Ms. Whiplash Eth Spot Danish Dorthe Scrumper Lorraine Claire Darren Bomber Veronica Neil Chopstix Foghorn Trembler AWOL Cap’n Haystax Potty Nutcracker Zebedee Florence CanOpener Miranda Wally Brian Incider and Kundun the dog Lonely and Beaver the dog Drexel and Maggie the dog Simon Liz and baby Ryan Squirrel Hamlet Motox Shep and Gnarler the dog Anorak Trainspotter Flash Zebedee’s parents and friends

With grateful acknowledgement to Bobby ‘Boris’ Picket and The Crypt Kickers. Oh come on! You must have heard it!

Firstly, we must award a whacking great ten out of ten to Incider (and Kundun), Liz, Simon and Ryan for their superb outfits. Incider’s witch outfit, makeup and staff were totally convincing. If it had been 1610 or so she’d have been burned at the stake. She only needed a large, hairy pussy (her familiar, of course) and the tableaux would have been complete. Liz’s horny devil with face makeup and particularly fine scarlet horns (also worn by baby Ryan) certainly frightened me and Simon’s excellent Dracula stunned all with the added shock factor of him carrying Ryan in a backpack! Motox staggered, Frankenstein’s monster-like round the car park. Dorthe had tied two bits of her hair in points, painted whiskers on her face and worn black in an attempt to appear cat-like. Not particularly frightening, but very cute! Zebedee wore that bloody old festering black wig that he uses at transvestite bank manager parties. AWOL had a fine black cloak and plastic teeth that made it even more difficult then usual to understand her. Ms. Whiplash and Eth made a very passable couple of old harpies. I think Shep had a horrible, frightening mask on – but then it’s very difficult to tell.

Thanks to all who made up, flapped in or just appeared from nowhere. Well done. And now a bit of horror fantasy…

The rain had lashed and chattered down on the cold, damp roads. A bluster of grey wind moaned around the ragged, horrid crowd gathered in the car park. A dog howled mournfully somewhere. "When shall we three meet again?" Cackled Ms. Whiplash to her weird sister Hares. "Heh. Heh. We have a trail for you!" She wailed to the steeple-back’d, befanged throng. The thunder rolled nearby. Her gnarled old hand pointed. Lightning ripped across the sky. "On Out that way!" She screeched. The pack shuffled, limped and stomped on their way, munching on rat snacks and scratching festering sores. The next bit typified the rest of the trail. Neil and I hurtled off at the check, desperately seeking flour. But the rain had done its job and nary a gobbet was to be seen until we luckily hit the next check about a mile down the road. Again and again we staggered off in all directions only to get it wrong – partly because (Ms. Whiplash told me) no ‘F’ had been laid! Fiendishly tricky. Especially when Neil and I (again) were followed by the entire pack in exactly the opposite direction for about another mile up a road. Luckily, we got off road now and again and a spectacularly steep field saw Shep urging Gnarler to pull harder and get him to the top quicker. At the top the fearsome Flash and devilish Drexel waited, moaning and keening the ‘On On’. How the hell they got there before me I know not. Presumably some mode of unearthly transport. A long, grey, mournful farm road led to a double check down the hill and Zebedee, Shep, Motox, Foghorn and I decided to get lost in the rather obvious forest trail. The place was full of moss, mud, succubae and frightening wood imps but flour there was none. A fate worse than snuffing it in a cellar full of rats awaited me when I returned to the check. Wally attached himself to me like a verruca to a foot. I believe this is his method of ensuring a mention in the Gobsheet and it certainly works. But couldn’t he just hand me a fiver for a set number of mentions rather than constantly getting on my t*ts?!

We reached an impromptu regroup in the middle of a deserted road where we were joined by the walkers, Ms. Whiplash and Eth (presumably short for ethereal?) who had just broomstick’d in. Drexel risked a severe hexing from Incider when he pointed vaguely in her direction and mentioned "Look at that dog in a dress." He was, of course, referring to Kundun who had his own witch’s dog outfit on but he came that close to being turned green and small and hopping into the nearby ditch. There were yet more difficult parts of the trail with Anorak, Trainspotter and Foghorn joining me in a fingertip search for flour. Trainspotter (who should be renamed Trailspotter) noticed the two infinitismograms of off-white and on we went. Somehow, Zebedee and I hit the front, splodging through deep shiggy and calling ‘On’. Unfortunately, the witch, wizard and warlock pack followed us. We found out later that the Short/Long marks had disappeared and consequently we had taken the Short, which led us all almost straight back to the pub! Horrors! Especially after all that hard work by Spot. Still, you couldn’t go wrong through this countryside and the pub is excellent. Well done, Hares. Award youself a rat each.

Grand Wizard Motox officiated, followed by ducking for apples where several of us had our heads pushed in and Miranda warmly thanked Foghorn for throwing water over her…