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No 689 Life is never easy, is it? I had thought up an ending for this report, but no beginning or middle (as yet). However, as you have come to expect, I have a theory about this. As you approach middle age from the underbelly, you have lots of questions rattling around your head, but very few answers. As you descend from middle age on the far side, you have all the answers but unfortunately, you have forgotten what the questions were. Last weeks hash quiz was obviously along those lines.
It was also Gerry's fifty second birthday, represented in gift by a pack of cards. Well thumbed, of course, edges a bit chewed, but still capable of pulling out the odd “Ace” when required. Gerry announced at the start, to those that would listen, that this was going to be a 3 peaks ordeal. Biggest, Bigger, and the smallest one, bigger (If you are wondering why I have written this, it is because I am alluding to the quiz that followed). Biggest, in this case, was the height of a normal house, so you can imagine that bigger was no more than a bread crumb on the contour map. Even we hashers could run up that. Ade wasn't late for once, and he hadn't forgotten some item of clothing, so he was at a loss for something to do for quite some while. I think I detect a woman's influence here. The trail led us north to a (large) park, that Mike (G) said was a flood plain for the river Thames. There were a lot of bridges over the lakes, and so we ran over them all before coming to the Biggest peak. We all ran up it to the height marker, and then we all ran down it again, because that was not the right way. Baa. Baa. (or whatever noise lemmings make). The wind howled around us. However, we are not scared by such things, and ran on to the second of the lazy/stupid decision points. I think we split along familiar lines. We lazy ones
went on the field trip. That is, we ran to a field, then ran round
it (not) following the photographic instructions, and then ran back
again. Scenic it wasn't. The instructions would have been fine in
daylight, but in the fading light, we had little chance of recognizing
the background, or of finding the bright red line that was there when
Gerry set the hash. Some where between Eton Wick and Dorney, we lost the trail. Not surprising, really, because the trail was lost. A shortcut along a fallen tree fixed that, just in time, because Rose was waiting for us with at the carbo and bubbly beer stop. “Chip, Chip, Hooray” sang Mick J. The rest of us would have joined in, but our mouths were too full. As they say in the ad, it was very, very tasty. After that, the running turned to lumbering, but we did not have far to return to the pub. Just in time (again) for quiz night. ISGH quiz night. As you might guess, this would not be a normal quiz. Although the questions appeared benign at face value, there was a twist in every one. Guess who got most questions right and won the prize bottle of wine? Last week, when there was only one question, the answer was known, there were only 22 facts to manipulate, extrapolate and ultimately interpolate in an obvious manner, he didn't want to play. However, when lateral thinking didn't even begin to describe the mental irregularities needed to get the right answer (according to ISGH), he excelled. Of course, it was Simon. Fortunately, this genetic mutation does not run through all the family. Many thanks to all involved. Long may your pack be shuffled.
Run
No 688 It was Roger’s “Bring a brain run” and as we gathered in the carpark, Lenore informed us that her brain was in an empty marmalade jar. Fortunately the hashers politely refrained from comment. Next came Ade, early for the second week in a row (some might say lifetime), with a car crammed to the gunnels with 50th Birthday balloons – for it was Roger’s 50th Birthday in just 2 days time! HAPPY BIRTHDAY. David started singing happy birthday somewhat tunelessly but with great gusto until he realised that he was alone in his endeavours as the hare was explaining the somewhat complex rules. Rule 1: Some of the checks were checks with things, some of the checks were checks without things. We might know what the thing was when we found the thing. Rule 2: You had to run around with a balloon and there might or might not be a prize for the last balloon to go “Pop” (actually an impressive 5 survived – even after an unfortunate event involving Ken, his new found skills as a holly plucker and a lot of running away). Rule 3: The back arrows didn’t have any arrows. Rule 4: If we had any paper and pencils we could take them as we had to work out where we had gone, what items we found and where we found them. We then had to plot them on the map – and I use the word plot advisedly as it was all part of Roger’s fiendish plot. Rule 5: – See rule 1, ignore rule 4 and try not to pop your balloon. Rule 6: Try to run around in a team of 4 as you have 22 things to remember. The first half of the hash can be summed up in the simple words – “Help! I have no idea what I am doing and I have lost the will to live” but we eventually realised that some (but by no means all) of the checks had little luggage tags attached to the bushes with strange hieroglyphics – eg 2/3, 1/5 etc. It was even harder for poor Simon who arrived late and missed out on the dubious benefit of having the rules explained. He was heard to mutter to himself about the strange behaviour of his fellow hashers. We are not sure if he was happier this way but as he didn’t seem to be dangerous we left him to his own devices. Eventually the hash fell into a routine of Roger telling in advance if there was a luggage label at the check and me checking the