The Ship, Cadmore End - 8th August 2007. No. 19

Run Report by Presso

Before I totally forget next weeks run is from Duds and Aude's house in Beacons Bottom, normal time etc. bring booze if you think you might be thirsty and waterproofs if you believe the weather forecast.

The following were in attendance, apologies if I've missed anybody off. The omnipresent Jules, Amanda, Rodders, Suzie, and Kate along with, Brett, Michael, Ricky, David, Duds, Aude, me and a running virgin who I wasn't introduced to so apologies if I got your name wrong Cherie. Quite a big turn out if recent reports are anything to go by.

Those early enough, both me and Ricky, managed to park next to the large Czech, people carrier, I mean articulated lorry, that was still there from a recent delivery of fellow Europeans, much needed by our labour shortage, and acres of free space crying out for occupiers. Other runners parked precariously on the side of that busy thoroughfare where there appears to be no speed limit. Customers for the pub chose another drinking venue where they could leave their vehicles, at least within, walking distance.

For the first time in living memory the run started with a steady downhill section all the way into the Hambleden Valley to Fingest, which made us fatties feel a whole lot better, but as we progresed through and onto Turville Lane us fatties were perturded to hear whispers of the dreaded R word. At the top end of Turville Lane Compo, Foggy and Clegg made a tactical withdrawal and decided to head back, knowing that there were at least two steep hills and that was plenty.

It was an evening of immense beauty, and running conditions unsurpassed in recent years. Sunny and bright though not with the associated intense heat or humidity, the kind of evening that could only, realistically, be appreciated by admiring Gods gifts.

It is anybodies guess what happened to the intrepid fitties who ventured off towards the Rollercoaster, but Compo Foggy and Clegg were happy in the knowledge that "anybodies guess" wouldn't happen to them. They ambled back through Fingest and down a small lane before finding the footpath that headed towards the pub. At said footpath they came across a sheep stuck on a stile and mustered all their combined "countryman" experience to scare said sheep off the stile. This had more to do with Compo seeking out his wellies than anything else.The long, meandering stroll up the perfect grassy incline, prompted appreciated murmerings of the view and a philosophical debate about whether a lovely house at the top of a hill would command a greater price than a lovely house in the valley. A herd of red deer were observed and admired in the woods on top of the hill, particularly the well endowed stag (his antlers of course) looking after his girls.

Back at the pub we were all greeted by the new landlady who had been there a week and had not a single nibble. All those there will know why.

Duds and Audes next week and there is no way from their house we can start downhill.

Compo.