Date : 27/03/18
Hare : IGSH , BigFoot
Scribe : Spy
Venue : The Squirrel
Hounds : 32     Dogs : 3
Recorded distance : 9.61 km
Recorded time : 86.82 min
Uphillness : 1280.00 ft

As a rule Spy always does his write-ups on the morning after the night before.  This is a clever trick to ensure that he remembers at least some of what happened.  Now he has an additional rule: do not volunteer for scribing when you have an all day pub crawl the following day.  You end up searching for your memories of the hash but may not be able to find them. “Where’s my memory gone. I’m sure I put it on.”

The pub, while not really memorable, is documented, as are the hares.  Bigfoot had planned the hash then caught a big cold - that’s bigly cold feet - leaving the ever-reliable Gerry to do the honours. IGSH presented one additional feature to the assembled hounds - a good turnout given the weather - which was the bunny-ears back symbol.  The first 6 at that symbol were required to hop backwards to the back exclaiming “Andy’s fault”. We were warned that there might be shiggy - did he also mention the shape of the Pope’s hat? Anyway we were off.

The run itself headed towards Booker Common - plenty of shiggy there. Memory does not server to remind me where we shook off the shorts.  Thanks to the map some evidence has been preserved.

Across a field we went and into a foot tunnel under the motorway.  Here, of course, there was some proper shouting of on-on. Then we followed the speeding cars for a while, a.k.a motorhashing, before branching out across fields with ever-deeper shig.  Attempts to coax us onto a ploughed field showed initial promise but ultimately failed.

The route the dived into Widdenton Park Wood, took in Millenium Park and emerged onto the tarmac of Wycombe Air Park. For once a little tarmac was a welcome way to shake some shig out of our shoes.

There were a number of planes in the Air Park but alas no pilots available to carry us back to the pub. Were you Zebedee?  We motorhashed towards the bridge on Cressex Road and back again, taking a route across fields and emerging in an estate.

At this point the longs merged with the shorts (what had kept them?) and, finally, we emerged the back of the pub.  5.5 miles was recorded.

On arrival back at the pub the landlady bravely started to serve the whole pack single handed until the hubby emerged from the kitchen.  Rebellion was calling one beer “Relativity”. In the circumstances “Black Hole” would have been more appropriate. A satisfying volume of chips appeared. The Grand Menace said … (something important)? Now what did he say?

Jokes: Spy is still miffed about (perfectly clean) jokes being censored so declines to post any.