R*n 307: Glasson Dock

With heavy heart from home we crept,
Despondent as the rain chucked,
But Glasson was as fair as could
be poss, the way it had looked.

A modest gath'ring loitered there,
And after much instruction
Hare sent us off not with a clue
And left us to deduction.

Twas Twisted spotted trail of course,
Though markings they were sparse.
But shortly overstretched herself
And disappeared up arse.

She'd happened on the homeward marks
But Antiseptic spok up.
'Cos she'd insider info, which
Corrected Twisted's cockup.

So down the coastal path we lurched,
Admiring estuary.
No quench at Stork because our Feels
Had said "No beer stop sorry!"

So over t'road and down the lane,
Canal soon brought a split
And t'rambos' way by church to t'woods
Was handy in a bit,

Because I needed some relief,
So off the trail I slinked
And Upper Skirt and Master B
Hove past me 'fore they blinked.

Then back to the canal and down
Its towpath very pretty.
With family of swans and cygs,
No camera, what a pity.

And then astonishment I felt,
No precedent I'm betting.
A second pub in Thurnham Mill
Was passed without a wetting!

And still another rambo split
Before we could make berth.
But bonny skies and balmy breeze
Made all that sweat well worth.

And so on in and just in time
As Hare urged haste to t'pub,
Before the Victoria chef went home
And left us there to blub.

So circle in the bar we had,
Where Twisted downed the first,
For being such an FRB
And checking fit to burst.

Fast followed by her Bitter who
Had been a know-it-all.
At every check he'd second guessed
The route, but that's not all.

White Noise was charged, had crashed again,
As is her well-known habit.
And so the food arrived and we
Were eager then to grab it.

A gradely full-moon hash and not
A miniscule success.
For Feels On Wheels was solo Hare
And did a good job, bless!