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| Date :
30th December 2003 Venue : Stag & Huntsman @ Hambeldon Hounds : 10 Hare : Sam Scribe : Gerry As we gathered in the car park one thing was noticeably missing. Hashers. Which was odd as everything else was there - the threat of rain, wind, giant hills looming like mountains and potential oceans full of squelchy mud. Lack of hashers was a pity as it was a good run. Not very long (the long version was only 4.2 miles, and the short version nearly three quarters of a mile less than that), starry (if you ignore the fog) not too muddy and even the uphill section wasn't too bad. Eight of us congregated and set off just as Ade screeched around
the corner into the car park on his usual two wheels. (He didn't catch
up with us again for nearly one and a half miles - actually, when
I measured it, it came out at 22.6 miles before he caught up - but
as it had only taken 20 minutes it would have been a new world record,
so I had to re-set the scale on my new electronic map measurer and
measurer it again!). The remainder of us (now depleted to 7) headed south along the contour of the hill towards the river for half a mile or so, then gradually veered right up the hill, around the back of Burrow Farm and into our second wood of the evening. A long loop brought us back to a double check through which the SCBs had already passed. Another short while and we reached the second of the evenings three short / long options and, for some unknowable reason, we all chose the wrong way yet again and ended up - one wood, several checks and a few roads later - in Rotten Row. Non-PC joke 1 Doctor “I am afraid I have bad news for you, you have cancer
and you have Alzheimer's” Non-PC joke 2 Question: If your wife keeps walking out of the kitchen to nag at
you, what have you done wrong? But back to the run. To be honest I am not exactly sure where we went next, but it was fairly flat, quite long and fairly foggy. We ended up running along the far side of the wood on Pheasant's Hill, before doubling back to the road and down the hill to the outskirts of Hambledon. We arrived near the house of Baron Brudenell of Stonton, the 7th Earl of Cardigan - who was in command of the Light Brigade on it's ill feted but noble charge. (Actually he queried the order but, when it was repeated he charged in without hesitation). Within sight of the church, where a right turn would have led us to the pub, the trail neatly went straight on and looped around the entire village before delivering us safely back to the pub. Thanks Sam. |
Date :
23rd December 2003 Firstly the GM should really apologise for the hash from Sydenham but he is not at all sorry. A motley crew of hashers congregated outside the Whiteleaf Cross and a few at the car park. Finally the two groups got to together minusa number of regulars eg Lenore, Sam, Porkey who claimed sickness, mmm? Also Jonsey ho was probably on a boozy event at some up market venue was noticeable by his absence. Moose arrived as usual LATE turning into the street on two wheels in his go faster Fiat and was made to follow the arrows. Anyway off we set up the High Street through the crowd of boy racers on their BMX bikes. Princes Risborough (PR) is the in place to be when it come to style and sophistication as we were to find out later. At the A4010 we wended our way in the Wycombe direction eventually crossing the road and heading up into the council house estate. Ah some of us thought that we are heading towards the infamous PR Christmas lights. Unfortunately this was not to be since the only site we got to see was the bottom of the street where Rob Green's Mum lives!! Having traversed the estate we set off a cross a footpath towards Whiteleaf Cross we all knew that barney's hashes always took in the hill and so when we reached the Ridgeway Path we thought for sure we were going left. However much to our surprise we turned right and headed down the Ridgeway. Now at the beginning of this hash the Hare assured us that the run would not be as muddy as the previous week but he fibbed. Not only was it muddy bu tit was slippery and a number of Moose's occurred on the way down. A majority vote agreed that Simon's dive was by far and away the best of the night but probably not worthy of a prize. Eventually we arrived back
at the A4010 and turned right by the Black Sure enough within minutes we were at Barney's front door faced with an empty pasting table. Peering through the window we saw that both Elaine ie Mrs Barney and Karen Ms Barney were busy watching TV and not attending to thirsty and hungry hashers. Eventually a veritable feast of goodies appeared and the pack descended upon the fare like starving vultures quaffing the mulled wine and demolishing both sausages and chocolate cake. Following the feast we were offered two ways home, the short cut taken by the few or the long cut taken by the many. The White Cross pub was packed to the gunnels with the grown up boy racers of PR with their go faster Renault 5 clogging up the High Street that the hash had change pubs and descend upon the George and Dragon in the High Street. Finally I would remind
you all that the New Years Day Hash is from The gate at Bryants Bottom
at map ref 857 995 at 11:00am I repeat 11:00am and last but not least
I wish you all a Happy and Prosperous New Year. |
| Date :
16th December 2003 Venue : The Crown, Sydenham Hounds : 18 Hare : Mike (Genetically Modified) Gilby Scribe : Mick Jones Mud, muddy, muddiest, muddy fox, mud pie, mud lark, mudguard, mud
puppy, muddy the waters, Just of few words which might begin to convey the main theme surrounding
Mike’s run last As us unsuspecting and trusting hashers parked up proximate to the
pub, there was in the distance Finally, a heath robinson type sleigh appeared complete with a seasonal
Santa and a noise level Personally, I found it a bit disconcerting trying to put my socks
on whilst my ears were being blown But I digress. On to the “run”. We set off through the village fondly gazing at the receding view
of the pub. After a check at the next The track deteriorated after about 50 yards into a series of ankle
threatening slimy potholes covered in At last – the end of the track. But, guess what, a right turn
onto a remarkably similar one again ankle Ade had quite naturally been late arriving having just driven up
as we were setting of on the ill fated At the end of this second long and quite horrible path, Moose finally
caught up. He had noticed the mud Mud meister Gilby now pronounced that the going from hereon was through
a mud free zone. As he did so, At the rear, a holy trinity had formed. There was Barney who, having
come straight from his firms xmas At last, sight of the church which was just across the lane from
the pub. As the pack steamed off towards it Leg weary and gasping for a drop of the liquid throat charmer we
set off on yet another loop away from the Following this run I announce
that Mike Gilby is now formally known as The Marquis de Shiggy. |
| Date 9
