Culture clashes

Out running the other day, with the hash. It was a dreich Sunday, overcast, around 1 degrees C, and generally ....almost....miserable. Hash bunch was small, therefore. It was scary - I was worried in case we'd go somewhere steep.

In actual fact we ended up running around fields flat as a pancake. Ok, so they were either muddy or under snow (someone apparently was not happy with that. I mean, what do you expect, in February, in Eastern Europe?). The running was great, lots of ground to cover, no-one fell over, ok, so we brought back half the fields under our shoes (the next morning my cleaning lady asked 'may I clean these?'). There was a moment at the start when I found myself surrounded by a pack of rather displeased, very aggressively toothy dogs, but I survived.

A Swedish lady and I ran in first, way ahead of everyone else. She's the picture book Swedish lady, tall, blond, that sort of thing. As we got home she said 'Oh, I've got to get changed or I'll get cold'.

I had not appreciated that that meant 'changing all my clothes'. Nor had the Georgian shepherd who happened to stroll along behind her just as she took off all her tops. Suspect he is still recovering.