Hash 1160

As I sit here, scratching my head, I am beginning to regret the fact that I forgot / neglected to write the runs report earlier - when I could actually remember what had happened.  However, I will do my best to peer through the deep vale of time, memory and alcohol that is my lot.

You might wonder why I am writing this instead of Ade, who was the hare the week before? Well, with typical Ade timing he actually turned up after the hash had left, found virtually none of the trail and ran around in the usual hasher-circles while failing to join the hash.  So he couldn't write it.

I remember Barney saying how cold it was as we congregated in the car park, or perhaps it was Mick – Ah yes, I remember, it was Mick, but sadly it was from the week before.  Still, it was cold anyway.  A large crowd (40) gathered together to listen with the usual rapt in-attention to Dick, who was to be our guide for the evening.

We set off across the road into the slightly muddy playing field and passed between some houses onto the Downley road - which became a track, which became a muddy track, which became a very, very muddy track, which became a quagmire.   I don't know if there is anything muddier than a quagmire, but if there was then I probably ran through it.

Surprisingly there is a dissenting hasher from last week's tale of mud.  Rob Harding - who actually managed to stay mud-free and warm during the entire hash.  But then he, having peered outside, sensibly stayed home for the evening, probably curled up with a good book and a warm fire while trying to get outside a glass of fine wine.  Sensible fellow Rob.

We headed south to the potentially warmer and sunnier climate of Downley, veered west to ensure that we ran through some particularly squelchy bits of Oaks and Flagmore Woods and then circled right and around the top of Downley and its common.

There were surprised cries of "Oooh, I know where I am, there's a pub just around that corner."  Sadly we didn't go to the pub, but instead the Longs and the Shorts split, with the Shorts heading for the hilltop overlooking West Wycombe and the Golden Ball, and the Longs running down the hill to get an even better look at it.

As a confirmed longcutter I went short and was a bit shocked to discover that as soon as we split off they all walked!  But after a few impromptu on-backs as I was getting a bit far ahead, my knee (my reason for going short) converted me to a walker as well.

For the Shorts the best was yet to come.  Hare Dick told us that he hadn't set, or even reconnoitred this part of the route, but ex-GM David sprung to the rescue by saying "No Problem, I know the way".  He said that we should head down to the bottom of the hill and turn right, before eventually swinging left to the pub.

All went well with just two very tiny problems.  First, we found the bottom of the hill and turned right (even a hasher can find the bottom).  The mud ceased being ordinary mud and – well do you remember that scene in African Queen where Humphrey Bogart pulls the boat through a swamp?  You do?  Great, well that's what it was like – and it went on for nearly ½ a kilometre according to my GPS track on Google Earth!  When we arrived at Downley Lane we simply headed back to the pub.  And in some ways that was the second problem.   If we hadn't turned right at the bottom of the hill but gone straight on, we were within 70 metres of Downley Lane and could have avoided the entire mud-splattered section!  But still, what would a hash be without mud (apart from pleasant that is).

Meanwhile the longs (courtesy of Sooper's GPS) returned back up the hill to Little Cockshall Wood, which they presumably enjoyed as they then turned away from the pub to run through Great Cockshall Wood as well.  Sadly they entirely missed the Short's exciting excursion through the mud and ended up relatively dry and back at the pub.

The chips and landlady were excellent and very friendly in that order, though I suspect that the landlady was excellent as well.  The speeches were mercifully short and I remember that The Blond was awarded a T shirt for an impressive 300th run – but complained that the word "Blond" was upside down!  (I suspect that Lesley may have a sneaky sense of humour!).  Matt made it to an even more impressive 400th and was awarded with a poem which, according to Roger was "even worse than the last one!"