Silly me. Or more accurately, O me miserum. Last week's hare is absent. Gerry is baking in Spain. And I got so carried away about having a space to park the car in, that I forgot that history must be recorded, whatever the circumstances. After writing last week's report I am all but flushed out of words. How would a professional, like Scribbler, who lives or dies by the word, cope? Plagiarism comes to mind, but who could he copy? The only writer of the requisite standard is himself, and plagiarising yourself seems to be a form of literary cannibalism. So what to do? Tell the truth?
Last time we ran from The Crown, we experienced road rage with churchgoers attending a meeting in the church. No problem this time. A quick check with the vicar resulted in a “God speed” and “have a happy hash day”. Our hare, Mark, broke the two items of news to us. The first, that part of our territory (towards Terriers) is subject to a planning application to build 1 million new homes and that we should join the local protest group (Steve W, who is more local than any local, pursed his lips, sucked air in slowly and said no chance, done deal, 'proval given). The other that the Hash wall in the kiddy playground has been pulled down because it lies in the route of a new motorway to service the 1 million new homes. The hare guided us (solemnly) past the remains and into the wilderness beyond towards Terriers Farm. Open farmland soon gave way to overgrown bramble patch that went on, and on. We emerged ( in a state which is the opposite to unscathed) on the Widmer End Road. Longs went left towards Wycombe, while we shorts skirted Brand's House, admiring the gardens all the while as our guide (hare) gave us the lowdown on the goss at Pipers Corner School. The cattle, which had been moo-ted to attend, were a no-show (thankfully).
At the top of Church Lane, our guide noted that the owner's Merc was now parked across the gate. Theory was that Mark had been marked down as a local villein of ill repute earlier that day, and the L o t M as taking no chances. As the FRBs were no longer around to inject a modicum of energy into our travails, our pace dropped to a gentle pootle as we descended the hill. Next up was the uphill climb to Cryers Hill, a path fraught with danger from bunnies and their cribs, and more brambles. Out with the trusty secateurs (for the second week running). Blackberry Lane no longer. FRBs nowhere to be seen (see reason why below, italicised to represent running position), so pootle remained the gear of choice.
“We did a mile loop with views over to Hughenden and a lovely sun setting. Joined short route and met walkers at top of Church Lane. Several 'RIO'S' obeyed by 5 dutiful on- backers. Found Mark in a hedge on way up to Cryer's Hill!! Stopped at 2 playgrounds: i. By the old Royal Standard Widmer End Village Hall where playtime was announced by our hare. Several brave souls went for the slide which proved extremely scary and fast depositing people quickly on the ground on their 'butts' ouch! ii. Hazlemere Rec where the Olympic theme continued with trampolining and such but sensible people like Maggie, Ken and Matt headed straight across the field to the bright lights of the Crown, to watch the real Olympics.”
We (back with the SCBs) shed a tear for the remains of the Royal Standard, a mere shell of its former glory, as we re-entered Grange Farm. Surprisingly, there was some checking going on, so we managed to find the trail around the fields without (much) resort to local knowledge (“I am sure the pub's over there, or was last time I had a memory”). The FRBs returned shortly after us, just in time for that Northern delicacy, the chip butty in the pub garden.
And, just like last time, Jane showed us why she is still queen of the cb eating comps. Triple-decker with ketchup. Unhinge the jaw, eat the prey whole, no belching, repeat. Thank you Mark for a lovely summer run and great cbs.