Supplementary Run Report by Doug
If there is/was an officially appointed scribe, then due apologies for toe-treading, but, with some spectacular re-juggling of present duties, I have managed to manufacture a spare fifteen minutes, in which to challenge my recollections of last Wednesday.
Now, let me see. From the above list I remember Duds, Amanda and Jules, Fred and Jerome, Michael, Dominique, John and Rodders, who, minus Susie, was as 'a ship without a sail' ......We also welcomed back the travellers, Steve and Spellbound from New Zealand, David from Augusta and, after a year's sabbatical (and a trip to Mauritius), Mr 'Wednesday Night Runners' himself, Brett Rivett; all of whom gathered at the Fox and Hounds. The fact that the pub was closed for business sparked much pre-traumatic stress amongst us 'fatties', but a cunning disaster recovery plan was implemented and order restored.
Now I turned up with a modicum of confidence about this one, since Jerome was in charge. This would be a gentle 3-4 miler, with minimal inclines, copious stopping points and a heavy emphasis on the quality of the beer and pork scratchings.............................................errr, no. Six miles I am told, largely up and down (some of the downs being particularly tricky) and a nasty one and a half mile steady climb to the finish (well almost).
But, in truth, it was all strangely enjoyable. Beautiful views at times (though most of us were keeping a watchful eye on ankle-wrecking tractor marks) and, in the early part of the run at least, a chance to catch up with the aforementioned voyagers. Not too sure how it was at the head of the pack, but very pleasant, in parts, at the rear.
Briefly back to that nasty closing climb, as Jerome did amuse me afterwards, when he told me that he had tried to 'burn me off' as we ascended. Now, people 'running on the spot' will have generated more forward momentum than our combined efforts at times and let me assure that, at no time, was there any discernible 'change in pace' from either of us; breathing patterns, yes; strange involuntary noises, yes; but pace, sorry. Thanks, anyway, Jerome, for inspiring me up the hill and making me chortle.
The drive to the Bull and Butcher seemed interminable. David was struggling with the somewhat inept barman upon our arrival but the long-awaited rewards duly arrived. The golfing fraternity surrounded David in search of snippets about Tiger and Luke and the Augusta authoritarian management. Next year's Gullane will almost certainly be in America as a consequence. Brett made the schoolboy error of sitting nearest the bar and seemed to spend the evening fetching drinks and nibbles. I really have no idea what anyone else was doing or talking about but the evening as a whole was most enjoyable.
Next week (ie tomorrow, or maybe even today by the time most of you get this) is, indeed, from the Gate at Bryants Bottom, with a prompt 6.45pm departure sought, along with a pub with Sky for the Chelsea v Liverpool game..........?
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