Scribes

Run 1424

Feughside

Hares: Sergio and One Foot

What the ffffk? That spacious car park was full at 10.30, an unlikely clash of elite sporting events – canoeists bent on shooting the swollen rapids and us.

Mrs T was ruminating over how long it seemed since her last award and good gawd, her number was up. I think she liked her dazzle yellow 500 get a life jumper. Welcome to 3 new runners, 2 were Munro Baggers who’d been conscripted atop Scolty during last weeks run, another by Kobe Belle.

Just as I was giving directions to a walkie talkie the GM ordered me to take on the demanding dual role of horn baring scribe and rear hare – guaranteed to suceed, especially in racing green wellies.

Terrain was a bit squelchy (up to the thigh) but what did it matter on such a great run. There I was, just minding everyone elses business when Head Hare shouted ‘Let me smell you One Foot’. Eh? Turns out she was sniff testing the orange navvy waiscoat and much thanks to you Two Moons for laundering it.

Bunch of Harriette shepherds were womanfully steering some wayward sheep back from whence they leapt – there was a malicious rumour that they’d been startled by a sudden noise in the area.

The run just got better and better; speed tracks, virgin forest, water features, interesting slopes, organic matter – they panted, sweated, heaved their forms round.

Fantastic, Hash Beer welcomed us in with outstretched hands and Gluwein, but no, his mission was to poke his finger in me chests to check consistency. Were they all my own? Not bad for 51 what, says I. Are you only 51? Could have been deflated, if they were false which they’re not.

Aids was brandished an Old Fart by an Ancient Fart who was invited to imbibe more farting refreshment. Pig pen (The Penguin) and Numbskull were in for their intransigence. At some point in the proceedings a canoeist in a fancy boiler suit was challenging us to a Dualthlon next year, but we fear he only fancied a beer. Drillbit was in for boasting about his culinary skills and a novel omelette dish featuring molten spatula. A fair and lovely Harriette was invited to show us her shredded trousers but somehow it all deteriorated and next thing she knew she had a very worthy Hash Handle – Littlegash. The sort of name you admire, unless its yours. Understandably, she wasn’t holey enamoured and accidently threw her beer onto Nae Knickers and a fight broke out.

It only remains for me to say, what a great run it was.

One

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