"Try to remember the kind of September, When life was slow and oh so mellow
Try to remember the kind of September, When grass was green and grain so yellow
Try to remember the kind of September, When you were a young and a callow fellow
Try to remember and if you remember, Then follow--follow, oh-oh."
Tom Jones and Harvey Schmidt

Still to Do

It was a fine; soft, sun-drenched, summer’s evening. Aye, just somewhere else. Here it was p-p-p-particularly wet. One of the privileges of being a race organiser you would think is the opportunity to be out of the rain but in fact organising is the myriad opportunities for being out in the rain, getting soaked, without getting the pleasure of the race/run and of taking part in the last handicap of the series. Yet, perhaps the brain gets addled by the constant drenching as it was again for me, good fun.
As usual, in the final handicap of the season, there was all to play for, the myriad maybes and may nots. If Willie M – utilizing his fiendish formulae – got the handicaps right, then of course any one of the runners could win the race, and there were at five (according to our handicapper but only four I could tally) in contention for the series title. Bob, current leader on 96 points would have102 points if he won the race but his recent handicap performances had shown a slip in form and he was nervous on the night. Andy M, steadily improving and waiting in the wings, would also have 102 points if he won but Willie G (last year’s winner and perhaps the only three times winner of the series since it started 20 years ago) could also win the series if they didn’t win the race, as could Paul Ritchie if he won and the rest were just a little badly placed.
Aye, so I’ve been there – no I don’t mean winning the series (I did though, check the trophy inscriptions) I mean being caught up in the lottery of being there, being scared; foiled by first-timers; being gazumped by a galloping, gallous and garrulous Gallagher; or simply hindered by handicap, handicapper, Hilarys and holidays; much Mudged by Mudge; nobbled by newbie’s and non-members; overtaken by old hands; surely yet surlily, surpassed, and been obliterated and alliterated all the way through the apologetic, athletic, arthritic, alphabetic; even to the point of being zipped around by zeroes.
So the famous five presumably viewed their varied start times as a potential blight on (Blyton)” their chances … and again as usual, they were both right and wrong; for the alliterated but literal lottery illustrated above came into play and none of the contenders were highly placed. So it was all down to the numbers.
Oh yes, the race business, when grass was so green and ... slicked with rain water. Out there nothing was slow; although the organiser and very able helpers Colin P, Moira and Shane remained oh, so, mellow. The runners all ran out in the tipping rain and returned in the tipping rain but before it got fully dark, which is always a plus. Those that followed, followed, oh, oh won’t be doing that again if they want to hit the optimum route.
First home Adele, soon became addled as she revealed (as was later confirmed) that she hadn’t run the full course; non-contender Bill Gauld – in a return to form – was then first counter and race winner. That young and callow fellow - Jonathan breezed in beating his Dad, Alan, again. Non-members Sarah and Helen nobbled vital places. Cali, a previous race winner sped in, Gallagher gazumped (unfortunately we are not allowed to say Ronnie romped) … Where were the contenders? There would need to be some serious but swift counting before the prizegiving!

The Do

As usual too, in the final handicap meal of the season, there was all to play for, the myriad maybes and may nots. If I – utilizing my fiendish formulae – got all the meals right (including the ones the dilatory or delayed didn’t actually get around to ordering) then of course every one of the runners could dine with grace. Unlike the race, the “do” provided all with what they ordered/wanted whilst Willie M, Andy M and I totted up the scores to reveal that there was actually no change in the position of the contenders and so Bob retained his lead and won the series. Early photos put on the web of the event show last year’s winner Willie G pulling the winner’s vest off his arm (where it just fit) to engulf little Bob in the folds of the same vest.

Mabon, Maybe No

tWhat’s this “Mabon” thing in the title though? Simple, like the author of this piece; The Druids always called this celebration of autumn (September through to November) Mabon; (although Shane would perhaps know it as Mea'n Fo'mhair) and always celebrate with the offering of libations … as the club did for all who turned up – and those who didn’t, like Nick Schierloh who accepted his race winner’s prize of a bottle of vino via satellite transmission. Mabon is the apparently the time to honor Aging Deities and although Bob would argue about half that description this year he is indeed the God of the handicaps. Next year? Our handicapper extends his apologies in advance.
Nick Macdonald