I HAVE A DREAM (No, not the ABBA song - but aka Martin Luther King)
I have a dream that one day HW3 will cease running up hills, living out instead, the true vision of Tuesday evenings: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all members of HW3 shall delight in ways that are firm, flat and free of flatulence."
I have a dream that one day on the chalk downs of the Chilterns, the sons of former Hashers and the sons of former committee members will join in joyful accompaniment to "eat your heart out, Larry Adler, I'm here" Ken's harmonica wizardry as they belt out "l can see our (and Aid's) house from up here".
I have a dream that one day even in the county of Bucks, Hashers and Harriettes alike will no longer do mooses upon paths of stoniness and roots, will no longer scratch their way through a week of frantic itching that results from encounters with stinging nettles, will no longer see Paul wearing a charity shop track suit covered in mud from the previous week's embalming in shiggy.
I have a dream that all the longs will face at least ten check backs requiring no less than 10 Hashers to retrace their steps, and that, as a result, even Helen and Anthony will feel shagged out before they finish. I have a dream that when Dick sets the trail, everyone will be back at the pub that same evening, rather than the following morning and that no more will the shorts come in after the longs as a result of Mick's lack of map reading skills and repeated cries of "I know where we are".
I have a dream that at least one person will have some sort of clue as to what the hell Roger is talking about in his post hash and post Christmas dinner resumés, and that those betting on his Christmas dinner speech lasting over 40 minutes, will be cast into a wilderness of despair on finding that he has finished within three.
I have a dream that Llewyn Davies will one day look at himself in the mirror and realise that he has turned into Simon, that our Kev will no longer have to gun round the county's service stations (and Loudwater) in search of OAPs who have lost their way in a fog of their own imaginings, that Des will one day turn up in a fancy dress outfit free of sombrero and saddle blanket, that Aid will turn up with a crew cut.
I have a dream that one day, Deefor will roll over on his back, begging me to stroke his tummy and that Sandra will follow suit, that Mark's dog will stick its slithery tongue in the ear of someone who appreciates it: I have a dream that Maggie will turn up every week with a container load of fudge and that her Dave will oblige the longs to cover every step of the way with him and Rose on the walkers' trail. I have a dream that there will be a drinks stop at every check and that Roger's panacotta, pancetta and even panatellas, will accompany the Bucks Fizz.
I have a dream that Jo and Natasha agree to wearing name tags (to help the confused distinguish them from each other), that Barney will exchange his role of Blind Pugh rattling his Zubes begging tin in favour for taking on the mantle of a Northern Rock or Lloyds Bank manager, accepting iou's and promissory notes, that Mick (again) will realise that Mary does not have a dog called Patch, but a delightful daughter called Pacha, that all male hashers will follow Andy's lead in wearing green shorts (optional over black leggings) and that Martin Luther King accepts with good grace a small size 50 run T-shirt on his 75th run.
I have a dream today!