After a hastily-convened meeting of Lunchbox (Beer Master and general dispenser of bonhomie), Wolfie (On-Sec, genial but vague) and Sleepy (Hash-Cash, arthritic fingers firmly clamped on purse strings) it was decided that the passing of the 1,100th run couldn't go unmarked.

"Well, free beer's out, most of them have already bought one," said Sleepy, eyeing the seventeen hashers in the back garden of The Plough, Pilning, suspiciously.

"Give everyone a down-down?" suggested Wolfie.

"Breathalyzer..." muttered Sleepy, darkly.

"Mmmm, true..." Wolfie gazed around. Vaguely.

"Commemorative T shirts?" - Lunchbox.

"Bit late now..."

This continued for about ten minutes.

Eventually, food arrived for Clem, Sweaty and I.P.

Lunchbox, Sleepy and Wolfie looked at each other, in a rare moment of collective inspiration.

"Chips!"

Well, it wasn't just a basket of chips. There was salt and vinegar and a choice of sauces. HP at one end and Heinz at the other.

Clem, Sweaty and I.P. weren't too impressed as they'd already paid for theirs. Still, serve 'em right, greedy bastards.