wrong way – I got it wrong 14 times in the first section of the hash alone. It wasn’t any better in the second section but I gave up counting as to get much higher I would have to have removed a second sock. In my team we had a carefully worked out plan. At each check we would record the direction and path we took, we would cross reference it with astronomical observations so we always knew precisely which direction we were heading in and Audrey would carefully keep comprehensive notes of it all. It all worked well with two minor exceptions. The clouds came out and we couldn’t navigate, and when we got back to the pub nobody (including Audrey) could make head or tail of her notes which she had “written in the dark”. The trail wound its merry way through fields, bogs and housing estates until the pub hove into view – the GM foolishly said that he could see the pub so he was going straight back. After some persuasion he reluctantly followed the pack left and was rewarded with Roz and a champagne stop! The GM became bottler-opener in chief but failed miserably to pull the corks out -leading to much hanging around and getting cold. Eventually the corks were extracted, spraying bubbles all over Ian and Mick as they went. Back in the pub we met Ade who had got lost a record 4 times! Much head scratching and mystery ensued while we tried to work out what Roger’s fiendish plan was. He said the answer was 50 – but we had to work out what the question was. Lots of (very wrong) answers were given over the next half an hour until it emerged that there were three types of number. Simply joining the dots made 3 odd patterns – one like a short 1, one like half a squashed eggcup and the third like half an upside-down eggcup with a squiggle at one side. More head scratching – but eventually came the blinding revelation that they cleverly made the pattern of the number 100 cut in half – with two top halves and one bottom half! Great stuff - and Happy Birthday Roger.
Such was the dedication of your scribe to attend this “Virgin Run Setting Exercise”; an early exit from The Cheltenham Championship Hurdle Day resulted in me thinking he was still there. A world record occurred before we even got to Steve the Hare briefing us in the car park. Was it the Patron Saint of Ireland giving us his blessing? The following phenomenon has to be OFFICIALLY RECORDED in the Patron Saint’s favourite bedtime reading book The Guinness Book of Records. Moose turned up EARLY, can you believe it, yes that’s right EARLY. But that’s where the record ends, -but you had to be very alert to find out what was going on. On leaping out of the car and lifting the tailgate, various colourful expletives were heard by all of those intrepid Hashers duly assembled. Such was the quality of the lack of adjectives and the resonance of their volume that we all thought Lenore (who was in the next car to him) had upset him in some way. With his brow furrowed and his bottom lip protruding a full 3 inches he left just as quickly as he arrived and reduced the level of the stones in the car park by the aforesaid number of inches as his tyres squealed and he sped off again into the distance. So, no more Moose tonight then. He’s obviously got the hump then we thought. At the briefing Steve admitted his virginity at setting and asked us to be tolerant with him. On hearing this, the GM tried his best to distract us by telling us all about his “equipment inside his shorts”. Roger was shameless and went further as he told us that he would be firmly holding his “gadget” all evening. His or the GM’s? None of us knew. Lovely warm evening, hilly region, no rain, (the recipe for disaster) – so we expected the worst. However, we were pleasantly surprised at the beginning of the run - not too much “Down Down” meant not too much “Up Up”. Could this turn out to be a successful evening’s run? But it was early days yet, and on seeing that we were on top of the Quarry Wood escarpment overlooking the lights of Marlow glinting in the warm March evening air beneath us, we knew that Steve would make us suffer. Gerry didn’t help matters as he related how he had made the Hash go down and up the same hill in the past. On hearing that gem of history, we knew we were in for it. Not a bit of it, - the boy learns fast doesn’t he? We stayed up and we actually managed to run without panting too much through the shiggy on the crest of the hill, - even though Beverly tried her best to get shot by suddenly becoming lame. How on earth she thought that her Grand Dad’s shoes were good enough for another 3,000 miles foxed all of us. Looking at her grovelling in the mud making running repairs to Max Wall’s shoes almost made us pity her. What she actually needed was a blacksmith, for those shoes, - but a piece of lace had to suffice. So On On along the top. I emphasise it again the top. We ought to have more virgins on the Hash. (See to it Mr GM and don’t worry about your redundant equipment). Bigfrith Common emerged as did a sheepish looking Moose who had taken the shortest way home, (via Ipswich) to get his running kit. Whata Tosser eh? We knew we were near home then when we noticed that his shoes weren’t muddy at all. So, down into a dip across the fields and we were back at the pub at 9.05pm. Plenty of flour, a well thought out course. If your scribe was forced to be picky, maybe the FRB’s should have had a few more “Regroups” as they ran along the Quarry Wood ridge, but that is a minor niggle. Mick will certainly be inviting you to set again Steve. Well done. Question for all. How DOES Howard manage to convince himself that he is invisible whilst lurking and evading a “4 back Palmerism” in the middle of an open field?
