Friday 13th March, SFMH3 no. 6, Hare: Lockerbie

Friday the 13th and we let Lockerbie loose! A recipe for disaster, or a formula for a finely tuned masterpiece?

The regulars in the Trafalgar, used to seeing Big One in odd looking clothing, were further subjected to a varying number of odd-looking folks, including Boghopper making a late appearance with horn, to the relief of those who thought that they may have to do some checking. Dr. Ruth popped in from Filey, and we even had a virgin, Sarah, looking longingly at various alchofrolic drinks been consumed by less athletic types, like Mandy (um, now named Cyberslut!)

Eventually, the 18 or so people trudged out of the door. 7.30pm, a Friday and we're hashing. At least there was the location of the first beer stop to puzzle over.

With the full moon again refusing to show, we had to follow Boghopper and Flesh to make sure we knew where we were going. Around the houses, down by Dennis Print, a fleeting opportunity to scare the stiffs, then back around by the coach park and to the pub. A rather confused Martin was seen hiding behind the Alma bar as we all trooped in, ignored the cluster of normal people that were expecting a normal Friday night, and demanded sustenance from the cold.

Duly revived, a short trip around town, a beer stop to puzzle over, then home? No way... At this point we found ourselves heading down Plantation Hill, up to the other side of the Valley, before coming back over Spa Bridge and into the Crescent Gardens. At this point Dr. Ruth was unhappy by the lack of moon. Step in Big One What on earth was Lockerbie thinking sending us in there? More to the point, where was this second beer stop?

Hang on, along York Place and to the pub. A rather confused Martin was seen hiding behind the Alma bar as we all trooped in, ignored the cluster of normal people that were expecting a normal Friday night, and demanded sustenance from the cold.

And from there, home to the 'Traf. Warmth, beer, good company and bloody spicy bits of chicken... A cunning plan by Traf staff to keep us quiet, or a ploy to make sure we consumed great amounts of alcohol to ensure that the temperature of our mouths stayed below meltdown?

Down downs of the great black stuff were duly dispensed by Pampers to, amongst others:

And so the pack, fuelled by beverage, food, and the moon, were cast into the night, only pausing to stop once again at THE PUB

Trash by Pampers