"Park Prettily" read the sign at the entrance to the pub car park. Well, not much chance of that, for as the hash automobiles turned in one by one, I could see it was the same ugly bunch who show up for all these r*ns. You know, the ones who used to turn heads, only now it's just stomachs. Ah well, not everyone can match my youthful good looks and boyish charm. The Hare had delayed the start of the r*n by two hours specifically, I assume, to allow for more pre-ambulatory beautification, but to no avail.

Nevertheless, at 1.00 p.m. we struck out into the great unknown, and I was pleasantly surprised to find us heading out in the general direction of Capernwray. I did a recce here some years ago, as the countryside out that way is truly beautiful, but had to abort as, being a full-moon r*n, the way back involved too much time on roads. Fortunately, as this was a full-length r*n, Hare FB was able to take in some more scenic sections of trail, and get us all back in time for a late lunch. That being said, the Rambos exhibited their usual degree of orienteering incompetence; perhaps it might be better to book them in for Monday breakfast next time?

At the circle, these alleged athletes were duly punished for their tardiness. I shall not name them, as I do not wish to jeopardise their chances of selection for the 2028 Olympics. Nor shall I name the two impertinent junior hashers (but see the photo above!) chastised for mocking one of their elders and betters in his valiant attempts to haul his septuagenarian frame over the many gates and stiles we encountered; there is still time for them to be completely rehabilitated and become useful members of society.

Into the On Inn and, boy, was I glad I didn't go for the Sunday Roast! White Noise did, however, and, ever eager to reduce her carbon footprint, took exception to the perceived cremation of her Yorkshire pudding. I shall never forget the response her complaint elicited: "Chef says they're all like that". Pure comedy gold!

For me, though, the real comedy highlight of the afternoon was learning that Baldbrick had originally wrongly been entered in the LVH3 annals as Webmaster! For the uninitiated, Baldbrick thinks that a megabyte means downing a Mars Bar in one, Edge is the guitarist with U2, a hard drive means getting stuck in rush hour traffic in Lancaster, RAM is a male sheep and ROM is the Capital of Italy. In short, Baldbrick is permanently stranded on the hard shoulder of the cobbled section of the information superhighway. Perhaps he should stick to the two things he does really well: keeping the beer bucket well-stocked, and blowing the horn. Correction: maybe he should stick to the one thing he does really well......

Thanks for a good one, FB, only next time don't forget the squeegee mop for the squelchy bits. On on!