December 2003 From The Falcon Loudwater Hounds 18 (ish) Hare Mick the Mad Mucker Scribe Rob Late Again, roadworks forced Audrey, Barney and Myself to do the shortcut, remind me to be late more often! The hash went one way, the Short Cutting Bastards Society another, more direct way. Instructions from the hare stating “re-group at the R”. On arrival we waited, no hash. Then Barney heard what he thought was the FRBs, but was a Jumbo – an easy mistake to make judging the size of the FRBs. (Ed’s note: if this is a comment on the physical size of the FRBs it is a slur – true, but still a slur) The routes were checked by the SCBs, a single blob of flour in a massive field was found, a trackers delight. We left an arrow made of sticks to help the FRBs – they need all the help they can get some say! (Make sure that Moose doesn’t go near a quad bike). The SCBs set of checking every trail, still managing to stay in front for ¾ of the rout. When we knew all hope was lost the SCBs hid in some bushes to scare the whotsit out of the FRBs – what a success!! New underpants required for the Hash Master was the sound echoing along the valleys of Bucks. With no sign of the trail turning round, we knew that Mick’s house must be beckoning. The sight of his house with mulled wine and mince pies all prepared by his wife must be complimented, and was of the highest order. Still, the thought of a run 3 miles back to the pub was horrifying …. enter the Hertz hire van. Entering the side of Mick’s Magical Mystery Machine, the rid back was far better than any so-called scary ride at Alton Towers. I understand that the ride in the front was no better as they couldn’t see out of the windows. (Ed’s note – not sure if this was due to ice on the window or a hot steamy ménage a trois between Aud, Mick and Flossy). The next trip to Wales would be easier if we all go in a Transit van. Perhaps we gould go for a World record for the number of Hashers in a van at one time. We were pleased to find that the mystery tour ended up back at the pub. Thanks Mick for a good run both in the van and on foot. Scribe Robert – on a relaxing Sunday morning, washing machine in the background and sdon Jamie banging his head on back door or floor wondering why it hurts – making him cry and scream. Oh what happiness!! ................................................... What follows is a real, honesttoGod, application from a student received by a colleague at Southampton University, who was given a place on the course. 3A. ESSAY: In order for
the admissions staff of our university to get to know you, the applicant,
better, we ask that you answer the following question: I am a dynamic figure,
often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel
train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the
area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Kenyan refugees,
I write award winning operas, and manage time efficiently. Occasionally,
I tread water for three days on a row. I woo women with my sensuous
and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines
with unflagging speed, and I cook thirty minute Brownies in twenty
minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love and an outlaw
in Peru. Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once singlehandedly
defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious
army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I had trials with Manchester United,
I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build
large suspension bridges in my garden. I enjoy urban hand gliding.
On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of
charge. I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless
bookie. I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me. I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in fullcontact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only some vegetables and a Breville Toaster. I breed prize winning clams. I have won bullfights in Madrid, cliffdiving competitions in Sri Lanka, and chess competition at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed openheart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis. But I have not yet gone to this University.
|
Time.
19:40 hours, Tuesday 2nd December.
If more Dumpfkopfen do
not arrive then the plan will not work. And it is a very funny plan.
Not funny ha ha, not funny peculiar but funny aagh aagh. |
| Venue The
Plough Marlow Date 25th November Hare Roger “I'm never without a gadget” Hounds Dunno, - say 15 Scribe Phil (AWOL) Crookes' mate from last week (Ed’s note: Possibly not in the Biblical sense) The Night of Houdini's Return The run, to celebrate Ade's 50th birthday, had us all checking the BBC's Michael Fish show 24 hours earlier. Unlike his memorable 1987 “there are no storms” forecast, he was right in the predictions he had been putting out all weekend. The pouring rain, as we drove to Marlow, left us all in no doubt as to what it would be like underfoot on this auspicious occasion. So, we all waited for the star of the day to arrive and as soon as he appeared, Glory Be - the rain stopped lashing down. Roger's pre-run briefing “I set the trail in flour earlier today, - but it's probably been washed away” was clearly the understatement of the week. Off through the back lanes of Marlow, - eagerly watching the body language of the Hare in the absence of flour, - up to Pump Lane North over a muddy field and the rain came lashing down again. But help was on the horizon, - by now the Birthday Boy with his locks flowing in the rain had caught us up, (yep he was late in arriving) and Glory Be, the rain stopped again. “Platinum or Gold” - Roger invited us to choose. Your scribe whimped out and ran with the Ole' Tossers on the short course. Ten yards on, Mick Jones took the Adrian Morehouse Flat Racing Dive Award of the Year for the best effort in doing a two and a half pike into the biggest puddle to be found just outside the 3 Horse Shoes. For the rest of the evening, Rob, (what was he doing with the Senior Citizens)? - was the star of the show, seemingly doing all the checks single-handed. Roger, using his well-rehearsed motivation skills, - (honed to a fine edge from years of experience gained in the world of City commerce), goaded us on with the exhortation “If you don't move along quicker the rest of the pack will catch you up”. The reader can imagine how that speeded us on down through the streets of Marlow Bottom. So, highly motivated as we were, we ambled/strolled back to the pub. The rest of the pack was nowhere to be seen for 10 minutes, which probably set the tone for the rest of the evening. However, our correspondent on-the-spot, who went the long (Long, long) Platinum run reported:- Our first mistake was to give Howard the map. First we thought that, as he is so quick, we would never see him again after the first check . This was wrong, not only was he good and stayed with us all the way round, but we discovered a his flaw. His speed was counterbalanced by his total inability to hold a map up the right way or use it to point out the direction. No, that’s not quite fair. He did point out the direction several times. It wasn’t the right direction, but you can’t have everything. As a result we went the wrong way. Quite a long way the wrong way. Twice. (Unless you also count the bit of the run when we got back to Marlow when he gallantly led the band of the faithful the wrong way for a third time, only to be called back by Lenore and Nick.) To be fair to Howard, however, he wasn’t the only one that couldn’t read the map and he actually turned around at a couple of back arrows all by himself - possibly the power and responsibility of leadership went to his head and he got confused? Ken, having spent hours practising his augmented and diminished guitar chords and Lenore, who had cleared her throat all afternoon for the rendition of the week, both found that The Birthday Boy had left his doughnuts behind and vanished in a way that Houdini would have given his eye teeth to emulate. Some said that Ade had gone to the aid of Gilly and her tooth fairy, some said he was shy. Ade? Ade? - Shy? The word is not in his vocabulary! We'll find out the reason for his disappearance next week. (The tension mounts to find out). A good run in the trying circumstances. |
| Venue :
The Foresters, Farnham Common Date: 18th November 2003 Hares: David and Phil (the local lads) Hounds: 22 to 25 depending who you talk to + 2 with four legs Scribe: Keith David and Phil made all the ladies feel very welcome with cuddles and kisses all round including the ladies from JAWS. (A Sunday morning local noshing club.) Eventually the pack was directed to the opposite side of the road to the pub and the grand event started.
