Le De Spencer? What kind of name for a pub is that? Best do some research... or ask Gerry - he'll probably know.
Anyway, whatever etymology of the darn thing, when I stepped out of the car there was a flash of lightening and a rather feeble grumble of thunder. It was all a bit am dram frankly, but enough to banish any idea we might have entertained about a fine Indian summer of Hashing. The huddling season is definitely upon us.
We huddled around the cars (told you so) and waited while hashers drabbed in unenthusiastically. The GM had been excused because he was off to see a Take That musical...(hmm, I bet I could get some jokes out of that if I knew any Take That songs... I'll ask Gerry, he likes opera).
Dick gave us the low down - it was going to be a slap dash hash apparently although I didn't see much slapping or dashing.
We set off out of the pub across the road into the woods and straight into some mud. Then back out of woods and onto the common towards Downley. At the footpath Twist found some tasty mushrooms - if only we could train him to find truffles we could get him to ruin much more valuable food. Actually if only we could train him to find flour we could just send the dogs out. If only we could train him.
Anyway - it was off across the fields then a left along by the woods and out onto the road. A couple of twists (including that one) took us up towards Cookshall Farm. Luckily Graeme managed to avoid a repeat of his spectacular moose here by the cunning ruse of not turning up. Up past the farm and into the woods and then down back towards the pub before taking a left up the road. Here we were passed by some cyclists whose idea of a good night out is riding around in the wet in the dark - some people are so odd.
So - off we went again, into the wet, dark field. According to the OS map we were at this point running through some pits (disused) which in my opinion is the same as just running through some pits. Maybe there was a thriving mining community here once, possibly owned by the de Spencers. Then a long drag down to Disraeli's pad at Hughenden. Round the house and back up again through the woods to the Common.
At this point we were within spitting distance of the pub but instead of a jolly on in we had to loop all the way round behind the car park where we could hear Barney laughing at us for going the wrong way. Then it was back through the woods and round to the pub again.
And it didn't even rain. Much.
Back in the pub, Gerry borrowed my phone to call Rose, which was a bit daft since she was sat on the other side of the bar. Barney got a tankard for having completed 14,000 runs or something and I got a packet of crisps.
All in all a very successful run - which is a bit of a shame since I only agreed to do the write up so I could have a go at Dick.