splits. Not to worry, absentees can recreate the experience in their own back gardens by throwing buckets of water at one another. There was evidence of trail sabotage, but fortunately the hares were with us to see us right.

There was an interesting discussion at the Beer Stop. Apparently, we are viewed in some circles as "a middle class group". Understandable, I suppose, and particularly based on today's turnout; most of the scummy plebs who show up from time to time were nowhere to be seen - no doubt seeking shelter from the rain in their dingy hovels, eating bread and dripping and watching ITV. In the absence of the proles, riff-raff and hoi polloi, the bourgeois pack were able to petition Baldbrick to include more smoked salmon and beluga caviar canapes in the buckets, and to chastise him for buying Dom Perignon instead of Bollinger.

On on to the on inn at Bouth. You know how some eating establishments have a cover charge, i.e. make you pay for the knife and fork? Well, none of that here, but apparently the chairs come at a premium, so you can forget that sitting down for a drink nonsense! No eat, no chair. We were so disgusted, we almost went home for a cucumber sandwich with the crusts cut off instead. Washed down with a flute or two of Bollinger, of course.

Thanks again, hares, and on on to the Royal Oak, Garstang for the full-mooner, and, hopefully, the best steak pie in the county. Everybody welcome, even the working classes.