There followed a number of Gerryism backs, for various numbers of runners including five and four. The pack had great sympathy for Howard who kept developing shoelace problems around the area of the Gerryisms. However in the interest of honest reporting, it must be recorded that Howard did return to the back a few times, once with the help of Mike. We spent some time running around the woods (any bids for the number?), passing over the same slippery bridges and past the same large holes. Gerry then decided he should also bid for the moose of the year prize and was seen to do a good imitation of superman before hitting the ground. Eventually we found our way out and returned to the Foresters. Awaiting us at the pub was an excellent Hash Nosh and a magnificent birthday cake to celebrate both David’s and Phil’s birthdays, both very imminent events. To round off an excellent run and evening we all sung (the term is used loosely here), happy birthday and Lenore sung a Gerry created rhyming birthday song to teh tune of "When I'm 64" - Lyrics below.
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| Venue The
Potters Arms Winchmore Hill Date 11 November 2003 Hares Keith & Lindsay Hounds 21 + 2 real ones Scribe Ken We took off from the Potters Arms in Winchmore Hill, Several people grumbling about the light rain, was it cold? Some said ‘yes’ some said ‘No’ who knows? After a three way check from the pub the On On was called down Fagnall lane, loads of Hashers ran past the first check, so on back was called And we set off across the fields past the dismayed donkeys and down a long narrow track, across several fields eventually arriving in Penn Manor Estate. The pack was kept together well with several on back’s as we headed towards Tylers Green picking up part of the Chiltern Way. We stopped short of Tylers Green turning right into Common Wood. On right was called as we entered Common wood, where we climbed the hill to the main track running through the centre of the wood. From here it was right then left down the hill towards Penn Bottom, a dim torch shone through the wood towards the Hashers as they careered down the hill amongst the brambles and nettles, the light hovered eerily in the distance eventually manifesting itself as Mike Swan, who has been tracking the Hash from a distance. The Hash then climbed a steep hill into Penn Manor Estate. Six hashers were caught by an on back but five thoroughly disgraced themselves, failing miserably to reach the rear of the Hash….Surely this was deliberate? Only Sam completed the task. Eventually the Hash ran on to the Penn Street Road to a Bus stop where Keith had conveniently arranged a bus (not), a bemused bus driver stopped expecting to take the entire hash on board. All Hashers declined except David who had to be pull screaming from the bus! Then came the forfeit for
not taking the bus! The Hash was forced to run through a muddy smelly
farm yard followed by a cow field, a right turn took the Hash through
a small wood eventually out through the allotments and across the
road and on in over the common and back to the Potters Arms. –
Bliss! |
| Pub: Fleur
de Lis Place Stokenchurch Hare: Aud & Ken Date: 4 November 2003 No of Hounds: 23 Scribe Gerry We gathered in the rain and moaned about it, then we moaned some more, this time about how cold it was, dark it was, wintery it was and how generally unpleasant everything was (especially the cold wet and dark night). So far nothing new or unusual. We were called together by one half of the terror / glitter twins and the rules were explained or at least they would have been if Gill hadn't barged across in front of Aud and started complaining loudly about denigrating women (I wasn't sure if she was for or against it). Fortunately there was nothing too unusual in the rules so we all understood them- or at least as well as the average hasher understands anything. Then we set off with me checking in the wrong direction. A quick trot took us to the other side of the common and down Park Road to Mallards Court where some wit usually yells out “Duck”. I don't know if anyone was quackers enough to do it this time as I was already a long way far behind, (having checked in the wrong direction - Again!). Somehow we made our way downhill, thinking lovingly of the wonderful uphill that was to come, towards Crowell Wood and up a long drag on the other side. At some point near here (the pain of the hill has dulled the memory somewhat), Ken announced that there was a long way and a short way. Being young and foolish (well one out of two isn't bad) most of us went the long way, little knowing that it involved another monstrous great hill. We had been assured that it was only half a mile or so further, what we hadn't been told was that the half-mile was vertical so we would need breathing masks and first aid by the end of it. Eventually we reached the giddy heights of Sprigs Holly Lane and turned right. A checkless mile (I measured it) later we returned to civilisation, or at least to Bennets End. A left check near some houses and across a field and a long downhill vista lay spread out before us. Unfortunately, there it also a large track-free and muddy field. With true heroism we set off down hill (on what turned out not to be the path), but being hashers we got to the bottom anyway, where we were greeted by Aud (who had taken the short trail) and who seemed to enjoy flashing at everone. None of the men complained. A wicked false trail later and we saw two lights beaming on us from the rear. Soon a breathless Keith and Lindsay arrived, they had set out late and been forced to track us across the wilderness. A few minutes later and Sam and Ade retired from the hash due to previous wounds and took what they fondly thought was a shortcut back to the pub. Unfortunately the way they went was actually longer - and they missed all of the jollies as well. Another long drag up through Pophely's Wood and we saw the welcome lights of Stokenchurch in the distance. The trail led us not to the pub but to Ken's house, where we were greeted by the magic words “You can't come in”. However, he relented and let us around the side, where we were treated to an impressive fireworks display, made even more impressive by the beer, flapjack and other nibbles. Aud started behaving strangely (even for her) and tried to carry on some “Halooing” and semaphore conversation with a male hanging out of a window a few doors down. She later confessed he was a “Friend” nudge-nudge wink-wink (don't-let-Garry-read-this!). Quarter of an hour later
we were back in the pub sipping at the amber throat charmer and all
was, once again, right with the world. |
| Pub: The
Swan Place West Wycombe Hare: Gerry Date: 28 October 2003 No of Hounds: Oops - didn’t count Scribe Lenore "666 - the Hellish Hillish Hash" An assortment of humanoid creatures of the night--witches ranging
from short to tall, numerous horned creatures, Sam the Saint, an old
man (some said it was David wearing an ugly mask, others said he wasn't
wearing one - see hwh3.co.uk website photos to decide); The intergalactic wizard cryptically explained the night's mission to the creatures: to keep the head from joining its body, so that it would not rest in peace for another year, and could continue to haunt the inhabitants of Wycombe. Some say the head was Bin Laden's, others whispered that it belonged to one of the Desborough clan, but the old timers recognised it as that hasher who got lost on the trail back in '91. They silently remembered that freezing wet night, but they had been having too good a time in the pub to go look for him. Gerry used his intergalactic powers to time the wind and the rain to start at 7:46 (or was that more effort on the part of his special effects team?) On out and eventually up, and down the very same trail, then up another, and into the woods. The head was passed around like a rugby ball. "Where's the head?" and "Who wants some head?" were calls heard on the trail. Wayne had it the most, running quickly back and forth past the others, till he slipped on a fallen sign that read, "speed kills". Meanwhile, the rain was chilling those of us who weren't wearing a waterproof cape. On on through checks, and usual check backs, then into the field of writhing thorns, which grasped then tightened themselves around our ankles. The werewolf drooled as he looked at and smelled the glistening, fresh, red blood. Then to the ancient circle of trees, near the Mausoleum and the old church, where the creatures have a yearly ceremony. This year the intergalactic wizard told stories of the past about “The Beast” Alistair Crowley, 666 the wickedest man in the world (who, inherited a fortune made from beer) -, then called Comfort in for the purification ritual -- a cleansing with the wizard's magical soap and water. But when Gerry said, "Use plenty of soap" Comfort knew instantly to rinse off the soap. Yes, it was magic soap, which makes the skin go black. We heard the voice of the Beast, then his skeleton appeared, where he had hung from that same tree hundreds of years ago. (Eds note actually it didn't but he was prone hanging his first wife from her heels in a wardrobe and locking her in) Then on to the next circle, where Rose, (looking quite human), was
waiting with hot potatoes and cheese, with a jack o lantern for light.
