Ooh la la, je suis desolée! Spanker and I spending the time between hashes 351 and 352 en Provence has caused a long delay in blog production. Quel horreur! Okay, enough of the schoolboy French.
On the 28th of March, Mrs Slocombe and Gender Bender (on her first haring) took us to the margins of Maia on a good length run that was part suburban, part rural. On the initial stages we kept together, which was as well when we crossed a field to find the way out, through a gate, was locked, requiring a fair detour. This came shortly after Horny had had a moment with her invisible friends, who appeared to number in their thousands as she raised her arms in salute, like Paula Radcliffe finishing a marathon, the only, slight difference being that she had gone off checking a hundred yards down a road from a checkpoint and in fact she was saluting (or airing her armpits, perhaps?) a couple of old women and a scabby dog.
By the end, it had become two groups, with the runners getting in at the end of a long run-in after a couple of hours and a small group (who had spent far too much time walking!!!!) skulking back some time later. At down-downs, Dave Noon was awarded the fabulous name of Titchy-Percy for reasons into which I will not go here.
Next stop was Campanhã for hash 352, which I set shortly before we ran it. Lengthwise, it was one of the shortest hashes I've set, at about an hour and a quarter, but for a hard-running, up-and-down run around the city it seemed about right. We had an almost-complete Donnelly contingent (come on Squirrel, get your kit out!) for this one even though Gnasher and Tintin nearly fell off the end.
The bash was memorable for Liverpool's thrashing of Benfica, to Snorter's delight, and the menacing moustache of a rather aggressive Benfica fan seated alongside us. Oh, and the company of course - you're all wonderful, marvellous people.
On, on to 353.