Scrumper Limpet(Lorraine renamed!) Claire Gavin Hashgate Caboose C5 Charlie(Charlotte) Uptake Honeymonster Baldrick Julia Dribbler and dog Paddy Lonely and dog beaver Shep and dog Gnarler Potty NutcrackerDumper Iceman CanOpener TA Spot AWOL Dolly Glittertits Pissquick Soapy Motox Cap’n Haystax Handful Foghorn Chopstix Wally John from New York Ms. Whiplash BGB Mother Theresa Lemming PonyExpress Cheating Generator Richard Linda Flash

And indeed we had two commons (Crookham and Greenham), both as mucky as each other. A week or so of monsoon and typhoon had turned the ground into an exceptional mixture of puddles, ooze and squidge. Perfect Hash shiggy in fact. As Caboose, Honeymonster and I surveyed the pristine, snow white socks adorning the ankles of virgin Charlie there was much tongue-clicking and shaking of sage heads. This rather attractive and very pleasant lady turned out to be C5’s daughter and I remarked to him that it was difficult to believe she could have such a raddled old gargoyle as a father. She obviously takes after her mother. Mind you, she did miss out Scrumper’s lovingly prepared water feature during the trail but I guess we’ll forgive her just this once.

A fair sized bunch had turned up, including the rarely spotted TA, and we had to walk through the narrow, gorse-lined starting trail. This suited Ms. Whiplash and certain others ideally. The FRBs had to squeeze their way past in a most un-gentlemanly manner. Some early ‘egging’ took place with Cheating and Foghorn among those with a free-range shampoo. Now Scrumper had let slip to me early on that the trail had been laid as a figure of eight so I was quietly confident of sussing out the thing when we had figured out which way the loops went. Silly me! The four Hares had used low cunning and TA and I soon found ourselves way down a slippery woodland path staring at an ’F’. Scrumper United 1, Hashgate Wanderers 0. The score began to rise as we trolled down soggy falses and up wet hillsides. Then we hit the moonscape beach of Greenham Common. This vast expanse of scraped off wet pebbledash dotted with large ponds caused superb confusion, especially when Lemming called ‘On’ miles from any flour which dragged Lonely, C5, Charlie, Dolly and me in completely the wrong direction. He’s a little tinker isn’t he? Everyone else was searching for a blob while Gnarler and Beaver luxuriated in the excellent swimming facilities, backstroking languidly in the limpid pools. Unfortunately, the only person who figured it out was Wally. Presumably because he is so flipping awkward he went in the opposite direction to everyone else. Lonely and I hurtled back, breathlessly discussing the state of his hair now that the roots are showing through his auburn rinse. I shall miss the chestnut tumble that currently tops his pate. May I suggest a Johhny Rotten spiky blonde for the next essay into tonsorial excess? We squelched across the river deep mountain high landscape, passing a trotting Baldrick, then a shale hill staggering Canopener. About four miles (it seemed like it) away stood a small knot of old (as in ‘of old’) Greenham Common protesters although on closer inspection it was Ms. Whiplash, Nutcracker, Claire et al huddled up against the wind. We took an impromptu regroup break to let the laggards catch up then I followed Iceman for approximately one minute to the real regroup, a route that led us past the car park! How evil can you get?! Dribbler admittted that he was sorely tempted to break off for a quiet feet up and a spot of Radio 4. Can’t say I blame him.

We passed a pleasant ten minutes and I gave Gavin and Claire a smug account of my figure-of-eight course prior knowledge, superciliously indicating the direction I would be taking on our restart. I took it. So did many others. This was their mistake. I returned from the false a sadder and chastened Hasher. Then followed BGB, Glittertits, Soapy, Uptake and Motox across the road and on to the right trail. It was a bit odd this. Uptake and I were following leader BGB with Glitter and Soapy behind. Uptake and I could see no flour at all and BGB, being a bit shy I expect, preferred not to shout. So how come Glitter and Soapy kept up a fairly incessant ‘On On’ behind us. It fair got up our noses. So much so that we decided to split off from the trail and everyone else and run round part of a soaking field that no-one else had been in for decades. We felt much better as we tracked back to join the throng. Knackered, but much better.

It took Shep and TA to brave the apparently flour-less trail before finding a microscopic bloblet buried deep ‘neath a sturdy stile. This eventually led us rather oddly into someone’s front garden from whence we clogged our way across a bog into the side of someone else’s and out through the front gate. We had a bit of a chat to the owner and he was a very agreeable chap, seemingly not minding thirty-odd mud spattered, baying Hashers tramping their way across his herbaceous borders.

And then came the Hares’ water feature. Uptake and I got there first. A thigh-deep, swirling maelstrom of a ford stood between us and the siren calls of Ms. Whiplash, Julia, Nutcracker, Linda and (the big wuss) Richard. Uptake went and stood on the bridge. "Strange." I thought, wading in. "I know he looks like a big nancy boy but I thought he’d brave the stream." It turns out he actually thought I might bottle out and had taken the bridge to ensure my paddle. Silly boy! There was a pretty strong current in the middle of the ford and the water was extremely cold. Speaking as a chap I can say that it pays to be fairly tall in these circumstances… There were the usual shenanigans with Shep dunking Lonely and falling in himself. Lonely dunked Uptake. Foghorn and others ungallantly splashed Mother Theresa as she swirled through. Lemming actually got away without a soaking, skipping about like a demented water sprite in order to get away. Cheating rolled up his trousers, displaying a pair of slender pins that any flamingo would have been proud of. As he picked his way across I expected him to plunge his head in at any moment and emerge triumphantly with a wriggling fish in his beak. Charlie skipped over the bridge, letting her old Dad plunge gamely through. Gnarler and Beaver swam across and back several times, showing off with a bit of synchronised swimming – upside down with four legs only sticking out, executing an underwater backward somersault to rise out of the water (back legs going like a paddle steamer) then leaping like dolphins to our tumultuous applause, the smiles never leaving their faces. With a last baptism of Wally and Scrumper we slopped wetly up the damn great hill to the road. Then up another damn great hill to the dry–towel comfort of our cars.

RA Motox presented the following :-