Run 2564 – Gumby at Buckland Hill car park

“March hares”, suggested Sherlock as I sought inspiration for a run write up at the beginning of the walk. Did he mean as mad as the European hares in their March breeding season? Was I supposed to develop a runners and walkers theme based on the tortoise and the hare?

With no clear answer from Sherlock we were left to contemplate the splendours of Mosman Park’s public housing as the runners headed uphill on their first false trail. A parked police car promised some drama to entertain the hash but everything was disappointingly quiet.

Winding our way through more salubrious streets we met up with the runners on Stirling Highway. They had crossed the highway, run through a railway station and crossed the highway again, only to find an arrow directing them back across the highway and the railway line towards the beach. It was a long time before we saw some of them again.

Meanwhile, in a stark contrast to its beginnings, the walk took us through green and leafy streets past some of the best mansions in the suburb.

As we toured Buckland Hill Park, Phantom faced a leadership challenge from inside the walkers group which split on the issue of a quick walk home or a search for the promised gin at the drink stop. Phantom had the numbers and the splitters – Stewie, Barcode and Sir Knob – failed to find the gin.

Back at the wagon the circle actually allowed Christmas to finish a joke. Well done Christmas for your persistence in the face of the howling hash mob.

Scribes who had failed to deliver recent run write ups were chastised. Anybody who could claim any Irish blood enjoyed a down down but what was Ramrod doing in that group. Barefoot, Bushie, Rumpole and Pitt arrived back late and shared a drink in consequence

Something happened with Grizzly and there was a confusing down down for a trio who had apparently served 23, 24 and 25 years respectively. I may have been talking to Elbows about the prospects for a Bill Shorten prime ministership at the time.

As the circle dragged on it became clear that a crisis was developing. Where was the food?

In a hospital hand pass FT invited me to assess the merits of the walk at length in front of the hungry pack. As the grumbling mounted I quickly gave it a seven.

And there at last were the roast chickens and the chips in amazingly generous proportions. Future hares take note: 25 chooks is about 12 too many.

Even the gin appeared and very good it was as well.

Thanks Gumby for a great night in interesting territory.

On on

Sir Knob