Anyone remember Allithwaite? Yes, of course you do. Who could forget that ill-fated r*n of just eleven months ago (July 24th 2011 to be precise, look it up, you'll find it somewhere in the anals of LVH3 - and no, that wasn't a spelling mistake) at which we lost so many good people. Baking sun, hashers dying of thirst, heatstroke and exhaustion and being buried in shallow graves at the roadside, which reminds me - we must get Baldbrick to exercise his professional undertaking skills sometime and exhume them so their families can give them a proper funeral. Eventually called off at 2.30 pm after 10 miles when the hare informed us that there were still 4 miles to go, and that was just the Wimps. The only hash to make the Guiness Book Of Records because not one single hound made it to the finishing line on foot.

The hare on that occasion? Why, NMC of course! No wonder, then, that so many of the traumatised survivors suffered flashbacks and relapses as R*n 425 moved ever closer to the top of the calendar, and retreated into therapy. Indeed, some hashers even left the country to avoid today's outing, fleeing to destinations as far-flung as Saudi Arabia and even Australia! No wonder then that only half a dozen seasoned veterans were there for the off, plus two very welcome guest r*nners to bulk out the depleted field.

A r*n of "modest proportions", we were promised. Yeah, right. How many times had we heard that one, along with "it's flat, there's no shiggy, and it won't rain". Perhaps he meant 13 miles as opposed to 14, who knows. The announcement that there would be two beer stops and not just one did little to allay our suspicions - Allithwaite had two beer stops as well.. Nevertheless, we gritted our teeth and trotted off to do our bit for Hash and Country.

The first troughing halt came and went without incident. NMC had decided to gather us outside a church, just in case we needed to avail ourselves of the graveyard facility; he needn't have worried, we were all still sound of wind and limb. Our post-BS euphoria died, however, when about ten minutes into the 2nd leg we arrived back at the same church and realised we had gone round in a big circle. Hey ho, no matter, probably intentional we thought. There was only one possible escape route we hadn't already been along, so we took it, found flour, and continued on our way. All was now harmonious in the cosmos, but it was not destined to remain so for long.

We entered a wood, encountered a check, and dutifully split up to seek floury fulfilment. Speedbump found the mandatory heap of white stuff and summoned the rest of us in the customary manner. We followed her, with the exception of Dormouse, who had also been heard to call out. Surely he was mistaken - after all, we were on trail, weren't we? Oh well, he would probably catch us up soon. Or possibly not, but Speedbump was not overly concerned, her spirits buoyed by the prospect of a sizeable life insurance payout in the event of his untimely demise.

A tricky mudslide later we exited the wood, and that was where things started to get really weird, for there on the road was a chalk arrow accompanied by the words "on inn". We couldn't be that close to the finishing post, could we? No matter, never forget the first rule of hashing: never argue with chalk and flour.

Back at the Swan, and not even half past twelve! According to Upperskirt, we had covered 3.8 miles - 10 miles less than Allithwaite! Something was not right here. What had happened to the second beer stop? An hour passed, now it was 1.30 pm. Where was Dormouse? And where was the hare? The mysteries were multiplying. Sherlock Holmes once said something along the lines of once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And the truth was - stand by for the supreme irony here folks - that Dormouse HAD found the correct trail in the wood, had merrily gone on his way assuming that we would follow, and had not only made it to the second beer stop but was also the ONLY hasher to complete the full r*n!! Another one for the record books - NMC certainly knows how to defy the stats!

Several phone calls later, and we were all reunited, apart from the fifty per cent who had to go as it was near their bedtime. Not at the Swan, mind you, as NMC hadn't booked us in - not a wise call on a summer Sunday in the Lake District! We went to the Newby Bridge Hotel instead. Good job Off His Trolley wasn't there, as I had the last fish. We asked Upperskirt to refund our £2 charge for the r*n, as we didn't get the Full Monty so to speak, but she refused outright, opting instead to make Dormouse pay double as he'd gone a lot further. The bill's in the post, mate. With the benefit of hindsight, we were glad to have taken the shortcut, as Dormouse didn't get back until two o'clock. So much for the "modest proportions".

NMC was thrilled to bits - he'd finally laid the ghost of Allithwaite to rest and set a trail that someone completed. Who knows, maybe next time he'll get two past the finishing post.

On on