It’s 10:00am, it’s Sunday, it must be time for another hash!
We were joined at Bewdley Bridge by some of the Wyre Forest Hashers whom we’d bumped into at yesterday’s parkrun; there were 6 of them, proper hashers all with hash names and nice shiny printed t-shirts; Frosty, Cross Dresser, Game Bird, Shag, Doggy Style…and another one whose name I think was Gay Lord…..or maybe that was a typing error – one of the drawbacks with sending your t-shirts off to a dyslexic printer so I’m told.
Roger called the Hash to order. Or rather he stood in the middle, waved his arms around, and made Roger-type noises whilst everybody ignored him and talked amongst themselves.
However, Gerry, who had been up at 6am to set a fresh hash then took to the floor and captured the Hash’s undivided attention; I think it was something about the Short being 5 miles which gave Mike and Mick minor heart attacks – only joking though! He went on to outline some of the Gerry-isms which he’d set down in stone…or flour; kissing marks, name onbacks, age onbacks, a Long, Medium, and Short runs – you name it, it was all there for all to see.
This drew gasps of appreciation from Wyre Forest Hash:
“Wow, we’re just lazy bastards – we never go to that much trouble! I wonder if we can reuse this hash on Thursday?”
[note, Wyre Forest hash at 7:00pm, Thu evenings, if you’re ever in the area]
Up, Up, and Away
With a sense of impending déjà vu, we ran through Bewdley Town Centre (for the umpteenth time this weekend) and up on various paths leading back to the Bunkhouse. Maybe this would be a Short Hash after all?
No such luck. Gerry had been out first-thing armed with a pair of secateurs (or ‘cutty cutty things’ as Roger likes to call them, trying to avoid using ‘French words’ wherever possible) to cut paths through the woods where paths had only ever previously existed in the memories of a few grizzled ‘ol locals. Cue much yelping from brambles, stinging nettles and thorns. I’m sure I saw Gerry chortling away to himself at this point…
Wyre Forest Deviants – like ‘Deliverance’, only with better clothing
"I once laid a trail in sawdust – that worked quite well until I ran out of the nice white ‘hamster’ stuff, and had to stop a random forester with a chainsaw and ask him for some more. Spoiler alert – brown sawdust doesn’t show up too well in the woods at night!"
The Wyre Forest hashers proved amusing company, with various tales of hashes gone wrong – “Yeah, laying a trail in golf balls was novel….best not to lay it next to a golf course though – there were hashers heading off in all directions!”. In fact, come to think of it, not many of their hashes seemed to go right, and their party games were somewhat raunchier than our ours.
“We had a picture round last night - Guess the Hasher from a photo of their legs.” Ah, we play a slightly different variation on that – Whose Arse is it Anyway? That’s when a female hasher is blindfolded and has to feel the male bottoms in front of her and guess whose is whose. Then somebody goes and drops their trousers and stands there, just wearing a red party thong. He was so hairy, she thought she was feeling one of the Hash Hounds backsides!
You get the picture eh? When most of the party games come from ‘Celebrity Juice’, you should know what you are letting yourself in for……so I won’t even try to explain the ‘Magnetic Crotch’ game…..no, don’t even ask me to start!
After a foray through the woods, down muddy banks and up many a proverbial garden path (much to Hawkeye’s disgust who was attempting to follow the Longs on his bike), we arrived back at the River Severn with another of Gerry’s special Hash signs – a ‘Marker’.
Knowing Mark’s love of all things watery (he’d already stood in the Severn after Hashopoly, like a wizened old druid trying to commune with nature), next to some muddy steps there was a flour sign with Mark’s name and an arrow pointing into the river.
However, as Mark demurred, ‘Cross Dresser’ without hesitation, threw himself headlong into the river, thus laying down the gauntlet for HWH3. Having carefully disrobed, Mark followed him down, but then 2 Wyre Forest hashers jumped in, and we were suddenly 3-1 down – a bit like watching Wycombe on a bad day eh Simon? The ‘game’ eventually ended in a respectable 6-6 draw; Wyre Forest did cheekily include a dog in their watery total, but then again, about 90% of their hash did take to the Severn, so I guess it evened out in the end.
Prosecco and cupcakes
A beautiful run-in along the Severn led us back under Bewdley Bridge, past the riverside pubs and cafes packed with walkers, cyclists, and train spotters (no really, the place was overrun with them on account of the Flying Scotsman #Spoiler alert – it was actually ‘The Tornado’ pulling Flying Scotsman carriages), back to the car park where Rose awaited with the now customary Prosecco and cupcakes. Well, we are a Southern hash after all?!
Again, the Wyre Forest hashers were extremely impressed, but no, this time there would be no leftovers for them to reuse on Thursday evening.