It was traditional weather for a Christmas hash; wet and cold and dark. There were plenty of comedy red noses and pot bellies, and some hashers in fancy dress. No Mexicans though. No wise men either - that would have been going to far. Bryony was there early after having being involved in some dodgey car park dealings. She'd just sold her car to a woman from Aylesbury whilst dressed as a reindeer. I don't think that needs any further explanation.
Our Christmas hare gave us our instructions and off we set, across the road and into a muddy field (who'd have guessed). After a jog along the bottom of the field, merrily leaping across the puddles and wondering why Jane was dressed as a Christmas dinosaur we came to the first carol stop of the evening. I think the first song was 'Hashing night' which was 'sung' to the 'tune' of Jingle Bells. I've managed to purge it from my memory but I'm sure we sang like angels (Samael and Satan in particular).
Next, for a bit of festive fun, it was up a steep hill through a muddy field and then a left and up a steep hill through a grassy hill (variety being the spice of life and all). After another muddy field we stopped under a tree for another 'sing' 'song'. Smashing tree - we couldn't decide what it was - looked like a ancient olive but instead of being in balmy Mediterranean climes it was on a freezing cold, wind blasted hill in Wheeler End.
This next 'tune' was 'The Twelve Days of Hashmas', sung to the tune of Silent Night... no hang on, that was just what I was wishing for. This famously being the most shouty of carols it was much more suited to the 'harmonic range' of the hash and was belted out across the valley causing drivers on the M40 to complain about the noise level.
Our shorts split at this point and sludged (handy neologism there - slid / trudged / mud) down the field and er well then back up the next field. Generally if I'm not creating a visual image for you here then it's just hills, fields and mud. Imagine the Somme at 45 degrees.
We had a slight detour due to Kev not really getting the hang of left and right, but hey, it's the season of good will so I won't even mention it. Nice to see that the residents of Wheelers End are generous and trusting enough to sellotape a tip for their dustmen to the top of a wheely bin. I bet if I did that they'd refuse to take it because it wasn't in the right receptacle.
At this point things were beginning to look more familiar - I recognised the Beware of the Chickens sign from a hash a few weeks back. We began to think that maybe there'd be a festive halt at Doctor Who's house (bigger on the outside you know), but it was to be even better than that. After about 10 minutes of me saying "I'm sure Aud's house is round here you know" it finally became true and we had a welcome stop for mulled pies and minced wine.
Having filled our stockings we set off again down the hill before taking a right towards what I see on the map is called 'Lovely Cottage'. That's almost worth going back to see if that's a joke or not.
Then it was down through the woods, up across the common and a long and merry jaunt down Piddington Lane into the village before giving up on the trail and heading back to the pub.
Back in the warm there was plenty of Christmas chips and a naming ceremony for Dick who henceforth shall be known as Dick. He seemed quite pleased with his carpet square though. In fact that may well be his best present of the year.
A fine festive hash - not too cold, not too wet and not too much singing. Merry Christmas Tiny Tim, Merry Christmas one and all.