Venue
: Jolly
Woodsman @ Littlemore Common The Jolly Woodsman is a large pub with a large car park. The problem being that it is also quite a popular pub. So when I arrived, early for a change I might add !!. Well on time anyway. Yeah, Yeah, O.K. O.K. I still had top get changed late as usual. The car park was quite full. So a bit of car juggling took place to get everyone in. While I was changing, I could hear Benchbreaker briefing the pack. He told the pack that there was enough flour out on the trail that a Bundman on a galloping horse could see it. (Ed note – as I wasn’t sure what a Bundman was I looked it up – apparently it’s “a leak detector fitted as a standard in all heating oil, waste oil and diesel oil bunded tanks” – I hope that makes it a lot clearer.) So no complaints and no “Are Yous” or the first round goes to the culprit – and with that off they went into the night. Still in the car park was Roger, still trying to park his car, Sam acting as a gentleman, waiting for everyone to get themselves together. Myself now changed, ready to set off without my torch for some reason, and Phil in the pub somewhere. After a few minutes the four of us set off in hot pursuit, trailing the rest of the pack. Now there was, as David said, plenty of flour out on the trails, so we quickly made up ground. Quickly that is until Horseshoe Hill, where the flour ran out at the end of a false trail. Back down the hill to the check and back up again and guess what it’s still a false trail. That threw us. “Now what”? “Oh look a footpath sign” but no footpath. A little rooting about, (Ed’s Note to our US runners, I think this is the English use of the word, not the American) prodding things with a stick, flashing torches around, some shouting, (Ed’s Note. Hmmm, prodding, flashing and shouting - possibly it is the American meaning) a lot of shouting actually, some swearing I seem to remember. When, all at once we discovered a secret door!! And, on further inspection, some flour was found on the other side. What a discovery, success, so with a stout push by Phil, we were through the gate and back on the chase again. Through the woods and out onto the car park of the Blackwood Arms, we quickly picked up the trail again and headed towards Burnham Beeches. It was not long before we had lost the route again. Not bad for blokes who have been hashing for years. Again Phil, who by now was on a roll, picked up the path and we were away again once more. Running with FRBs, sooner or later you are going to catch the pack, and so it was. Just in time for the trail to split in two. One way for the hashers with short legs, who are starting to feel the pace and need a couple of cold drinks double quick. And a longer route for the FRBs, athletes and the hard of hearing. “Nobody told me there was a short cut did they?” Off again, a couple more problems finding the trail – I’ve seen more flour on a blackhead. Suddenly, out of the gloom the Hare appears “Boo!” Blo***y Hell,. Frightened me to death! A re-group and a slow jog back to the pub together. How nice. It was on this jog back that Audrey, Robert and Barney are suddenly missed. If they are not back by 10 o’clock we’ll have to go back and look for them (In your dreams, fat chance). Luckily for us, they were back and in the pub. Blimey, we were worried sick. In the pub, the Guinness was a bit watery by the way, but the chips Peter brought (Ed’s note, actually I think it was David and very nice they were too!) were very good. I ate quite a few when he wasn’t looking – well he’ll only get fat, unlike myself a Lean Mean Running Machine (In you dreams I hear – Ed’s note – yes, in your dreams Ade!) So after a couple of cold drinks myself, I’m off home because I do have one to go to. And that’s how the Hash was for me. How it was for everyone else I’ve got absolutely no idea, as I only ran with the main body of the pack for absolutely 200 yards. Nice run though. Cheese rolls
OK …. Thought for the day …..um!…..
