As I ran down the road to the start of the hash and met the hash coming up the road - I knew I was scribe! The pack was easily visible as we had been asked to wear purple in honour of the advancing ages of our hares and hosts.

Hares advised me to take the first wimps split so being the obedient hound that I am, I went up Hawthorn and into the fields. The Rambos were coming in from the Brookhouse direction to join us and the pack blended together as we joined and then left Littledale Road heading down towards Forge Mill. A little diversion around Gresgarth Bend, back across the field and along the new footpath towards the school. STT will tell you how much the fence cost if you dare to ask him!

Across Broadacre and onto Beckside for the beer stop. It was tempting to think we had finished as we were back at the on inn so soon but we tore ourselves away and set off again along Artlebeck, across Hornby road, through the custard houses and west along the cycle path/ millennium way/ greenway. (Or whatever it’s called this year!)

The wimps apparently were to peel off down to the river while the Rambos were led towards Lancaster, fearing at one point that we really were going to Halton we were happy to head back down to the river with the assumption we would catch up the wimps. Goodness only knows where they went as we didn’t pass them while we ran up the Scarthwaite woods and through the memorial trees to the crook and through the houses back to the Septics, it was a while before the wimps joined us, hard to believe they could have got lost on such familiar home territory- but anything is possible!

A circle of beer including a 500th and 300th celebration for Morticia and Major Twit “Get a life” and we were inside for sandwiches and lashings of cake.

Thanks to the old crocks Septics for a classic Caton and Brookhouse r*n which came with surprises even for those with local knowledge.

When Septics are old.

When we are old hashers we shall wear purple

With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit us

And we shall lay our trails

In fields and cycle paths

And muddy woods

and say we've no money for flour.

We shall mark checks on the pavement when we are lost

And gobble up biscuits at beer stops and blow hash horns

And draw our chalk along the public railings,

And repeat the drunkenness of our youth.

We shall go out in our barefoot shoes

And wassail the trees in other people's gardens,

And learn to dance.

We can wear old hash shirts and grow more fat,

And eat three rounds of sandwiches at a go,

Or only bread and cheese for a week,

And hoard shells and feathers and beer mats

and things in boxes.

But now we must have friends that come for beer

And make our felt and count our swifts

And set a good example for the children.

We will have friends to hash and read for book club

But maybe we ought to practise a little now?

So people who know us

Will never be shocked and surprised,

When suddenly we are old

and start to wear purple!

Sorry to Jenny Joseph.