A quick loud hasher trips over a crazy dog.
It's not all that often that one gets to recce, run & report on a hash, especially with such a ravishing hare (#getaroom) so with the 3 or 4 R's in mind and after a wee bit of car park shuffling we assembled ready for the off. No special rules here, the flour might have vaporised, heads may be bashed & arrows may be pointing in the wrong direction but the hash was laid & ready to run.
Despite aforementioned inclusion in the recce, I still managed to follow Crazy Alan on the wrong path across the field, but seeing as all paths converged at the next check it didn't seem to matter & hence forth we were faced with a choice, to dice with death crossing over the notorious big A413 or to dice with fences crossing under said same roadway. The fences even had welcoming notices inviting you to mount them & not being one to refuse such an offer, to mount them we did, whilst those of more doddery persuasion crossed via swing gates & metalled road. Away from such modern inventions we were now herded like sheep past fields of sheep, onto and up the hill to Potter Row where the flour kind of petered out. A quick shimmy to the right and left kept us en route, so after a muddy half mile or so we found ourselves in Ballinger where the longs parted company with the shorts.
Continuing in a north easterly direction we skirted around Ballinger before a check in the woods allowed Whipping Bouy & I to play god with the weather & perform a quick rain dance (Shaking Stevens would have been proud of our moves) much to the annoyance of the GM causing him to further annoy the pack by braking into a solemn lament that rain drops keep falling on my bald head, boo hoo… After what seemed an age Mr Chisolm finally located the white stuff & we relinquished the damp patch for a hop & a skip through Ballinger proper, past the now shuttered pub and soggy cricket field. The flour had certainly taken a battering up here and the hare was left to bellow out instructions from her beautiful lungs (#getaroom) before the hounds got too lost at each check.
Whilst the GM enlightened us to the practise of training Summer with snippets of frankfurter we enlightened him to the delights of the internet sensation (Summer = Fenton?) as we sauntered across the fields back towards Potter Row, past another long closed pub, across the proposed HS2 route and downhill where we caught up to a damaged Barney with associated other short cutters. Nae bother laddie, thee pub is but all downhill from here and we have the whiff of a barmaids apron so we'll see ya later and left the stragglers to straggle at their own pace whilst we hot (but damp) footed it across some now familiar fields, road and underpass to the rather oven like pub and we were rewarded with copious sandwiches & crisps. Yey!