R*n 381: Beacon Fell

"Another pot of coffee, dear?", Morticia asked her husband as she wiped the last traces of the full English breakfast from her mouth.

"Better not", replied Lurch. "Even at £2 a r*n, there's barely enough money in the hash kitty to pay for all this food, not to mention the half a bag of flour we used to set the trail. Besides, it must be nearly quarter past eleven, and some of this rabble start to pong a bit if you leave them standing around in the rain too long. Let's just send them on their way, then we can get on with our lives."

"I suppose so", Morticia sighed reluctantly, stepping out into the Sunday morning monsoon. "With a bit of luck they'll all get lost fairly soon - most of them couldn't even find the car park. Not telling them about the on inn was a good move too - hopefully we'll get our lunch in peace!

The bedraggled hounds were duly dispatched, but to Morticia's dismay showed no sign of giving up despite the torrential rainfall and waist-deep mud and being gored by field after field of feral bovines.

"I know!" said Lurch, "let's turn on the hailstones - that'll make the b*ggers' eyes water!" It did, but still they persisted in their quest for floury fulfilment. At one point during the r*n, they showed every sign of wanting to stand around drinking beer, but Morticia would have none of it; a hastily arranged cloudburst soon had them scurrying off on the second leg of their perambulations.

Eventually, all the hounds were counted back onto the car park, and Morticia was not at all pleased at the prospect of having to dine with so many rancid specimens of the great unwashed in attendance. Attempts to kill them off in the circle by forcing them to devour inedible substances failed. So, after a few moments of discussion with her co-conspirator, she came up with the perfect solution: send them to a pub about eight miles away which none of them could find, in the hope of losing most of them and finishing her own dinner before the rest turned up. It nearly worked, too.

Verdict:

• Trail: 10/10.
• Weather: 0/10; much better cooperation and coordination with the Met Office needed - after all, the hares did have plenty of time to plan this.
• Flour Quality: Sample insufficient for analysis.
• Alphabet Spaghetti: Cold and not al dente.
• On inn food (Royal Oak, Garstang): Best S&K Pie in the country, so stop whingeing all you minging veggies!

Footnote:
A super-injunction prevents me from naming the hare responsible for acts of indescribable cruelty (details of which I am not allowed to give) towards one of the hounds (whose identity is protected by the courts) at the circle. Twitters - if you know who I'm talking about, tweet away!