Venue
: The Frog,
Skirmett It was one of those nights when you just new it wasn't going to be a bog standard affair. The traffic getting to The Frog was less than kind and, as the Super Cruiser smoothed out of Bourne End through Marlow and inexorably onwards towards the Hambledon Valley, the temperature gauge started to fall off the Richter Scale so by the time Skirmett was reached it was reading a bone chilling minus three. Rimes with rowlocks !!! Then there was the hare or rather lack of one. As the pack began to gather, a polite pointer that Moose was probably still setting it quickly became a groundswell of angst as the alloted hour was not only reached but passed. Still no sign of Ozzy Osbourne and the time is now getting on for 7.55 when, at last, there is the welcome sight of the Prince of Darkness loping in with his usual Heathrow sized lighting on full illumination. But does he apologise for his tardiness??? No, but instead disappears into the pub to reappear with a family sized chocy bar and what he says was a lemonade. Used that one before myself Moose !!! At last we set off down the lane towards Fingest hanging a left at the lane leading to Poynatts Farm where the choice is up what Audrey described as a rather steep path (well something like that anyway) into Combe Wood or a mercifully flat track which, yippee, we took. It was cold enough to freeze an eskimo's jock strap alright and, when we emerged at the end of Watery Lane, those “lucky” ones amongst our number that had been down there before with ankle high slurry were all getting the prayer mats out. But, fear not, it was bone dry. At the end of Watery Lane we took a path almost back on ourselves, which emerged at a T-junction. Moose very kindly allowed a two way split here with most of the pack going uphill and along the path undernear Turville Hill whilst the S.C.S and other enlightened individuals ran down the road to Turville. Meeting up at The Bull and Butcher, we ran up between the pub and the church on a footpath to Dolesden. At the next check, the horrible truth was out - yes it was on on up up a very long steep path towards Turville Court. It was at this point that two noteworthy events took place. Firstly Aud and Rob somehow failed to notice the turn up into the Chiltern Mountains and stayed at zero altitude, and secondly, halfway up the foothills of the mountain I.G.S.H declared he was returning due to back trouble. Was this due to putting down a rebellion of the Zorgs on Aldebaran or was it caused by rearranging the front room furniture. We shall never know. After breathing equipment had been distributed, we gained the summit whilst, below us, a strange vehicle droned about the Turville Valley looking quite spooky. Was it a U.F.O.?. From Turville Court, we ran left down a very steep track past Home Wood to emerge on the lane hundreds nay thousands of feet below. This was Dolesden Lane which we crossed to scale another steep path to reach Southend no pier though. We thenhung a left to run down from our lofty perch passing Southend Farm, which was lit up like a Christmas tree. Reaching Dolesden lane again it became clear from the stench emanating from the fields that the “U.F.O” had been a muck spreader par excellence. On down pong lane we went, round the corner to check at the entrance to Combe Woods. Yes indeed, it was on up into said woods and along a hanging trail to eventually descend past the aforementioned Poynotts Farm, down to the lane and on in for some well earned pigs ear. Moose rules O.K.
