It was a grey and dreary Tuesday, which has become somewhat of a tradition in the good old British Summer. Grey and dreary hashers congregated in a car park, all except the half dozen or so who displayed their usual intelligence by congregating in the wrong place (by the pub). This was despite the instructions on the website but was about as typical as the summer day we were enjoying.
The hare confessed that it was a ten mile hash - much to the horror, gasps and cries of the assembled throng – but fortunately it turned out that 10 miles was the combined distance of the long (5.9 miles) and short (4.1 miles) routes. A collective phew! was heard (and believe me there would have been very phew that wanted a 10 mile run).
The evening soon perked up as half of the hash went the wrong way at the first check and ended up doing an extra lap around Chesham’s lake. After such a sparkling highlight we thought that the hash could only go downhill from then on. We were wrong. It went uphill. Then uphill some more, followed by yet more uphill. This left half of the hash struggling for breath (possibly due to altitude-induced oxygen starvation) and the second half walking slowly at the back to avoid any back-checks. A third half (the FRBs) was eventually found at the regroup at the top of the hill having had plenty of time to acclimatise to the altitude.
A regroup just past Pednor’s Bottom took us across a road and into a field with seemingly just one footpath. This the hash, naturally took, only to find out they had gone wrong as there was a cunningly disguised footpath hiding in the long grass. Overheard at this point “My friend went in to his garden, dug a hole in the grass and filled it with water. I think he meant well”. Another regroup and a duck through the hedge took us to a stile and the road beyond.
Eventually an "On-on left" was heard – so everyone except Ant and Andy naturally turned left. Ant and Andy turned right and went up the hill instead. Did they know something the rest of us didn’t? No they were just showing that some hashers have absolutely no brains at all.
Normally that would have been OK – they would have just got lost and then we could have forgotten all about them. But eventually they realised the foolishness of their actions and turned back and tried to catch up – and in doing so gave the six of us caught at the on-back an enormously long back check just to go around them. Grrrr.
At the start of Herberts Hole path we parted company with the shorts and headed west along the very, very long path to the historic Hundridge house – originally built in the 12th century which, by the time Cromwell was ruling the country, it was the home of the family who eventually founded the $367.7B Chase National Bank.
A left down Hundridge Lane, followed by another left onto the Chesham Road turned us thankfully around and heading back pub-wards. Overheard “An amnesiac walked into a bar ………………………….”
A footpath on the right took us back off the main road and past Horse Leas House. A couple of very pretty viewpoint stops and we found ourselves on a fast jog along the path by the main road. Everybody except Ant that is. He decided to sprint past the entire pack only to be told by his better half that he had to go back and run it again (you can always spot a teacher can’t you!).
Back at the car park (and I feel a TOSCA / Magneto nomination coming along here) we discovered that Mick had cunningly locked his keys in the boot of his car. He would have been stranded there still if Matt hadn’t stepped into the breach and onto his motorcycle and driven all the way to Bourne End to pick up a spare key from Mick’s wife (who we were told was linedancing in Maidenhead at the time.)
Question: if she were dancing by herself would she be a one-liner?