Last year's 25th Anniversary celebrations proved so irresistible that a clamour was raised for a repeat performance every year. Does this mean the Club will remain for ever 25 years old? Perhaps not.
So our esteemed Doctor organises a bunch of (probably) willing volunteers into teams of five to run five legs around the beautiful area that is Strathearn. Not that any of us were likely to be looking at any more of the scenery than the ten metres or so of ground in front of us. As the crowds gather, the excitement is obvious on the faces of all. The choice of running shoes by some might give cause for regret later, however.
After last year's address by a Phil, another Phil tries to do better. An explanation drawn from Gray's Anatomy of the effects of tripping upsets a youngster; a nearby adult explains that some trips are mind-blowing and fun - even without travelling further than the friendly street-corner purveyor of powdered happiness. The Good Doctor wishes everyone well and hands out his business card in case anyone doesn't know the address of his surgery.
As the Good Doctor speaks, a Tiger's attention is wrapt; a Solicitor finds the contents of his fingernails marginally more demanding; children obey their father and pay attention; a runner in the back row gently nods off whilst a second Tiger practices the knees-up for the Knees-Up later. Opening remarks are once more not wasted on the breathlessly-waiting participants.
Recruitment levels to the Club having slowed down recently, one couple show their devotion to the Club by breeding future members. This one will probably not bother to go through the boring walking stage but just go straight from crawling to running. An incognito member of the Armed Wing of the Mother's Union practices the "I'll have your eyes out with this car key if you say that again" look. We are all grateful she is there to protect us.
So to the expensively-created Start area complete with timing mats, cameras and Press Corps to capture the scene. [Ed. Fire whoever should have organised all that lot.] One team decide to sport support items implying that they are injured. This fools the opposition who badly underestimate this cunning stunt.
At the first changeover point, transport arrangements based on the car-sharing scheme so efficiently arranged by the Club allow plenty of space for other users of this part of Strathearn. Incoming runners can also readily reach their changeover partners at the signposted gate as they are gently marshalled past the thronging spectators.
As the throngs await, a smaller onlooker finds a camera more entertaining than the exciting discussion before him about the latest brand of depilatories. Amongst the group immediately concerned, it is the consensus by three votes to one that men have it easy. A small female sits on the ground and examines the dirt as she has yet to discover what the word means - 'men' that is.
Meanwhile, the remainder of the throngers discuss. New Mother discusses breast-feeding with the carry-cot whilst the baby is off carousing elsewhere. The leader of Tony's Tigers wonders if the beer he's drinking is over 7% or not. His sadly-injured non-running companion states that, after only four, man-with-bottle is in no position yet to tell. In front of Leader T, another runner remarks that 'They were this far apart, honest!'. HIs companion can't believe it. A group of four laugh uproariously as one of their number recounts the results of her recent hairdressing visit. This is unkind as we all think her hair is always lovely.
Meanwhile, a little runner returns to the bedroom where a 'Little Bear' removes any opportunity for double meanings. He sleeps peacefully on, oblivous of the slightly unhinged group with whom his parents consort. A long-term series of bets is laid as to his age when first he outpaces his parents.
But then!! Our majestic Leg 1 winner hoves into sight and indeed...!! It is our brave injured (or is he?) companion who gallops into the changeover area with clear daylight between himself and the competing four team members. A stalwart performance showing the return to form of one sadly absent too often recently. Perhaps those extract of monkey glands are working after all.
Perhaps our Leg winner's speed was partly hastened by being chased by a Tiger. Our Club's New Father was evidently keen to check on New Mother and Baby; surely he can't have come second on Leg 1 purely for the sake of his fellow Tigers? But then, this is the most important race of his year so perhaps....
Following swiftly behind, and without the broomstick with which she is normally associated, our Leg 1 'Harrier Potterer' flies down the road with her feet refusing to touch the ground. This part-contradiction and part-affirmation of her team's amusing epithet gives heart to her Leg 2 team-mate.
'Fly, fly' cries Leg 1 and so Leg 2 Potterer, without her broomstick unable to comply literally, tears off along the dotted line intent on creaming Leg 2 with a new Club record. Two teams have a serious head start on her. We shall see.
Leg 1 Potterer agrees to pose alone for the camera as a record of achievement but is unable to throw off a pursuing admirer. In the end, she agrees to share the glory with him as long as he pushes off once he's got the autograph.
So Teams 4 & 5 rush in behind the Potterers, such being the pace that records only exist of Team 5's solicitous gentleman's arrival to thunderous applause from all concerned. We are all in awe of the legal remedies this stalwart of the Club has at his fingertips should we step out of line.
It can be a matter of genuine sympathy when exertions beyond the call of duty cause our members to suffer. Here we all suffer at the sight of the Leg 1 winner as he attempts to recover at the end of Leg 2. It becomes clear the clear liquid may not be pure Highland Spring. Several members ask about the 'peep-hole' kneewear our colleague sports and wonder if the same style is available for other parts of the body. It is not clear if the men are asking on their own behalf or that of their companions.
Whilst awaiting the arrival of our brave Leg 2 runners, three musketeers of the Club exchange pleasantries. One does a 'Raphael Nadal' with his shorts whilst another is amused to see that the Tiger's leader likes to look down at his logo whilst running. It is to be hoped American breakfast cereal manufacturers are relaxed about where their characters end up. The next Leg is out on the hills where anything might happen....
Our Knee-hole companion is asked the secret of his recovery process. He reveals the secret compartment in his running shoes where he keeps the herbs that have speeded his return to health. He proffers samples to the ladies, assuring them that their attractiveness can only be enhanced. Misunderstanding this, the ladies' amour-propre is restored by all men present assuring them of their beauty both external and internal. Warmth and love are restored.
As a symbol of this restored atmosphere, one of our number 'borrows' a cuddly bundle from an older, helpless couple passing by. Once the usual quota of cuddles (or, in one lady's case, shudders) has been exhausted, the animal is returned whence it came and the owners are shuffled harmlessly off towards the pub.
Then commotion!! Flash of light!! Blur of speed!! The Amazing Leg 2 Potterer has swiftly flown past the two teams leading at the end of Leg 1 and, defeating even a modern camera's high shutter speed, blurrily handed over to The Wizard of Leg 3. This remarkable performance, unprecedented in the Club's history, now has a team containing the Club Moron in a winning position. Unbelievable. Surely this will end badly.
As our ever-present giver of comfort and succour provides words of soothing wisdom, an exhausted Leg 2 runner tries to stay a Wake as he rest on a giant Toad's Tool. [Ed. this is a typo, surely?] His remembrance of being overtaken by a flying female Harrier Potterer blurs his mind and he becomes convinced a broomstick and unnatural practices were involved. Surely this can be the only reason his arrival was after hers?
Yet only a few metres away, the lady in question has that Giaconda look so beloved of the ladies when they know something we men can only guess at. A nearby spectator though has caught the whiff of brimstone and holds his nose so as not to be contaminated. The rest of the ladies laugh as they discuss recipes involving arcane and unexpected ingredients from endangered species (such as cod and kippers).
But our story must hasten on to the end of Leg 3. Handed the leading baton by the fantastically flying female that was the Harrier Potterers Leg 2 Queen, our Wizard of the Wilds appears. Fighting off the unwelcome attentions of a man armed with a loaded stethoscope, our brave Champion streaks (clothed) across the green sward to maintain the unexpected lead he was remarkably given. Unfortunately, it is to the Club's Moron that the baton must now be passed. All is lost, surely. [Ed. Don't call me Shirley - I have the manly name of Lesley.]
