OK, it's Tuesday lunchtime and the author has failed to send me this week's Scribe! – do I get hot and bothered under the collar? – no, of course not. I just go and look up who the culprit is with a view to "Name and shame".
And the supposed author for this week is …. err well, me actually, so sorry about that folks – but don't worry I let myself off with a light caution and so all is right with the world again now. Or would be if I could remember what happened. Sadly I can only remember the first seven or eight miles of Mr Jones' "five and a half mile hash". Beyond that, the last few miles are a haze of pain, exhaustion and relentless agony.
Well, the first half a kilometre was around the edge of the service station (562 metres to be precise) but we headed down the little road towards Egypt (so named because it was the haunt of many gypsies in the days when people believed they hailed originally from Egypt – though we now know they originated in India, so we are perhaps fortunate that the area is not called Delhi Belly). Aside, if you ever get the chance to go to Delhi leap at it and get a suite (it isn't very expensive) in the magnificent Maidens hotel! It is truly fabulous.
Turning left off the road we found a lot of mud, poorly disguised as a field, followed by a wood and another field before we found and ran along the excitingly pavement-free Dorney Road South - where the hidden moose trap nearly tripped several of us in front of the speeding traffic.
Aside: Q: What do you get when you run in front of a car? A: TIRED Q: What do you get when you run behind a car? A: EXHAUSTED.
Crossing into the wood we continued our south westerly trajectory towards Hedgerley, where we were hoping for a beer stop in the White Horse but sadly turned off near Moll Hayes Wood. As far as I know Moll Hayes was, at least according to Marvel comics, the daughter of telepathic mutants, but it is just faintly possible she is not the person the wood is named after.
Joy of joys we turned back to the pub and at just 5.5 miles out arrived at the long-short split. Foolishly, some of us followed Mick's instructions and crossed over the motorway before jogging chattily along the side of the thundering motorway - but at least the fumes made a change from the mud earlier. Or they would have done if the path hadn't been quite so muddy.
By this time your totally disoriented narrator was running towards Beaconsfield old town with the vain hope of a beer stop in the Swan, only to be cruelly directed off down a side road just as the pub hove pleasingly into view.
Exhaustion mixed with confusion as the pack repeatedly tried to find the path (which turned out to be in the totally obvious direction of along the road). Taking a scenic route around some of the posher parts of Old Beaconsfield, we eventually re-crossed the motorway and headed back to the pub (briefly losing Andy on the way).
Back at the service station many of us had totally sadly forgotten that we had still another half kilometre to go before getting to the cars.
Somehow, as soon as we arrived back in the pub the exhaustion of our mammoth trek fell away from us while we happily munched and slurped our way through lashings of chips, beer and cake - Happy Birthday to Ant (28) and belated Happy Birthday to Jo (not 28). As I failed to listen to Roger whilst he handed out various commendations and T Shirts I can't tell you what they were for.
The happy haze of contentment from another completed hash sank over us as we dwindled gently into the darkness and made our ways home.