With a huff & a puff I'll start this evenings hash, well actually not as I'd opted for the soft option of driving to the hash rather than cycling as planned (Cooper can have all the praise in that department). So we gathered together in the pub car park & other nearby parking slots whilst Jo told us of what a lovely clearly marked hash we would be experiencing tonight, the more mobile of memory were able to cast our minds back over the previous 24hrs & realised that the torrential rain may have dampened down the beacons of flour that Jo had liberally cast about the countryside. Being slightly tardy, I was still putting my trainers on in the arrivals lounge during Jo's preamble, so really had no idea what to expect of tonight's hash.
On on was swiftly called & the pack ambled off in a westerly direction towards Kings Wood, upon entering said wood it was apparent that the deluge previously alluded to had swept Jo's flour beacons into recent history & by the time we had reached the bottom of the first hill a semi-live hash was called for – and no I don't mean the shorts had to be dispatched one by one in the deepest recesses of Wycombe's woods. It became apparent that despite her innocent smile Jo was not going to let us off trudging up a wicked mount with numerous on-backs to boot, in fact this being semi-live she was actually marking the on-backs in front of our very eyes as soon as anyone dared to come within glancing distance of her rear end (oooer missus). Clearly having missed out on the sixties first time round she didn't quite understand the meaning of flower power but seemed to relish it none the less. "Oh the power of flour" – in an "ooo matron" kind of way she chortled.
After this ascent, we were lead down a few back passages before being released from the shorts and crossing tarmac into Common Wood, on ons were cunningly whispered to the clever hares whilst the FRBs desperately searched for missing flour; rumour has it some was spotted sheltering under a leaf but I'll take that one with a pinch of salt (there must be literally 1000s of slugs who are so grateful we don't set the hash in salt, btw). So on we ambled across to Brooks Wood, Penn Bottom & Pugh's Wood – the FRBs still frequently disappearing over the horizon in desperate search of flour, the desperation giving way to a certain dependency on the white stuff maybe? After a quick stretch of the legs it was all over & firm ground was found leading to a lovely pub & bountiful chips :-).
Sadly the evening was sullied by Roger getting all in a muggle & tosca'ing himself off in front of the whole pub, Nickey and Zac were so offended by the sight that they spent the whole weekend washing their eyes out with mud.