Ill omens at the start of this run.
Judy and I were early. We’re not normally very late, not as late as Ade, but then no-one is as late to the setting-off time as Ade, not even Ade sometimes.
Because we were early, Mick picked on us to say how tough the trail setting had been.
“I set out at 6pm yesterday evening. You don’t want to know what time I finished”. We didn’t and maybe because we didn’t, we heard Mick say exactly the same to each of the twenty odd Hashers arriving after us. They didn’t want to know either.
What they did want to know or see or touch or smell was a hint of the copious flour Mick insisted he had used. As the rain giveth, so taketh it away it seems. Apart from the checks, the one section where flour was visible was on a series of cow plops heading very up Mount Wooburn on footpath WB37. “Nice bullocks” (I think Mick said) “Move aside and don’t frighten the ladies”. A gallant effort, but even the 40 watt beam from my head torch lit up their pre-nubile udders, Mick.
Another gallant effort was Ken’s advice to our glamorous granny “If it’s a solicitor’s letter, ignore it”. Bit like advising someone to return their annual tax demand with “gone away” written on it. We’re hoping that glam-gran ignores you Ken: best stick to entertaining us with your undoubted musical talents. Now we know where Donovan got the idea of playing harmonica and guitar.
For all that your après run entertainment was a sheer delight, you have a rival well below you in both taste and social etiquette.
Voices dropped to a whisper outside The Falcon, whose doors are now firmly bolted against us thanks to our GM once offering the unsuspecting landlady some musical entertainment for the restaurant guests. Out on the night air rang the exploits of the crew of the good ship Venus. The landlady’s mouth dropped open, her teeth fell out, she fell out (with the GM) and the one guest who dared to ask for the entertainment to continue was pitched into the nearby mill race.
At least both Ken and the GM set out to entertain others. Simon’s lurcher sets out only to entertain his doggy self. A virgin hasher – and there was one such this evening – might credit the lurcher for choosing to evacuate its bowels to one side of the running area. Not so, dear lady. Lurcher runs straight back onto the path and stands stock still……. They, taking this to be a council track repair sign, divert from the path to plunge straight into the dog’s gift to the unwary. I swear that the “Never fails does that” came from the lurcher’s mouth.
What also never fails is the denial of where we are NOW, TO-DAY. “Great/lousy run this” you just don’t hear. Instead “How did you do at last night’s/week-end’s/month’s/five years ago relay/marathon/egg and spoon race?” A stranger/virgin could be forgiven for thinking that we were not on HHH3 Run 930 at all but instead on the Salisbury marathon, thanks to Ade (who else?), re-running a not very condensed 3hour 35 minute commentary on the previous week-end’s event, ably supported by further commentary from Phil, Sam and quiz prizewinning (last week-end) GM. Please, you lot, get a life: Salisbury is where the army tank regiments train – why the surprise at river deep ruts, mud and goo? Have a sensible day out: dress up as a druid and offer up a plate of chips to the gods of Stonehenge.
And lest I forget to mention it, the long run was announced as 4.7 miles with an extra comment of “But it took ages to set.” Well Mick, it clocked in on the GPS at 6.3 miles which might explain the last part of that! – and also some of the moaning when the pack went up the second and entirely un-necessary, second mountain.
Two thirds of the way up, the flour became noticeable by it’s overwhelming absence and decisions were taken to consult the oracle (OK Matthew with the map). The pack split into two, going in different directions for no readily explained reason, fortunately meeting up again at Wooburn Green.
The moan went up that the pub was miles away, so naturally the trail went in the wrong direction, so as to take in a particularly vicious ascent that would probably have benefited from a base camp equipped with supplies of oxygen, crampons and ice axes.
Tracey, well done for winning the Tosca award for something that had nothing to do with the Salisbury event.
Ken, brilliantly done for the new Hash song - rendered perfect by the accompanying timpani-style backing.
Oh, talking of chips, best part of this run, Mick (should have seen last week’s lousy lack of same). Forget the flour, when are you on again?