A fairly select group of warts, including guest appearances from the Spinks and brother Winterburn, enjoyed a real Harmer classic, battling through head-high heather, bracken, bog and assorted filth, at sub 40-minute mile pace across Hobson Moss and similarly unprepossessing tracts of flatish moorland to a number of largely unremarkable landmarks. Actually, that last bit's not true - we happened upon a rocking stone, which occasioned an ill-conceived episode of seesawing betwixt Tractor Boy Ray and your correspondent, and no conclusion as to who was the fatter; a ruined cabin which Chairman Tom declared 'better than some we've visited' and, after a certain amount of disinterested confusion, the wooden footbridge in Oaken Clough. The more we grumbled, the wider spread Andy's grin and, reluctantly or not, the more we were endeared to his truly awful route. His avowed intention was to reveal to us the mysteries of the 'corridor route' from the Hunter Wreck to Emlin trig; and mysterious it indeed was. So much so that the personal responsibility brains' trust soon swung into session in the Nag's Head afterwards to debate the wisdom of declaring a pair's race or not. No doubt the Cap'n will reach the most enlightened decision in due course, just as soon as he's darned the knees of his Martin-esque Ron Hill trackers. Perhaps time to shut up, before this prose plumbs new depths of opacity ... but not without a brief mention of our very own resident hack, Monsignor Holmes, who was evidently so bored with shouting at his canines by the final mile of the expedition that he chose instead to throw himself to the ground, incurring a variety of injuries to upper limbs. Needless to say, he got little sympathy from his fellow travellers.