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“It was murder most fowl” said Holmes. “Indeed” replied Watson, “but how will we ever find the culprit?”
“Elementary, my dear Watson” said Holmes, lighting his pipe, “Let us start by eggs-amining the culprit’s trail”
“Firstly, we know it was a small peck that met in Chobhen for the run. It was cold, definitely not roasting. So when the peck flew off they were able to follow generous, not poultry, blobs of flour. The FRBs leading and the roost following behind. The run started off-rhode and pretty much stayed there.”
“The trail was well layer-ed with plenty of chicks to keep the peck together and even Nigel was cock-a-hoop when he found the hen-hen. Lots of egg-cellent paths and only a few poulet of mud to dodge. The chicks were cleverly laid. Sometimes the pack turned beak, but nest time they would capon with John Shaw at the front, pullet them along.”
“Then the peck arrived in the high street at the church, getting curious looks from the yolk of Chobhen. But no time for a rest, so it was chooks away and over the zebra crossing, in case there were any carton the road.”
“How very interesting” said Watson, “Then what?”
“Shell I tell you any more Watson?” said Holmes. “Well, despite the best efforts, the hares could not coop the peck together, which was a bit un-clucky and some headed for home. But going down the brood may have been feather than the actual trail”
“The roost, dedicated peep-le, found trail and capon going. They couldn’t be bantam. But wattle did they find? Was this the scene of the hen-ious crime? But still, it did not make the peck comb to a stop. By now Roo and chef were leading the way, scratching a chick to lead the peck in.”
So well done Mark and Linda. A truly “guilt” edged run. Egg-tremely pheasant and definitely one for the albumen.
“But who was the culprit Holmes?”
“Has anyone seen this dog lately?”
When is a figure of eight
not a figure of eight? A great enigma and discussions on this may rage for as
long as WH3 has bodies to argue it. But first, the run.
To some the printed word will always be a mystery. Hence it was that at the car park of the White
Hart included a number of confused would be runners searching for flour. That
it happened to be several miles down the road at New Haw Broadway where the run
started did finally become clear when somebody read the directions. That bunch
having been happily reunited with the main body of literates, the run proceeded
in one of Calamity’s typical, thought provoking saw toothed progressions. Back
checks, forward checks, left checks right checks, they were all there. Down to
the canal, back across
Submit your answers no later
Report to follow....
Why does it always rain on me, missing miss Dhal and a repeat of Prof Brian Cox on TVeeeee. Yes you guessed it hashing in the wet around the delectable backstreets and woodlands of Ottershaw. True to form, Dingaling arrived by the skin of his teeth for the on off. Despite the yards of mud and the deepest of puddles turning newly scrubbed shoes brown an amazingly clever run venturing not far from the pub had the local knowledge foxed by the endless choice of footpaths. Down Sunnyside lane for the On In, the dirty dozen reconvened near a real log fire, Addlestones cider and real ale. That's what I call mood food.
A cheery group of Weybridge
regulars turned up for this Towny run round
has been practicing his back alleys well If this run
is anything to go by. A lovely
meandering run, which you never knew where it was going next! Couple of nice surprise visitors, one
Knickers, able to fit us in between flights these days I never know whether she
As we set off under Berrylands station all the way back to
Here’s to the next…..with a little more flour that’s all.
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