We were lucky on Sunday, or so we thought. The mid-week weather forecasts had threatened a complete washout of biblical Great Flood proportions. By Saturday lunchtime, the doom-and-gloom merchants had partially retracted their predictions of impending catastrophe, so that it looked as if the hares would get back to base dry, whilst the hounds would probably get a moderate soaking. By Sunday morning, though, the Met Office was holding out the distinct possibility that the monsoon season would not begin until mid- to late-afternoon. So, provided that Madge and Sid kept it shortish.....

As it turned out, copious aqueous precipitation was the least of our worries. By the time the hares had, with the aid of cue cards (the much longer fully-scripted speech which they had intended to deliver having been unanimously vetoed), warned us of the perils which lay ahead – multiple ferocious bulls in multiple fields, highly excitable sheep, not to mention the electrified fences and fast-moving traffic – some of us were starting to wish we’d thrown a sicky and stayed at home to watch the Sunday Politics show. Wimps or Rambos is one thing, but we were being asked to choose between electrocution, being gored to death, or being pancaked by motorists. Decisions, decisions.

In keeping with LVH3 tradition, Lurch and Morticia arrived just as the circle was about to disperse. Also in keeping with LVH3 tradition, Speedbump and Dormouse arrived only when they could be absolutely certain that Upperskirt was no longer around to ask them for any money. Funny how they always manage to catch up before the beer stop closes though....

Once underway, we managed to survive the promised vehicular onslaught, the electrified fence never actually materialised, so that just left the bolshie bovines and obstreperous ovines to deal with. We weren’t unduly concerned, though, as the pack included Tarty Totty, Loose Elastic and junior hashers Smartie, Jelly Tot and Midget Gem; the hares wouldn’t deliberately endanger their own grandchildren, would they? Possibly not, but the same could not be said of Loose Elastic. At one point, when we were being totally ignored by a herd of cows, she shouted out “Watch out for the cows!”, thereby alerting them to our presence.

Other elements of the r*n were standard LVH3 fare, so future scribes please feel free to copy and paste this paragraph into your pieces. Baldbrick provided the usual excellent selection of beers for the beer stop (not forgetting the peanut cookies which are rapidly becoming a hash favourite). Morticia treated us all to a comfort break à la Paula Radcliffe. Plus, of course, we managed to lose Highway.

At the end circle, Dormouse, realising that his quite obviously brand-new running shoes were attracting a lot of unwelcome attention, and were at imminent risk of a beery baptism, successfully managed to turn the spotlight away from his footwear and onto my long-serving and admittedly slightly distressed pair. Nice one, sonny, but we’ll get you next time.

Thanks to the hares for a good one, and on on to Marybank.