|
| Pub: De Le Spencer
Arms Place Downley Common Hare: Sam Date: 21 October 2003 No of Hounds: 24 Scribe Sam Well, we should be used to the dark evenings by now but are we used to the temperatures as we had it the last two weeks? Some of us think or make believe it is still summer, specially some faces we haven't seen for some time think a T-shirt is enough, even if it has flashing light front and back. Nice to see you Natasha. It was also good to welcome some other new faces. Anyway, after some rules, RULES? from the joint hare team we set off in a westerly direction and came to the first of numerous regroups after a few minutes already. Here we were split into two groups, short and long. The short group went on down the road and the long group was promptly led the wrong way by hare #?. Well done!! After an On Back we got onto the right trail that led us down and
down and down only to find out there was a sharp left turn and up
and up and up back to the road. There were a few more long/short options and for the rest of the hash it seemed we were just running around in circles. I think some of us were getting dizzy and at least I had no idea where I was or what direction the pub would be. One thing I noticed the last few runs was the low volume or almost absence of 'moans'. I don't know if it is due to the absence of You Know Who or if it just was a great run which of course it was. Thanks Lenore and David. It was good to see such a great number of you out. Keep it up. Pub: Stag @ Burnham BeechesHare: Phil (it’s a fair cop) Crooks Date: 7 October 2003 No of Hounds: 24 plus Scribe: Roger the Dodger Before I set upon Phil Crooks, I must take exception to last weeks report (about me). The scribe was that eastern hybrid Jif Kord-wei, well known for his ability to exaggerate and find his own way to the finish. He wrote, “at least a spot of flour every 15 minutes” (sarcasm). Well Jif, to everyone else the spots were no more than 200m apart, so draw your own conclusions!! Secondly, he abused me saying there was no flour in the suburbs of Hedgerley. He is quite right. There was no flour in the suburbs of Hedgerley but for the more mundane reason that the route was elsewhere. This is why I normally follow the SCBs (gold route) instead of the FRBs (platinum route) when hare. The SCBs have a greater propensity to follow their desires rather than the true way. Anyway back to tonight and Phil. A goodly number of runners, including a large contingent from JAWS, even though there was no breakfast on offer. The Stag public house is located on the southern fringes of Burnham Beeches. Having run through the Beeches in the light, I know how easy it is to lose one’s bearings (odd that losing one’s marbles means something quite different even though the difference is only material). (Eds note, in some cases they mean the same thing!) In the dark it is even easier. I therefore came prepared and carried my trusty GPS with me. Amazing how quickly you are assumed by others to be the fount of all (useful) knowledge. Namely: how far we have gone (hurrah, well done) and, more importantly, how far to go (groan)? Well Phil took us off in a north-westerly direction, which was through the woods. We soon got a sense that official paths and roads were not on the agenda, deer paths and bogs were. No matter, ON ON. Out to some fields somewhere (remember that the GPS only tells you where you are, it does not assign meaning). On the plus side, they were dry, bathed in moonlight and you could see how pretty the torches were, strung out in a long (long) line. Time for a regroup and another look at the GPS trace. This showed a straight line (ish) out from the pub. Oh Gawd. Wish I didn’t know that. What a long way back!! Never mind, Phil led us right and right again in a pub like direction,
fields behind us and trees to the front. I wonder what went through
Phil’s mind when he got to this point when setting the run.
“The pub’s over there. And I am here. But there’s
no path. No problem. I will make one”. And he did. Afterwards,
he said that he did not use a compass to set that last stage. Well,
it was as straight as a die on the GPS display (apart from the bit
that wasn’t). Then Lenor came up to me, clutching her torch in her extended hand and said, “Look. Five minutes ago I put new batteries in (that Gerry gave to her) and now it’s not vibrating” (sic). I know, Lenor, it’s a torch. I don’t know what she thinks thermometers are for (Lenor is a nurse!). At last. A path. The pub. Good eventful run, Phil. In the pub, Ade and Dave (I was never young once) G were talking about Ade’s hair dying experience (I think), and Dave was exhibiting his sartorial tastes, brown dress shoes with black leggings. Ade mentioned the colour and Dave said, “you should see my pubes” (sic). Ade tried to change to subject and ate some peanuts. Dave said, “you can really scratch your nuts well in these tights”. And it went on. Ade picked a hair out of his beer but did not dare say anything. What a good night! Time for another pint (but not the Boddington’s)
A DAY TRIP TO EGYPT
A well directed run, mainly due to the lack of trail, except for the sucker’s loop in Church wood and the nature reserve. Plenty of checks and imbalances although Ade is seriously slacking on this years Moose award. The hash split roughly 50/50 after Hedgerley Hill lane. The wise and weary were handed their sealed orders and opted for returning to the pub by nine to waste no time getting stuck into the plethora of real ales on offer. Mike (condom) was so eager to get back he decided to give his feet a rest and let his elbows do the walking. Judy smiled as carpet burns came to mind and the realisation that she would have to be ON-ON top hasher till the wounds healed. The sad, sporty and stupid carried on to Egypt woods and an extra mile or two whilst they left the SCB’s looking for non-existent flour in the suburbs of yes, you guessed it Hedgerley. Eventually common sense prevailed and we hedged our bets; ON-ON was declared straight down, where else but Hedgerley Hill lane for the White Horse Inn. The small bar was captured by the HWH3 except for a couple of die
hard locals who despite the sweaty bodies slipping their way into
the bar, stuck to their seats and tried in vain to repel thirsty hashers.