Venue
: The Merlins
Cave @ Chalfont We duly gathered in the car park of Merlin’s Cave in the pretty village of Chalfont St. Giles, oh so twee. The hashers bold on this chilly February night numbered and of course Flossie. The GM is worried about Flossie he thinks she is beginning to slow down as is the GM. The hare, one Jonsey, explaining the rules for this day said that the usual signs apply ie circles blobs and palmerisms but in addition the checks are marked by a scattering of lime green sweeties. No questions were asked as to why but the hare offered the explanation that £5.00 of molar sticking confectionery scattered throughout the environs of C.St.G. seemed like a good idea. As the hash progressed most of the canine residents of C.St.G. thought the sweeties were also a good idea but more of that later. Along the high street we ran and then on-on along the valley footpath towards Amersham. This was easy running thought the pack but of the hare had other ideas. Despite the hare complaining about other hashes running up long gradients his route took us up and up into the cloud forest above C.St.G. some 80m above. Now you would think that an 80m climb is not very much but when it goes on for some 2km it starts to become a little tough. However the FRB’s happily sped up the hill only to be caught by a Palmerism, serves them right. Halfway up this descent the hare secretly offered a short cut to a few privileged hashers namely and Audrey and Barney which they took willingly. Like all hill
climbs unfortunately the only way on is down, however on this occasion
not too far down. Crossing Botterells Lane we were supposed to due
to meet up with the S.C.B’s but we didn’t and the hare
became a little distressed. So like most hashes we set off again discarding
any worries that A&B could be lost. Down we went into the top
end of C.St.G. only to meet A&B standing outside the chippy breathing
in the smells of astronomic delights. One could tell that this was
the cheap end of C.St.G. since it had a chippy surrounded by numerous
1960 bungalows and three bed semi’s. The route took
all of us down to Bowstridge Lane where we came upon the hare’s
motor. Following a number of false attempts to gain entry into said
vehicle the opening of the revealed a box of drinky’s in the
guise of “champagne” and water. It was to celebrate the
hares umptieth birthday. Following jolly drinks by all the route took
us down the hill in to the Missbourne Valley and hence along the rivers
edge back towards C.St.G. On On
Venue:
Dashwood Arms, Piddington
Venue:
Blacksmiths Arms Handy Cross Braving the Hell
of Handy Cross as the Bucks Free Press like to refer to it (if it's
The Bucks Free Press how come I have to pay for it?) a band of merry
hashers gathered at the appointed hour. Young Ian, this evening's
hare (hair? no, probably not...) duly informed us there were 5 ways,
and of course I risked life and limb dodging petrol to go in exactly
the opposite direction to the on-on. When it came to laying arrows
for late-comers, Young Ian seemed to lose his bottle, at least that's
what I heard, maybe the end was just blocked (a common complaint from
gentlemen of a certain age).
Venue
The Crown @ Pisshill Legend has it that Pishill is so named because it’s where the horses relived themselves after the long climb out of Henley. There's normally a similar spot about halfway round the hash where Ade does the same thing. The Crown claims that back in the sixties it was “Oxfordshire's hottest nightspot” with the county's first past-midnight music license. Performers included such hipsters as Dusty Springfield, Ringo Starr and George Harrison. I assume they'll now be adding the Hash to the list of famous visitors. We probably would have got star billing if they'd have known we were coming. Still, it's a very pretty pub; you could just about see the palm trees waving through the rain. After a brief pause to rearrange all the cars (well who expected a pub to have a car park) we set off. We turned right out of the pub up the road towards Pishill Bottom (you see how well I'm resisting any puerile jokes here – bet it won't last). Then a left up through Pishill Bank and after a short while found ourselves on a familiar track that we'd run up the week before (Simon's very big on recycling – although now I come to think of it, I don't remember much flour from the previous week to be reused). On through some familiar puddles, past some familiar cows and through some very familiar smells to bring us back out onto the common. The hare pointed us across the common and off we went – scaring a few deer on the way (not the old dears we scared a bit later on). On the other side of the common I was part of a special expeditionary force that headed off towards Russell's Water so I may have missed all kinds of exciting things before catching up with the pack again down at Pishill bottom but I suspect it was just the usual mud and grumbling. Up the road, through some farm buildings and a haul up the hill to reach an exquisitely hand crafted regroup sign that many suspected had been professional reproduced ; although the effect was spoiled slightly by Flossie trying to eat it. Once we had all got back together Simon moved into school teacher mode to explain the first split into the Platinum and Gold routes – after ignoring him for a while we split up and headed off again. In a masterful piece of planning (or maybe just luck), the two groups managed to meet up 10 minutes later at the exact spot where the routes merged again. Up through Greenhill Woods to the top of the ridge before another split (hey I did one part of the platinum run and one part gold... is that tellurium or something), and then a long long run down the road to Pishill and on in to the pub. Nick managed to be first back to the car park even after being the last to arrive. A fine hash and
I'm happy to report that the area's fame for horse piss wasn't reflected
in the beer...
