The Eight and the Mystery of the Disappearing Trails

The rain was persistent that evening, the sort of persistence that gently permeates the raincoats and squelches in socks and makes one wonder why on earth one didn’t stay by the fire with a currant bun and some cocoa.

But not the Eight. No indeed, this jolly brave band of hashers had gathered, rain or no rain to follow the Hare’s carefully trail -fresh that very morning.

So off they went,the Eight, through the drizzle and evening gloom, negotiating the first part of the trail with little difficulty.

But what was this? A mysterious stalker at every turn, sitting in sinister silence in a dark coloured car. A queer business indeed. They hurried on, back to the bright lights of the village.

Soon the Eight, split into the Rambostuous Three and the Wimpacious Five… and the trails disappeared!!

Not a trace of flour nor chalk to be seen, and the Three and Five floundered, drawn in the half light to erroneous patches of white – damp tissues, white crocuses, abandoned Greggs bags, bird poo and even foam mysteriously exuding from Leylandii trees* -but not a speck of flour.

Could it be that some wicked sort of fellow with a dislike of the jolly hasher had removed the markers? A baddie?!!? The evening took a sinister turn and there was much toing and froing as both the Three and the Five wrestled with the confusion.

But they pressed on, determined to solve the mystery and thus return to the safety of the On Inn. Finally, flour was again sighted under the trees, where clearly that nasty saboteur had failed to discover it.

Safely returned to the On Inn the Eight, correction Seven ( FOTH having had a better offer that evening) reunited for the customary circle.

Down downs to US (who was revealed as being the sneaky stalker) and to BB for failing to highlight an On trail with his bugle thereby abandoning STT in the dripping and mysterious woods. (normally we can’t shut him up)

Off to the jolly pub where the Grand Mattress bothered us with some hash business regarding the AGPU, as we gently steamed. A fine meal was served up by the cheerful inn keeper,with lashings of fortifying beer.

Moral

And so the Eight learned that even when the trail is lost, the spirit of adventure can never wash away – not with all the rain in the world. For wherever friends r*n together with such good cheer and even a mystery or two, there’s always a frightfully jolly time to be had.

On on!

* stem flow foam. Google it.

PS The very fine Harvest Moon, a super moon no less, did not make an appearance