Harris mounts a wooden pyramid in Ferry Meadows and is unable to descend.

Please, benign reader, try to understand the tribulations I suffer on these Sundays! I am always castigated for my unappreciated navigational skills despite a success rate far exceeding that of so-called "Pathfinder" Harris. This morning was a case in point: we were driven to Yarwell via Marholm (miles from the quickest route); embarked on an itinerary of total impracticality; I specified a route to finish the second half with a precision worthy of a quartz crystal (we got to the White Harte spot on opening time) and yet I had to listen to Little Harris wittering on and on about us being late, from about 10:30 onwards.

Little Harris describes to the assembled company how he Nearly Bought Nassington Prebendal Manor (for the 999th time)

However many times LH may have related his story about the Prebendal manor I for one (M ²) had not heard it before - fascinating - it seems I now need to read something called 'Things Prebendal and Peculiar'.

Extract from Sunday, 7th December, 1980:

Very cold, north wind but sun for a lot of the time.

Little Harris was allowed to lead the way ("For the first time since the stepping stones incident," said George darkly) and chose Wakerley Wood. I volunteered to bring a map to help choose a route, but my help was spurned.

We (LH, George, Jim-the-Vet and I, not to mention the dogs) were led: over an old airfield, back through a pathless wood where the terrain consisted of fallen boughs and tree stumps overgrown by brambles, down a dead-end path and Forced to Retrace our Steps for the Best Part of a Mile!

Little Harris tried to justify his hopeless navigation: "If I had gone the way I originally thought, we would have been right!"

As he once himself said, "What is reality?"