All I wanted to do was catch up on all the TV programmes I had missed while in Bewdley (such as the wonderful series about 100 year old drivers who refuse to stop driving even if they can no longer see/hear/move) because the TV in our Airbnb was stuck on a nonstop news channel. But it was Tuesday evening and there was no rain or snow to stop us from whinging and being wimps. So along we went to the Plough - but where were all the regular hashers? Probably still reading the instructions for Roger’s games on Saturday night. I had stopped at page 10 but others were no doubt still struggling through the second folio to find out why they had to wear an eye patch to jump across a series of lily pads while sucking a ping pong ball through a cardboard tube and carrying Helen on their back. Had Roger over-indulged on magic mushrooms again?
Perhaps the hashers were slow to arrive because of the road closure announced by our GM. Had the 15,000 cyclists who cycled through Bewdley from Birmingham, closing down the entire road system in the Midlands on Sunday, reached Hyde Heath? Possibly not as it turned out to be one minor road in Holmer Green which had been closed affecting the one hasher who lived there, namely the GM.
Where were all the shorts? Who allowed Barney to make this the one run out of 365 runs that he failed to attend. Why is Mick allowed to go on so many holidays? Was it really only Mr Chips and myself? We needed an intermediary to arbitrate on arguments over map reading. We had forced poor Roz to come with us on the treasure trail on Saturday as a peacekeeper and, although barely able to walk, she had hobbled around the three additional miles which Mr Chips’ lack of map reading skills had added to what was supposed to be the short trail. Instead of ending back at the starting point we found ourselves at a motorway junction and Mr Chips still insisting that Roz’s GPS reading couldn’t possibly be correct.
The long/short split came early and Mexican Des appeared out of the shadows, probably just back from helping out in Mexico City after the earthquake. Keyboard Ken then joined us for no particular reason shortly followed by Kamikazee Kev because Elvis was still out of sorts and his famous wiggle was merely a waggle. By the light of a strangely yellow moon Kev led the way bearing aloft a bag of poo as an encouragement to follow him (Elvis shows his excitement about hashing not by yelping like Summer but by a ‘hard Brexit’ at the beginning of each hash). We tried to ignore the scary howling noises around us. Was it foxes, wolves, owls? Ken displayed an amazing knowledge of the countryside. “It sounds like a baby rabbit”.
The most exciting thing encountered by we Famous Five adventurers was the sight of a tiny fieldmouse. However, the longs witnessed a full frontal fall by poor Maggie who ended up with bloody elbows and a nettle sting on her nose.
Back at the pub the landlord told us he had strict instructions not to serve the chips until the longs returned and although we tried bribes and bullying he wouldn’t relent. But it wasn’t long before the longs arrived and two large trays of chips and a mountain of bread were served.
Sandra was thanked for organising the sunflower competition. Even though hashers are more interested in hops and barley they had enthusiastically sown their seeds in their own inimitable ways, some of them even using sunflower seeds. Everyone who submitted a sunflower photo was rewarded with a plastic sunflower sprinkler. I have tried using it in the kitchen for the washing up and as a drinks dispenser but it isn’t very effective. Can I have the instructions please?
Thank you Roger for stepping in to lay the trail after a very full weekend when no-one else had volunteered.