So, here it was at last - Fiddler On The Hoof's first solo outing as hare. Would the lad be up to the task? He had certainly been subjected to a high calibre of in-service training on his six previous ventures, with such experienced and illustrious teachers as Professor Off His Trolley (one lecture), Professor Baldbrick (one lecture), and, last but most certainly not least, yours truly Professor Sir Tom Tom (full course of four lectures - please note fees not yet paid) - but would he graduate with first-class honours, summa cum laude and all that, or walk away with a lousy upper-second, which isn't worth spit these days?

I needn't have worried. I taught him proper, and the lad done good. None of these microscopic so-called "piles" of flour which look as if they have been measured out with a teaspoon, or half-hearted arrows which would have struggled to ruffle King Harold's eyebrow, let alone take his eye out. Part of the challenge of hashing is having to decide, on encountering a pile of flour, whether to circumvent it or attempt to scale it; as for the arrows, would Custer ever have been defeated at the Little Big Horn had it not been for the utilisation of large multiple arrows? Most definitely not, let me tell you!

Thankfully, then, Fiddler ignored the pathetic whinings of those parsimonious skinflints who will insist on getting more than one heap of flour out of a bag (don't ever let any of these people bake you a cake - you'd die of hunger!), and gave us some decent markings. Not so sure about the flour-mountain which was clearly visible from an open check, though - think I'll have to deduct a mark for that.

It wasn't just the quality of the marking which made this trail an outstanding piece of craftsmanship - Fiddler distinguished himself by including a beer stop, a feature almost unheard of on evening r*ns. Other plus points: the length (or rather lack of it), and the total lack of shiggy (apart from Darth Vader treading in the only cowpat on the entire trail in an attempt to avoid a platoon of bovine quadrupeds.

Back to the on inn (a new venue for us - did we trash the previous one? I can't remember), and a naming ceremony. Someone whose previous identity I have already forgotten was christened Woody 2 Shoes. I used to have another name once, but I can't remember that either, and I'm really trying. I've made my brain hurt now, so I think I'll go and lie down.

On on to Bull Beck on Sunday, and what I gather is an A-B r*n, although I'm pretty sure Highway and Upperskirt will take the A-C option. See you there!