On on!

Decided to blow away the cobwebs with a refreshing hash (no not smoking, not today; hashing as in off-road trail running). It was great to see some old faces - Bogman, Blowjob, Nipple Plucker, and our hare (not rabbit, Tom) for the day - Codpiece (I got away lightly being nicknamed Prickly Puss - don't ask!).

 

Being inordinately early (entirely thanks to Tom; as if I'd ever be on time left to my own devices!), we nipped into the pub to keep warm, and Tom caught me examining my face in the mirror.

"What are you doing, Gem?"

"It looks like I'm wearing eyeliner. Must be that mascara from last week. Now I match you!"

Tom was wearing eyeliner. Don't ask.

He peered into the mirror, frowning at his own reflection.

"Don't frown," I instructed him, smoothing his forehead with my thumb, "it's giving you lines."

"Oh, shut up...it's just like having a girlfriend, only without the sex!" Oh Tom, bless you and your quotability.

 

Hash hush was called; we gathered round for our briefing; and following the customary ribbing for my performance of unconventional warm-up stretches (you mean, not everyone can bend over and put their nose on their knees?), it was 'on-on' across a swamp. And on, and on, and on the boggy trail for seven squelchy miles. We tackled galloping ponies, electric fences, river crossings (sans-bridges), and a period of separation and getting lost somewhere in a forest (luckily I clung on to a guy with a GPS who insisted the pub was 'that way') until we were 'on-inn' and drinking welcome-back shandy back at the pub. Then I got chucked out of the pub - missing the punitive* 'down-downs' - for bringing in my own flask of tea (I really am poor at the moment), so Tom and I journeyed back to his for a nice plate of hot haggis and our customary argument about what constitutes 'good' music.

Got home to discover a couple of messages from some decent-looking men on a dating website; nice one, even if I am currently avoiding getting involved with new men (trying to find myself, gain independence as a single person, all that pathetic post-break-up crap). Treated myself to one of my favourite films ever - 'Bridget Jones' Diary' (I know, what a cliché). Funny; once I craved to have a lifestyle as interesting as hers; now I do, I'm not so sure it's all it's cut out to be.

 

*Yeah, I have a thesaurus, and I'm not afraid to use it!