Grey skies did greet us when we woke in the morn,
The rain already fallen where we soon would sojourn.
We packed up our trail shoes, our spikes and our wellies,
Loaded our bags with sandwiches, wraps and fruit jellies.
To Herrington Park, mis-remembered as flat
Already deep in mud, by the tents we did chat.
Awaiting our times to head off to the start,
Eyeing up all the hills with a faltering heart.
Two loops for the ladies and three for the men,
Over hills, through the woods and the grass-covered fens.
The grass is a bog; on mud and weeds do we slide,
Jumping logs in the wood, ground like glue either side.
More than one lost a shoe, others dignity too,
The race almost as long as the the queue for the loo!
Finish we all did, we all made it round,
Like mud-covered champions to the tents we did bound.
There we ate all the cake, the bakewell tart and the sweets,
Changed out spikes for trainers, donned clean socks on our feet.
Home to fill all the bathtubs with mud from legs and from shoes,
We’ll be clean until Thornley Hall Farm plays its ruse!
Blue Runnings 
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