Oh what thirst quenching delights there were, a plethora of real ales
from the light to the fantastic. The hare with obvious local knowledge
opted for a take-away with the excuse it was for his wife! It must
be luv.
We met at that famous car park with a nice little pub next to it! I’m convinced the owners of the pub have received some advance warning that the M40 is going to be diverted and they have built the motorway services car park in readiness! We set off with much noise and merriment. Shouts of “not much space in the car-park” and “busy isn’t it” were heard. These being of course references to our previous visit when we clearly filled the car park! We set off down the track in front of the pub and off onto one of the longest stretches without a check I have ever seen. It was a good warm up, however on what had turned out to be a cold evening. We passed a rather bemused looking horse and on into the woods. At this stage we were introduced to a ‘back check’. Now this was not a physical assessment of the state of our back bones but a rather bemusing way of looking at a check! Many of us had re-grouped as instructed and we had checked out the two visible routes. After several minutes we were called ‘on back’. We turned and ran in the direction we had come from and eventually met up with the rest of the pack and the hare. The hare explained that a check means you should check 360 degrees!! I fail to see how this should work because there will always be flour in the direction you have come from! We were standing at another check and several hashers came back saying they had checked the routes to no avail. This led some to believe that this might be another back check and they set off in the direction of the way we had just come. On-on was finally called in the seemingly right direction and on we went to the main road. We crossed the road and down a long track past the first of several very large houses and looped back to the main road. We found a check directly opposite the road leading back to the pub! We ended up doing almost another back check and went down a small track next to the garage. We were following well marked arrows on the pavement and soon realised we were in Beaconsfield, We were greeted with a strong smell of doughnuts which stayed with us for much of the run around the streets of the town. Near the hight street we were introduced to some more dirty tricks by the hare! Many of us passed the gates to the model village and saw no markings. We waited in the High Street for a few minutes until and all too familiar ‘on-back’ was called. We got back to the gates and found a false trail had been marked outside the gates! A few of us started to get a little concerned when we crossed the railway line and realised that we were still going away from the pub. Luckily we took a right turn and came back into the town centre past Sainsburys. We crossed the high street and took chase on another long run. We lost several hashers at this point who decided to shortcut back to the pub and others were beginning to wonder where exactly we were going next! After a last spurt uphill we finally made it back to the pub at 9.45pm! Comments to be heard included: ‘what a hash and a half’, ‘half marathons are quite easy really’ and ‘that’s eaten into my drinking time!’ The beer was a welcome reward and I would throroughly recommend the ‘Tight Head’ beer. A memorable and enjoyable evening was had by all! Pub Red Lion @
Little Missenden As we gathered in the deepening
gloom (caused by both the onset of night and the hills which loomed
before us in all directions) we were surprised to see Bevertey and
Ken arrive as we thought they, like We set off with a call of ON ON towards Great Missenden which was a pity in hindsight as the trail went in the other direction. However, with a little Hash Management all the errant hashers were soon pointing in the right direction. This also was a pity as a very sharp right at the first check took us to the place we would have been if we had gone wrong in the first place! Next check was along a tough-to-find trail that completed a zigzag for us. This sneaky start totally
put Whipping Boy of the scent and he proceeded to run the entire rest
of the But back to the hash, which
meandered past Beaches Wood and Toby’s Lane towards, though
after a considerable climb, Mop End Farm. A sneaky right and left
turn down Toby’s Lane and we were heading towards Holmer Green
on a rarely Hashed but pleasant path, complete with stingers and the
odd bramble. A warning from the hare at the top of the Wood diverted most of the pack off the trail and down through the wood as it was less dangerous. We were, however, assured that the trail would be Wiggling through the back end of Holmer Green the worth our while. And, apart from the fact that we soon met Whipping Boy coming from the other direction, so it was. A wiggle towards Aifrick’s farm took us to an extraordinarily welcome and lavish beer, choc-ice, cakes and crisps stop. After an all too brief 10 minutes of bacchanalian munching, slurping, licking and gulping, the pack set off in dribs and drabs back towards the pub. Little did we know that it was still a mile and a half away!. Following the track to a bend, we clambered through an electric-looking fence and promptly missed the next stile in the dark only to hear hashers on the other side of a deeply impenetrable hedge so back up the hill we had to go to find the lost style. Then back down the same hill, and up another one in a cornfield. At the top was a sharp right - which would possibly have lead to some excellent views if we weren’t so banjaxed after running uphill on beer-filled and sloshing stomachs. In the far distance we saw the flashing of Roger’s torch and followed on-on. I counted 360 yards before I got to the place he had been and, chancing to look back, saw that half the hash hadn’t even got to the spot I had been in we must have been strung out for well over half a mile. At the end of another half mile the pub hove gracefully into view. An excellent
run (obviously apart from the hills, length and hills) of just over
5 miles (8k). Many thanks also for the excellent hospitality. Ade suggested the Lake Vrynwy Half Marathon and a long weekend. This was April and the race wasn’t until September. After a search on the Internet Cyffdy appeared, this turned out to be a golden find. Four self-catering cottages around a communal dinning living room. Some of the cottages took dogs and if you booked all four there was a sleeping capacity of 20. The cottages were booked from the Saturday night to Tuesday morning, with meals together in the evening but self-catering for breakfasts and lunches. As the idea spread more and more Hashers were becoming interested, Lenore suggested a pony trekking trip on the Saturday, which was taken up by four Hashers. By the time the booking was made, numbers had risen to 25. Fortunately another cottage sleeping 6, a little further a field was added to the booking for the same long weekend. This was a spectacular area near Bala in North Wales and some Hashers took Mountain Bikes to take advantage of the area. Dinner Saturday night was timed for around 8.30pm in order to give those working, time to get up to Wales. The Retreat, our communal lounge dinning room, filled with food, people and beer. Everyone had arrived safely and all the organizing over the past 6 months had finally come to an end. The cottages were of an extremely high standard and everyone was very pleased with their accommodation. Sunday’s race started at 1.00pm. The road between Lake Bala and Lake Vrynwy was very small and twisty so the half marathoning Hashers decided to leave between 10.30am and 11.00am and take the scenic but direct route to the start of the race. The weather was fantastic, perhaps a little too warm for a half marathon but most of the course was under shady trees so it would be all right. Walking routes were set up for those not running with other options involving beer taken up by other hashers. Rob should be awarded Moose of the Year for an amazing fly through the air and a catapult across the road at 9 miles on the half marathon. Nick desperately ran on to get first aid help for Rob only to find after a detailed