1175

Seaweed wound us along long temporary roads to the flamingoless flamingo headland and island. After a traditionally obscured turn on the first trail, the hares performance was oddly impeccable: well marked, easily found, straight lines and *!@#$%* long!
Dangerously Klipe was probably for the last time until he returns to visit made spy. Seemed he was making up for all those chivalrous/misogynistic days when the fairer gender remained unbucketed, though revenge was vindicated on a few fellows too.
The sun set over the sea. And life was good.

The wet and the dry of it. (1174?)

Of course we wouldn't have expected anything other of Herr Tony than a little bit different. The first trail, or what remained after the tide had run the route beforehand, had us through jetsam flotsam, saltsand, and worse. Our hare was not going to let his solitary falsie go to waste, trumpeting the entire hash along the wrong before allowing us to tackle the echt 2nd. Several buglers later we were enticed INSIDE the palatial fence and a challenge -or distance - to find the way in. At the outset the conundrum posed was there is a wetand a dry On In. And so it developed into an almighty sprint/swim finish, those opting for the longer, dry route getting overtaken by the following shortcutters plunging into the sea and In In first.
Biffo talked himself to the top of fat-boy slim's spy list, some personal 'souvenirs' were awarded and GPS got what he deserved for lacing the bucket with ice.
The public promontory was happy as the sun fell red into the ocean.

Long long l..o..n..g.. very very lo.......n...........

Trust Morangie. Or rather, don't.
A moderate length he suggested. HA! Very HA!
We were down by the seaside just round the corner from the vanished palace.
The first trail was long. And soft. very long, very soft. The next trail took us still further out still. Swear we touched the beach club wall.
Kilometres, miles away the next took us knee deep in soft sand never mind the hillocks. Misty murmured never let GB loose with a full tin of paint.
Night fell and we found the 4th which culminated in a swim through fine sand up a tall 25% incline.
I'm sure the dawn chorus greeted us as we passed the picnic site while crawling our way On In.
Seeing the quench still had hours before he'd appear we helped him and administered to the parched.
There was just energy to name names and Misty to bucket the many.