Hash 1479

The Hash meet at the White Horse Hedgerley, as opposed to the White Horse High Wycombe (which apparently has dancing ladies, who may be from Poland?). Hedgerley has the bonus of having good beer choice and is much nearer my home.

I cunningly set the first check circle to get the FRBs to go up the wrong hill, this did not quite go to plan as none of the hash appeared to even notice it, so I was left to kick it through myself as back marker. No one remarked on how pleased they were that I had cut back the worst of the brambles on the climb, but I took that as read by the way they all slowed in awe as they squeezed past. The beautifully laid trail had the pack heading toward Hedgerley Green, luckily the FRBs knew the way and the 2 false blobs I had tried to disguise as an arrow and an F, where I had gone wrong were not even mentioned. I was trailing a bit down the next hill so only saw the gleeful faces of the hashers on their on-backs. This is an unusual trail being a bridleway all the way to a style, the other side of the style is a field with horses, and the trail is then a footpath? Being off the back I led my compatriots on the slight detour used by bikers and horses that bypasses the style and kissing gate, allowing us to close the gap a little. So speedy was our rate, that it was only in the next field that Hells and Ron managed to catch us! On to the B416 Gerrards Cross Road and the Short Long split. 13 shorts headed off, in a Steady group, and even with the odds so high, 13 people running to the cemetery at night, nothing of note happened. They followed the path through to re-join the Long route and thence back to the pub.

The longs followed the footpath next to a barbwire fence which had lots of roots, and again nothing of note happened. Up to the Pickeridge where the longs were caught out not expecting to be allowed to run on a smooth concrete road when there were thin brambly route options. Across to Stoke Common South and North, passing between wooden fences to a big housing estate, that being an estate with big houses. Out through Stoke Wood, another slight directional mishap as everyone totally ignores the style I thought was so obvious (it is in daylight honest!). Entering the field at the bottom of the woods, I believe I was stitched up by the shorts as the check had been incorrectly kicked through, and everyone had gone straight on, so I had to run to the diagonal to show the hash the way and got caught by my own on-back! The group then missed the turn to the church as the check circle had been completely removed, and back to the pub, just as the comments of “how long is this hash?” were starting.

A big thanks to Elaine for baking and bringing the Cheese and Onion rolls, Alex for the Chocolate and Blonde Brownies, meaning Sandra and I only needed the Peanut Butter Cookies and Samosas, for a pleasant post hash feast.

The drinks went down well, even the unliked cider was drunk in short order by Nicola.

Fantastic hash and totally unbiased write up by the hare :) thanks for coming.

Jokes!

Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way, when you criticize them, you're a mile away and you have their shoes.

I’m no Tour de France expert… but it seems that the best way to win is to wear a yellow t-shirt.

For every mile you run, you add one minute to your life. This enables you, at the age of 85, to spend an additional five months in a nursing home at £2,500/month.

The trouble with jogging is that by the time you realize you are not in shape for it, it is too far to walk back.

A car full of Irish nuns is sitting at a traffic light in down town Dublin, when a bunch of rowdy drunks pull up alongside of them.
“Hey, show us yer tits, ya bloody penguins!” shouts one of the drunks.
Quite shocked, Mother Superior turns to Sister Mary Immaculata and says, “I don’t think they know who we are; show them your cross.”
Sister Mary Immaculata rolls down her window and shouts, “Piss off, ya fookin’ little wankers, before I come over there and rip yer balls off!”
Sister Mary Immaculata then rolls up her window, looks back at Mother Superior, quite innocently, and asks, “Did that sound cross enough?