description of the accident site; Rob was about 100 yards behind still running. Rob went on to finish in a very respectable forth position out of the six hashers and retired into the first aid tent to accost the most attractive young St John Ambulance nurse to attend to his wounds. Pete did a personal best, despite the heat, beating his expected time by one minuet and Lenore completed her first ever half marathon in a very competitive time. Well done Lenore. Dinner in The Retreat Sunday evening was a wash of tales from the day with a fantastic meal prepared by Ade, Gilley and Rosemary…..The food just goes On On!! Brave hares Gerry and Mick went out to lay the trail of the HWH3 Lake Vrynwy Hash on Monday morning. They undertook thorns, nettles, vicious farm dogs and wild farmers in order to lay the trial and at 11.00am the pack followed. Hashers ran down the drive from Cyffdy and into the lane, very soon the On On was called and the pack were heading down hill – Drat, always a bad way to start. Shortly afterwards they got to a style and the On On was called from the top of the steepest field HWH3 had seen. The pack scrambled up to the top of the field and over the summit of the hill; next the trail led us down – yippee! Straight into a field with two Shetland Ponies, delighted to see the Hashers but keen to make sure Flossy left the field without stopping. The pony field must have been as steep down as the one we had just climbed up. Hashers checked out the track left and right – the call came from the right and the pack ran across two fields and out onto a small road. The trail was picked up again quickly and the pack pilled over the style and across a field to find out it was a false trail and the danger area where Wild Farmers tore around the countryside on Big Red Tractors chasing Hashing Hares. The pack continued up the road to a junction where the walkers were offered a good deal to turn right but the pack was taken across more fields full of cattle and On On up more hills, where a very welcomed cake and water stop was made. Next it was down fields full of cattle and eventually through a farm with hundreds of dogs loose and barking like mad. The pack flew past on the footpath through their farm, eventually leading back to the road where the walkers had been given a right turn. From here it was On In and back up to Cyffdy for a Bar-Be-Que lunch. The Bar-b-ques were lit but before further ado there were some special announcements. Simon was Baptized and made to do a down down. Well done Simon you are a real Hasher! The food went On On, tables were set out and lined with benches in the sunshine and the food kept coming, before long we were all tucking in to a banquet of food and relaxing in the warn weather. Sadly this, for some hashers was the end of the weekend and farewells were given as the party started to dissolve. For those left it was a trip to check out the local pub before the food went On On once more. The last night in The Retreat was to finish off as much of the beer and food as possible. And the meal went On On until eventually all retired for bed. The remaining Hashers departed Cyffdy Tuesday morning, some for a train ride along the narrow gauge Bala Railway and some for a spectacular walk around Bets y Coed and On On home. It was a fantastic weekend. Thanks to everyone who came and made it such fun. Eventually we reached a nice stretch of tarmac with delicious blackberries growing beside it, which turned a corner and became a very unpleasant hill stretching upward for miles. After a while the FRS, Peter and Ade, came back down the hill having reached the cruel hilltop Palmers. GM Mike was being overtaken by a keen Tahir when he remarked that it wasn't worth going flat out with the result that Tahir slowed down and Mike came to the 3 back sign, in third place. To avoid strain on Flossie he left her with Tahir who had to wait for Mike to re-appear as Flossie refused to move without him. Then at the next check/regroup the hares turned into angels, digging out from the undergrowth a bag of cakes and water bottles. Mr Kipling does make an exceedingly good hash. After too short a delay we were off again with Ade leading the way. Halfway across the field he stopped and held up his hands for silence. The only sound was the panting of Flossie until Mike prevented her breathing for a few minutes so we could enjoy the tranquillity of an insect buzzing. Then off again where yours truly cleverly checked downhill to find the trail leading to a farmyard where were about six real-life hounds, baying for blood. Turning tail I retraced my steps to make sure the rest of the pack was safe. We then proceeded through the devil dogs - safety in numbers - and eventually managed to return to the same delightful bridge over the same delightful stream where we re-grouped again. Now all we had to do was climb the last hill back to the cottages passing the ON-IN a good half mile before the relief of the waiting bottle of Old Peculiar and the generous supply of imitation sheep, provided by Ade (available at reasonable prices from Bassetbury Balloons). The barbecue soon followed at which the main topic of conversation was Rob's audacious attempt to secure the 2003 Moose prize during the Lake Vernwy half-marathon. No-one seeing him swathed in bandages could doubt the veracity of his claim. The question in most peoples mind was whether he had fallen as a result of concentrating too hard on the lady in the short shorts in front of him, or had been distracted by a particularly attractive sheep in the adjacent field. Anyway, a brilliant hash
in a brilliant holiday. Many thanks to all those who helped with the
organising, and a reminder to all who enjoyed the delicious fare provided
that we haven't paid for it yet, so get your purses out on the 23rd. Date: 9th September Sam provided a bag to be collected by the hound who found the trail and taken to the next check where it would be collected by the hound who found the trail and taken to the next check where... etc etc. Simple in concept and effective in keeping the pack together. And the lucky hound could take a candy (English translation: sweetie) from the bag if desired. This cunning plan fails to work however if the FRB finding the trail refuses to return for the bag! (Howard!) The first sweetie was claimed by yours truly, who satisfied with this unaccustomed early success settled in to eat his "Candy" and shuffle along at the back, concentrating on not swallowing it. Now Sam's next ploy came into play. He offered a long run which tempted the FRS to shoot off on what turned out to be a short circuit, returning to the main trail. While they were away other suckers had to be pursuaded to check so Y T got another "Candy". This was followed by another "long run" which seemed to catch the same FRS. Sam's other innovation was that instead of the dreaded Palmers he had the first x runners (eg first 5) set off in one direction while the rest continued in another. This sent the FRS on a loop round and back onto the trail behind the pack. Funny! Well, what with FRS disappearing at regular intervals I found myself up in 6th place behind he who must not be named (Howard!) when he suddenly did a spectacular side-step, shimmy and backward stride. In an effort to avoid a collision I jumped passed him to find myself, now in fifth place, next to an arrow pointing right with the number 5 below it. Following the 4 folk in front I saw them looping round to the right back to the main trail, so naturally I cut of the corner to try to catch them up. At this point a tree stump with torch-light-avoiding-radar sprang up and hurled me to the ground, causing superficial injuries which should have belonged to another (Howard!) This whole incident may have had something to do with the fact that I now had two "Candies" in my mouth at the same time and was struggling to breath, avoid choking and look where I was going, all at the same time. Eventually we reached a sign informing us we were entering Flackwell Heath. This caused confusion as I had not been aware of leaving it in the first place, with the result that I found myself joining the real long run at the end while other saner hashers (tautology?) returned to the pub. By