Date : 07/02/17
Scribe : Scribbler
Hounds : 33     Dogs : 0
Recorded distance : 8.90 km
Recorded time : 90.82 min
Uphillness : 474.31 ft

"The unique name of Le De Spencers Arms is down to Francis Dashwood who became the 15th Baron le Despencer and within whose estate the pub lies....", 
....this being the same Dashwood who founded the Hell-Fire Club which specialised in drinking, orgies and devil worship. Well, there’s a hash build-up if ever there was one...mind you, 1 out of 3 'ain't bad....or maybe it could be more?!

Apparently, there used to be a golf course built around the pub as well, but it must have been a pretty poor one, 'cos there were very few flat, unrocky, untwiggy, unmuddy bits! Actually, Dick turned up looking decidedly 'unmuddy' considering that he claimed to have just set the hash. Methinks (oops, lapsing back into 'Dashwood' already...) the hare was pulling a swift one....

After watching a very entertaining game of car jenga in a pock-marked car park which resembled a heavily-shelled 1st World War section of no-man's land, we were called to order by the GM....nothing happened....then Dick spake and we fell hushed (hey, mega Dashwood there!). Somehow in the midst of the briefing, those answering to the name 'Matt' were asked to put their hand up; I didn't but was still singled out and told that I had to write the report as Matt R wasn't here (then again, when is he here at the start of a hash?!). 

The shorts were accompanied by Dick for the first section, like a group of overgrown schoolchildren on a rare outing, whilst the rowdy longs went careening and carousing off down a muddy lane…and then promptly looped round and caught up with the shorts agai. Hmmm....Hare....another swift one pulled....discuss? Sometime around this point, Matt R came swinging down the lane in his Magical Mystery Machine, and optimistically swung into the aforementioned 'car park'. How we roared....

In fact, there was a distinct bacchanalian air about the hash this evening, rather like a rowdy Carry On Film, where dashings of smut and innuendo abounded. At the first regroup, Helen (as per last week) asked Nikki to bend over and duly shone her light at her nether regions, like some deranged proctologist, before professing disappointment that she wasn't wearing the same Space Invader knickers as last week (they were pandas apparently...which would have made for a far more interesting arcade shoot 'em up game in the first place if you'd asked me....but you didn't). 

This prompted a thigh-slapping debate (full panto version, no holds barred) as to whether it was acceptable to wear the same pants/knickers every week to the hash....after all, they could just be your favourite running pants?.....which quickly became a suggestion for next year’s Xmas Present - Hash Underwear! 

'C u next Tuesday' was mentioned as a potential motif (well, it was accurate date-wise!), but some took offence at this suggestion……and then proceeded to take even more offence at the suggestion it should just be for the wenches (full Dashwood now...come onnnnn!). Thongs were also mentioned (printing would be tricky though), and then to cap it all off, Matt R pulled a moonie whilst running along ahead of us…not quite sure why - to prove he wasn't wearing any pants? Still, at least it was a full moon. 

Helen meanwhile was not helped by having Arthur attached to her body. Arthur, to be fair, wasn’t exactly too chuffed at having Helen attached to his, and did his best to escape, notably downhill on the muddiest, slipperiest bits....just about the same time as I decided to recreate the opening boulder scene from Raiders of The Lost Ark. Sorry about that folks.....I'd still blame Arthur if I were you though. Or Helen. Maybe even Roger at a push....as the default option.

"Ah....at last, the Golden Balls! I know where I am now!". So spake Jo (who else - our very own Carry On Smut Queen!). Whilst the roisterers checked their breeches for signs of temporary disengagement - "I don't know about golden....mine are like those from a brass bloody monkey at present!" - Jo pointed skywards to Dashwood's golden orb glowing high on the hillside beyond. Simon then started muttering something historical and factual about Dashwood, but as we were by now in full Carry On mode, nobody paid much attention. 

To be fair, the trail had been very well marked (so Dick had been out after all!), with numerous on backs to keep the hash together (so thoughtful!) as well as those delicate little caring touches such as a 'C' for caution next to a narrow barbed wire-lined path. Or should that have been a 'C' for 'Coooorrrrr!!!!' ?

For those of you who like to know where we ran....Matt R did hand me a sodden map afterwards, but just check out the Hashalator site eh, it's far easier. My Strava suggested 9km with 150m of ascent (seemed like a damned sight hillier than that) with a running time (excluding stops) of just over an hour.

This meant we got back to the pub at a reasonable time, and after a sneaky one-legged stork move (involving getting changed over a muddy puddle) I managed to get to the cosy bar before the general masses, and sat down with Stadler & Waldorf to discuss the pub scores for the Hashalator.....inbetween Roger announcing the Tosca awards, won by Zac for the apparently challenging achievement of managing to run into something. High standards indeed!

Then, after giving thanks to the hare for his flouring and chippings, and £4.20 poorer after a pint of ESB (Dashwood would have had a heart attack at those prices!), I climbed into my steed and set off, leaving the bright light (note singular) of Downley behind until another day. What a Carry On though, eh?!