The Marsden-Edale was dead – to begin with! So starts our uplifting tale of Rucksack Club redemption. Are you are one of the Ebeneezer Scrooge “Marsden-Edale, bah humbug!” members? If you could work your will, would every idiot who goes about with ‘Marsden-Edale’ on his lips be boiled with his own boots and buried with a walking pole through his heart? Are you are a tight-fisted hand to the grindstone Member? A squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel has ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster? Then beware, over the next week you may be visited by the spirits of Marsden-Edales past, present and future. Yes, you have but seven days to redeem your lives and commit to honour the Marsden-Edale in your heart, and try to keep all the year (or at least next Saturday). Completing the Marsden-Edale will leave you as light as a feather, as happy as an angel, as merry as a school-boy. Possibly also as giddy as a drunken man (it does, afterall, finish at a pub). Ok, enough mangling of that great work of Dickens. A reminder[…]
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