C5 Dumper Septic Foghorn Chopstix Danish Dorthe Uptake Premature Cerberus and Molly the dog Neil Kay and Gnarler the dog Shep and the other Gnarler AWOL Spot Handful The Tremblers Motox Dribbler Butterfly Julia Richard Linda Deborah Guinless Hamlet and Jake the dog Fukawe Ms. Whiplash Eth Salome OldFart Bob Spex Iceman Potty Nutcracker GBH CircuitBreaker Lemming Mother Theresa BGB Wally Cap’n Haystax Scrumper Lorraine Honeymonster Baldrick Greenfly Libby Brenda Cheating Grant Zebedee Florence Mr. Blobby Mrs. Blobby Frank(whose real Norwegian name is Oyva!) Lonely and Beaver the dog

Imagine if you will a pub in the middle of the Lancashire hills on a cold, wet night. The Ferret and Trouser Leg is a welcome sight for the weary traveller. You enter through the creaking door and step damply on to the polished red tiles. The landlord, reading the paper, looks up and nods a lugubrious welcome. Starts pulling a pint. As you approach the bar you see the sole other inhabitant is a thin, old fellow hunched up in the corner on a stool with a worried-looking whippet, wearing a greasy flat cap and a mac (no, not the dog, the old fellow). He peers up at you with rheumy eyes. "Ow do, young feller." He offers in greeting. "Dost thee want to 'ear a story lad?" "Er." You stammer weakly. "Aye. I thowt so. Ta very much." The landlord hands him your pint and pulls two more. They both take a deep draught, the whippet farts reedily and you hand over the money. Now read the old fellow's tale in your best Northern accent…

"T'were nobbut a while ago I were down South 'mongst all them, beggin' yer pardon, poncy Southern bastards. I were tekkin dog fer walk round Bracknell woods when this booger ‘Ashgate corners me in car park and starts chattin’ like. Tellin’ me t’names of his crowd. Well ‘e were with right bunch o’ weirdos I can tell thee. Two of boogers, C5 and Dumper were covered in flour and this bloke Neil were trying to cover young lass Kay wi’ mud! Other bloke OldFart were wearing trousers made out o’ deck chair seatin’! All o’ sudden right tasty bit o’ crumpet (Miss. Whiplash) stepped amongst ‘em and started welcomin’ people. Then ‘anded over to two old flour covered fellers. Seems like they were all goin’ fer run. Well, ‘appen as I’ve done a bit o’ fell runnin’ mesel’ so I thowt whippet and I might join in. They all shouted "On owt", which meant nowt to me, and we set off quite rapid. I were quite glad to be away from that nutter, Wally. I can tell you; I nearly set whippet on t’lad fer bein’ a right pudden. Them boogers Lemming and Shep cracked eggs on Cerberus and Dumper while I watched Bob unable to open a gate. Poor lad’s a few bricks short of a lorry load. It weren’t long before lads like Uptake and Foghorn were covered in mud and the ‘ole bunch o’ ‘em were lost. Yon lass Florence led ‘Ashgate and Iceman up t’ wrong trail in forest and there were lots o’ millin’ about at one point as Trembler, Iceman, Old Fart and Honeymonster went up false trail and t’other daft lot followed into t’ wood. T’weren’t long before we stopped at first regroup and Foghorn, Lonely and Shep all tried to heave each other into t’ puddles. We watched until they were too knackered to heave any more. Most folk ‘ad stopped to chat fer a bit but that there skinny bloke Greenfly went off to find trail with OldFart. We watched ‘em trottin’ out a right long way. Then we watched ‘em trot back. ‘Ashgate seemed to know where to go and e’ followed the ‘On On’ shouts down a squelchy trail. Sadly fer ‘im e’ was followin’ Shep and Iceman who ‘ad not seen a flour blob at all. Back ‘e came an’ I won’t tell what the booger was mutterin’ under ‘is breath as he went past. Still, ‘e saw Shep get his own back later an’ thoroughly enjoyed it. I took a short cut an’ got in front o’ pack. Whippet ‘ad stopped fer crap on t’path when we ‘eard ‘em running up. We stepped off to watch and most of ‘em went through. ‘cept Shep. T’ booger ran straight on to t’ steamin’ pile. Feet up in t’ air. Bang on t’ ground. It were a grand sight but I thowt it better not to mention Whippet’s part in it. We crept off, silent like.

It were a fair long thrash to next regroup by Roman camp and a few old ruins turned up there before t’ rest. Cerberus, Premature, OldFart, Zebedee, Cloggs, Itsyor, Foghorn and Shep all cast about waiting fer slow boogers to arrive. It took a fair while so I rolled a fag. I were just lickin’ paper when that bluddy Uptake kicked puddle all over meself and whippet, Chopstix and Mother Theresa. Then e’ an’ Shep followed up by soaking ‘Ashgate and Cerberus. I were wetter than when I fell in t’ canal after twelve pints of Old Smeginton’s Crotch Thumper after New Year’s do at ‘Eckamthswicke 1952. Well, whippet were keen to dry off so we joined the FRSB’s (Front Runnin’ Southern Bastards) fer trot round Caesar’s Camp mainly led by Spot and OldFart. It were a right merry loop round t’ fortifications. ‘Ares ‘ad not wanted to disappoint folk since trail always goes that way. We ended up back at regroup we ‘ad just come from. Still whippet were dry an’ ‘ad some fine company wi’ Shep’s bitch Gnarler. I sort of forgot to tell ‘im yon pair ‘opped off in t’bushes fer five minutes when 'e weren't around an’ they both ‘ad smiles on their faces when they came skippin’ back.

After this fine trail that kept the pack together (we were lost) so well RA Motox awarded the following after which the sensible ones On2’d to C5/Sue5’s for excellent repast and company. I would have loved to have participated but Motormouth was playing a league match…which they won 11-0!