this point both Ade and Howard had disappeared and the six of us remaining went down a very long hill with a six-back Palmers (Funny). It was at this point we heard Ade in the distance loudly encouraging us to ON-ON. It turned out that Howard was with him and when interviewed later in the pub by this intrepid reporter about why they had not returned to the pack at this back mark he replied " Oh we saw plenty of those but we ignored them." When asked to comment Ade changed the subject to the unfairness of being left in the wilds of just-outside-Flackwell-Heath by an ungrateful pack of hashers. All in all it was a most eventful and enjoyable hash, a change from the mundane. Well done Sam. Date 2nd September Your scribe, jet lagged and befuddled - nothing new there, - from his arrival from the USA that morning, was not perhaps the best choice for this task, especially as it was sprung upon him at 10.00pm after the run by the Grand Master. HW3 had not changed during my 3-week break. Bullocks, Bullshit and Bewilderment are clearly still the order of the day. 70 BULLOCKS charging towards HW3 Hashers brought out the best in our intrepid Grand Master’s obvious latent talent in animal husbandry. The aforesaid stampede was clearly responsible for the abject terror shown on the faces by many in HW3. These members who, on deciding to have a rapid and unscheduled bowel movement there and then, proceeded to supply large quantities of human excrement to the bovine faeces already on the ground in the hope that the farmer’s fertiliser requirements for next year would be minimal. So, who else in our group would turn around and charge back at the rampaging steers in order to rescue his pack of hounds? –It’s probably not a pretty sight to a young gelded bull to see a 200lb old git in his night-shirt running towards you yelling “bugger off you bullocks”. BULLSHIT to those of the Hash who thought the Bullocks to be Heifers. BEWILDERMENT shown on the faces of certain FRB’s whose names we all know but won’t mention who, on seeing a clearly defined number on the ground requiring a back check, stared at disbelief at the seeming apparition before them, - until sufficient time had elapsed for the Hare to catch them up anyway. One bewildered member must have been on the plane with me, - so befuddled was he. On deciding that he, not he Hare, had set the run and that he, not the Hare knew best, proceeded to undermine the Hares generosity to the whole Hash by attempting to erase with his foot the “R” Regroup Sign. It would be fair to say that he was more than a little embarrassed then to find that the Hare’s car was parked only 10 yards away, - full of goodies like home made flapjack, carrot cake and ginger beer. So, all in all no change there then in the Hash. To sum up, it was a cracking good run in a beautiful area, - well laid out, - plenty of flour and the “right” length. Thank you Ian for your generosity at the end of a memorable run. It’s a pity the Pub didn’t want our custom though! Date 26th August
2003 IN SEARCH OF GILBY TRICKERY White Lion at Cryers Hill conjures up 1977-78 memories of redundancy and fonder memories the landlord at the time appropriately named Allnut who produced the most gorgeous alcoholic soup, the recipe including copious amounts of Guinness and Sherry. Well the hare, our well appreciated M.C., was in good voice and effortlessly addressed the assembled as to what signs would detect a HWH3 trail and not giving anything away but suggesting hints of trickery ahead!!?? Getting off to a quick
start the path circled around the rear of the White Lion across fields
where an independent London Jeff found his own trail way across the
other edge of the field. Following West London rules I guess? On-on to Pipers Corner
and across fields towards Widmere End. I learn that “Flossy”
Mike and Gill’s delinquentAiredale has done a runner, not the
first time, and Gill has gone AWL to find the mutt. It dawned on me
this indeed must be the trickery and questioned mike as to techniques
to training a dog to go walkabout at The trail was called left at Widmere End crossroads passed The Royal Standard, passing pubs is always tricky for Jonesy and me but on-on up a familiar trail leading to Terriers Road, across pass Braods house to FourAshes. On-on down Church Lane to the sound of church bells, a stony steep track and the first need to use torches. With two ‘Palmersons’ en-route may have made an uphill backtrack troublesome for some! Was this where the real Gilby trickery would be encountered? Well for one the next check proved too tricky as Ian’s over enthusiasm and the falling dusk lost him the trail only to return to the White Lion via High Wycombe and the steep Cryers Hill. For the rest an up hill trail punctuated with huge rolls of straw and no less than four ‘Pa Imersons’ and by the time we got the top of Cryers Hill me and Jonesy were almost FRB’s!!!!! — TRICKERY INDEED. A burglar broke into a house one night. He shined his flashlight around, looking for valuables, and when he picked up a CD player to place in his sack, a strange, disembodied voice echoed from the dark saying, “Jesus is watching you.” He nearly jumped out of his skin, clicked his flashlight out, and froze. When he heard nothing more after a bit, he shook his head, promised Himself a vacation after the next big score, then clicked the light on and began searching for more valuables. Just as he pulled the stereo out so he could disconnect the wires, clear as a bell he heard, “Jesus is watching you.” Freaked out, he shone his light around frantically, looking for the Source of the voice. Finally, in the corner of the room, his flashlight beam came to rest on a parrot. “Did you say that?” He hissed at the parrot. “Yep,” the parrot confessed, then squawked, “I’m just trying to warn you.” The burglar relaxed. “Warn
me, huh? Who in the world are you?” “Moses”, replied
the bird. “Moses?” the burglar laughed. “What kind
of people would name a bird Moses.” “The kind of people
that would name a Rottweiler Jesus.” Date 19 August
2003
The main body of hashers set off down the footpath to the Phoenix Way. Some distance up the path we came to a bridge at which point we set off along the road beneath. There were a number of “Palmerism’s” on this run due, so said the hare, to the lack of possible checks and sure enough the first was on this road. Somehow or other Howard who was front running at the time managed to see that his shoe lace was undone and swiftly stopped to address the problem. Note the word swiftly since no sooner had the 6th hasher passed him all of 10 nano-seconds then the tying up operation was complete and his off down the road like a scalded cat!! Across numerous fields and paths that were virgin territory to HWH3 with few if any I recall checks. A number of “Palmerisms” at which even Lenore was caught, were used to make up for the lack of proper checks. This was speedy running and most of the FRB’s were stretching their legs most noticeable among these was a certain Nick Cox. I do wish these FRB’s would run a bit slower so us poor wrinklies could at least see the leader and not just their dust trail. Despite malicious rumours uttered last week, the GM was not at the back all of the time mixing the chattering arses sorry I mean classes but was managing to stay with the 2nd tranché of FRB’s. The lack of rain had made the paths hard and dry and as consequence the going relatively fast. Barney had set a good run and it was looking very promising that we would arrive back at the pub on or even before the 9 o/c witching hour, oh joy oh rapture. Bursting through the hedgerow we were suddenly back on the Pheonix Trail, at the same point as the first encounter, with an unofficial re-group being held. As it was some time before
21.00 could it be that the hare had a nasty surprise up his sleeve
and the trail was to take in a loop? The hare, having arrived last,
played his master card and promptly splattered the trail with the
On-In. Back up the Pheonix Trail a short way and lo and behold there
before us not two hundred metres down the road was pub. So fast was
the hash that we were back well before the walkers who were heard
some 5 mins later strolling down the road generally making a din.
