The rain had not stopped all afternoon.
The hare was OK though, because he had been prepared. He had not only carried self raising flour (which sets hard instantly, and permanently, on wet ground), but he also walked round with his umbrella.
Not so well prepared were the hounds, whose numbers were shrunk. Whether that was as a consequence of the rain, or the illiberal use of LFTs, we will never know. Even Caboose was there. We (I really) commented that this location was about as far away from a railway station as one could get. Not so, said he indignantly. 40 minutes forced march, “2 miles Max”. Which would make a great hash name (IMHO).
Anyway, the 16 brave-hearts beat their chests defiantly, declared it was long or nothing, and set off on the long trail.
In the caravan park, there was the obligatory peacock perched in the tree at the road junction. Go that way (right) and meet your doom, it seemed to say. Nickers took a photo and said “no thank you”. Left we went and she was proved right.
At Dipple Wood (I have just made the mistake of looking at the meaning of dipple in the urban dictionary. Not for the squeamish) we took the new temporary diversion around the landfill site.
Here, the hare urged us to look to our right to look at a modern sculpture. I thought it looked like a bit of bi-plane but sharper eyes (Hawkeye no less) told us that it was an upside down car.
Thereafter, the trail was both tantalising and not. Underfoot was root and shiggy. Ahead were the bright lights of civilisation and warmth.
Down towards the lights, then up again, to the Chiltern Way. I must confess to moosing in slo-mo at this point. One moment I was standing upright staring at an arrow on the ground. 5 seconds later my nates gently hit the deck. Oh dear, think of the washing.
Burghers Hill is always a joy to run through, wondering just how many barrow loads of money it takes to buy a place up there.
Wood and frictionless slime gave way, eventually, to the solidity of Broad Lane. Did we feel good about that? Not when Steady foresaw our doom if we went along TP2.
Fortunately, the hare foresaw this prediction and went another way (his preferred way) where we espied the On-Inn. At this point, Steady foresaw our doom again. Credit card readers that were being interfered with by mysterious forces (ask Steady. This is all true).
Back in the pub, we could finally enjoy the fruits of the barrel. It was a reet proper job.
Thank you hare. Thank you hounds for turning out.
Thank you Jilly for telling your James Bond joke. It gets better every time I hear it.
T shirt (150) for Conehead. Luke will be proud of you.
Some more Covid 'jokes'.
What’s the difference between COVID and politics? Politics doesn’t end after two weeks.
How does COVID travel? The Batmobile.
What did one novel coronavirus say to the other? “Oh, the places you’ll see.”
What’s the best part of teaching your children at home? You can’t be fired for drinking on the job.
What do you call staging a beer in every room of the house? A pub crawl.
Lockdown means you get to decide each day what outfit you’ll wear in your living-room.