It was not a lovely run at all. I lied. It was awful and torturous. In other words: a normal day at Hash. I am still limping several days later, although my recent lack of exercise may have something to do with that.
We started from Strettle Rd in Mahogany Creek, heading into a patch of reserve that I suspected was a mite too small to contain P Merah’s machinations. Turns out I was right, as we spent little time in the area and were instead flung southwards like so many tiny meteors sling-shotting around the sun (although in a more wheezing, grumbling manner). An eventual drink-stop compensated us for our complaints, and we soon returned home to a selection of treats and a few choice tick bites (I am still scratching).