Such was the noise, it was a wonder that the village of Towersley
was not roused to anger that a bunch of marauding hooligans was running
through their village generating mayhem but no it was only the hash
walkers. Date 12th August We were running to Singapore rules tonight, that's how it started. Something about Mike Gilby respect, ignoring the G.M., forelock tugging, you know the sort of thing. “The Hash does not know its place and it's going to change or else” - that was the attitude of Major Benchbreaker Griffiths, a man not to be messed with - so already it was good. Singapore rules, it would seem, requires the G.M. to belt up the road leaving the pack to follow as quickly as they can to the first check. Once there he nominates hashers to check out the route, but from that point after it’s the usual free for all and Mike kept out of the way running along at the rear with the “Chat Pack” where he was safe. Benchbreaker thoughtfully provided two water stops (well done, great idea), but was it mineral water, tap water or something else? because it was after this that things started to go a bit weird. First Jonesy (as a stunningly fast runner does) was bowling down the trail when a rabbit jumped out at him - there was a crack and ouch!! And then the ground rushed up to greet him (life flashing past his eyes) and crash!!! This stopped the whole hash as its hard to run and laugh at the same time. Twice in two weeks is a good average. Soon he was up and running again - if a little slower. It was just after this that Comfort decided to declare war on the whole Hash - no one was safe, least of all me. Apparently I’m a “big girly limp wristed woosy sort of bloke and should set me next hash at the Pride!!” “You Brits”, she continued “how many Olympic medals did you lot win at the last games? – one! – and that was for curling, a game you had to make up”, “When was the last time you won a war?”, “All British women look like dykes”…. it went on : on : on not On On. I moved up the pack while I was still in one piece and joined Phil. Now the litmus test for the temperature of the evening is Phil’s T shirt. The wetter it is the hotter the evening. Tonight it was soaking, moist was how someone put it. No Oil of Olay for Phil to keep his skin smooth and wrinkle free because he’s already moist. ….. Moist what a great name for a hasher! (Gerry we need a naming at the pub next week). So for all you girls with dry skin, get “Moist” to give you a cuddle!! Near the end of the hash we were back to the Singapore thing again. At the HHH chalked on the ground we had to stop and wait for the G.M. to work his way up from the rear and, as a mark of respect, we ran back to the pub behind him. Luckily the run had slowed him down so we could all keep up. So that’s a big up for the G.M. To the pub, with its vast, must be seen to be believed, range of quality beers ‘n ales. It had so mind blowing a selection that Gerry ended up drinking bottled lager, Jeff had a glass of red wine and I had a calorie loaded bottle of Newquay Brown. Don’t ask Gerry about the selection of the beer at the Magpies because, the way he looked on Tuesday night in the beer garden drinking bottled lager, (I guess for the first time in his life), he’ll probably tell you! Impressed or what? And Lenore was back to her usual charming self with the effects of the water wearing off! Singapore Rules OK
I refer of course to the runes on the ground. It is hard enough to remember to bring money for some beer, never mind remember (or learn) how to spell your name while running. As this constitutes multi tasking, the ladies should be much better at it than the men. Men, being single-minded creatures had to stop by the letter before being able to think about the consequences. The women, however, could observe and ignore without breaking stride. (Without shaming names, you know whom I am talking about) On balance, I think this variation of the original mathematical Palmerism worked well, as there was considerable mixing of the FRBs and tailenders during the longer stretches. Also, in Lenore’s defence, she had made known to me the week before that she had thought to do this. So it was not mimicry but the simultaneous occurrence of the same thought that often happens to the human race (ISGH will probably know whose theory this is). (Ed’s Note it’s Rogers own theory) At The Wheatsheaf, the landlady seemed less than enamoured with all our cars. Why we were not seen as an opportunity (to make money) rather than an irritation is beyond me. But this behaviour has been seen before. May be people do not like their routine upset. If they usually don’t take much over the counter on a Tuesday, that’s the way they like it to stay. Lenor’s trail lead us across the fields by Crowell End Farm and up to the Ridgeway (where would we be without the Ridgeway?). (Ed’s note In a field on the top of Crowell End Farm). There we came across some off road bikers scrambling across a field. David mused on the attraction. Was it the noise or the trail that made it so addictive? At Chinnor Hill, the party
split into short and long loopers. Although a number of us were puzzled
by the direction and the consequences for the rest of the run, it
became immediately apparent after a short distance. The long trail
led to a flight of steps, overrun by nettles and brambles, with a
least half a dozen trees fallen across the way. Over? Under? Around?
What a dilemma. Back in Chinnor, the ON-IN led straight to Lenor’s house, where we dined on traditional English fare of Belgian Lager, Italian Pizza and India Barghees. Good stuff. Thanks for the effort Lenor. Oh, one last thing. She
who shall remain nameless (see above), got her just reward. A big
bear hug from Phil, who was damper than a wet T-shirt contestant.
After expressing initial indignation and disgust at this assault on
her modesty and front, she asked him to come back when he was dry
(and that is another story). |
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