Short trash by Waldorf.
Cor blimey me old china, would you Adam and Eve it? we are finally at the rub-a-dub. Bit out o' the way ain’t it. Who’s the 'are? – it’s Truly ain’t it. Oops, she’s wearing daisy roots, could be a touch muddy.
It’s a bit brasso as well as Mork & Mindy but looks a nice battlecruiser and a decent evening for a ball and chalk or Greek pun.
OK, we've had the dicky birds now we are offski left down the frog and toad past some ‘ouses [Surely 'cat & mouses'? Ed.]to the first bird peck. It’s left down the Jack & Jill. I’m following Keyboard and am getting a bit of darby for ‘olding everyone up.
This is Bennett End init. Perhaps we are stopping at the Three Horseshoes for a pint of pig's ear? What, last time you was in there you got Brahms? No surprise there then. No, we are off along Grange Farm Road and right up a pig of a Jack and Jill to Andridge Farm. ‘ows your plates? Those pigs don’t ‘alf pen and ink.
Down Sprig’s Holly Lane to Town End and up another Jack to the parrot perch. Well bless my old Lionel Blairs, it’s the long/short split init. Take a butcher’s hook at them longs sprintin' off, eh. So, we’re off on our toes through the rave hard at along a nice flatish trail. Fink this is Yoesden Wood.
Nice trot along, bet you a Lady Godiva that those longs are sloggin' up that mountain to Bledlow Ridge eh. ‘Ere, we seek to have jack frost Keyboard. Bet he’s done a bum steer and gorn long. Oops.
Down to Bottom Road. Yippee, we’s headed towards the rub-a-dub ain’t we.
Straight over, I could do with a gypsy’s kiss but I’ll hang on – wahay, there’s Keyboard catching us up wiv a shortcut across the field.
Bower’s Lane, great ‘cos we’s well on the way back then. Truly’s run out of Tesco’s finest so she ‘as used ‘er loaf and is using a bit of chalk to mark it on. Blimey, I’m Hank Marvin, I hope there are plenty of rose hips back at the battlecruiser.
Along city road and me mince pies spot the on-inn - sooperb!
Long trash by the GM
Quite where the longs and shorts parted company is a mystery, shrouded in the mistiness of my recollections. One dominant memory is the pleasure the shorts showed when asked if they would miss me and my dulcet tones. Another is the pleasure we got running past a Road Closed sign, wondering if such applied to Hashers.
The sign sparked Whipping Boy into a joke composition frenzy. “What do the Welsh call a road detour? A. A Dai-version”. That was it. Frenzy over.
Assuming we were in Radnage, we ran (at great speed) along Radnage Lane before hanging a right at Bottom Farm. I would like to say that we ran up the hill to Bledlow, but if you have seen the contours, you would know why not.
I have another confession. At the road, we consulted the map. “There’s Radnage. We’ve been running for ages, so we can’t be “there”. “ The dilemma was solved by Simon (again) who pointed out that the Crown was the pub sign labelled START.
D'Oh!! Then we lost Dashwood Dick. Well we didn’t, but he felt we hadn’t waited long enough at a check to ensure that he was safe. OK. I need a volunteer to hold Dick’s hand on the next hash.
The hare had warned about adverse camber en route. But no mention of the path behind Rout’s Green. One pace forward, one pace slide sideways. Mind the barbed wire. Repeat until you get (to) the Boot.
Skirting Studmore Farm, we started to downwards again. Accompanied by the sound of every dog in Bledlow. What a din.
Downwards was replaced by effing steep and stumpy as we hit the aforementioned contours seen on the way up. Only closer together. Welcome to Yoesden Nature Reserve and their newly created goat trail. A prize to anyone to can tell me how to pronounce the name.
I suspect that we rejoined the shorts around here. I don’t know for sure, but the fact that the toilet paper trail markers were now strewn on the ground is a pretty good indicator that they were trying to slow us down.
Back at The Crown, Truly Scrumptious had used her feminine wiles to persuade the staff to dish out a surfeit of great chips whilst parting company with a modest note of the realm.
Well done Aud, a great hash & evening.
JOKE (don't know who's responsible)
Dai was watching a Six Nations game in Cardiff.
In the packed stadium there was only one empty seat, right next to him. “Whose is that seat?” asked a man in the row behind.
“I got the ticket for my wife,” said Dai. “But she died in an accident.”
“So you’re keeping the seat vacant as a mark of respect?”
“No,” said the fan, “I offered it to all of my friends.”
“So why didn’t they take it?”
“They’ve all gone to the funeral.”