Date
27 Jan 2004 A coffee time
multiple choice challenge for you. What do The answer of
course is b) unless you have the definitive proof that I do not.
Date
SATURDAY 24 Jan 2004 POST PARTY POEM By Mrs GM Hurrah,
hurrah for Beverley Black Since
Beverley is a total star Mike
deserves a little cheer Thanks
loyal hares who form the pack;
Date
20 Jan 2004 We gathered on a surprisingly-warm-for-normal January night with one thing uppermost on our mind. It was hissing down. It rained on the cars, it rained in the puddles, it rained on the hashers, it rained on the lots of new temporary girl hashers that Nick had brought with him, and it rained down the back of my neck. And after that it rained some more. In fact it rained virtually all of the way round the trail and it even rained in the car park when we (eventually) got back and changed. Now, I admit that rain is not always unpleasant – a light refreshing dusting on a warm day can be quite nice – but you can definitely have too much of a good thing. Realising that it was set for rain our hare and his two co-hares cleverly set the trail in both flour and peach coloured loo paper. Unfortunately they set it over the weekend so lots had washed away anyway leaving trails full of mud in its place. Starting off we turned right from the pub and, a couple of hundred yards later turned left into the field that leads over to Peterley Wood. A couple of calls through the wood and we came to a fork in the trail and followed the FRBs for several hundred yards to the right. This was a mistake as the trail actually went straight on. Lots of confusion, shouting, moaning and rain later we ended up retracing our increasingly wet and bedraggled steps back. At some point around here David decided that he was too tall and made a gallant bid for Moose of the Year award. Unfortunately, most people missed it, but the sight of David, mud, a puddle and a lot of squirming must have been a good one. Eventually we left the wood and headed for the distant lights of Great Missenden. Fortunately we didn’t make it all the way but turned southeast around Atkins Farm. Then it rained a bit then it rained a bit more. Eventually we found Nags Head lane and though a quick trot would have taken us back to the pub we turned left. A re-group and a lot of rain later we ended up in Little Kingshill where we were called to order and told that there was a long and a short way home. I think that the rain must have filled our ears causing me, and nine other foolish souls to mis-hear and go the long way. The rest headed back and, we heard later that they were regaled with lots of mud – fortunately the rain-washed them clean before they go back. The long route was about a mile further and took us down to the edge of Great Kingshill where we ran all around Birchmore Wood and on to Heath End. A long, wet and muddy trail eventually deposited us Back at Nags Head Lane where in our brainwashed state we thought the pub was to the right, so were saddened to be called left. But the story had a happy ending as the pub was quickly found nestled safely around the next corner. It must have been the constant drumming of rain on the scalp that had addled our senses. So may thanks for a excellent hash – nine on ten for the trail (minus several hundred for arranging the rain). Commiseration
to GM Mike for getting red-eye twice in the last week – once
on Saturday being photographed at the Hash Bash, and once on Tuesday
for running eye-first into a tree and ending up in casualty. Venue : The Chequers @ Wheeler End Hounds : 20 Hares : Gerry, Porky and IGSH Scribe : Roger There I was, or more strictly here I am, thinking that my quill is broken, my ink pot has run dry and that I have runners writers block. Begorrah, I might even have to write something factual about a run. Anyway, I thought (think), let's see what Google throws up about Wheeler End. So, I look at Wheeler End Candle-stick Makers Association Articles of Association and Minutes of the last EGM (caused by a hike in the price of beeswax) and then “Solicitors in Wheeler End”. Intrigued, because I know the buggers have to live somewhere and they can't all live with Ozzy Osbourne, I inquired. This yielded the CVs of the employees of a claims company. Now you can go and see their photographs on the website for yourself and see if they look as you imagine them. I know I hate the b***ards before I read this, but it has only reinforced my view that the only qualification to be a claims solicitor is to be a self serving, thick skinned, pig ignorant, litigatious scum bag, where a law degree is a distinct disadvantage.
Anyhow, to the HASH. Gerry kindly set it, although his recollection of it as we went around was decidedly vague. Wheeler End in summer is a lovely place to visit. The mellow drone of Vauxhall Astras meandering across the lanes of the M40 is barely disturbed by the harsh bellowing of cows as they crash and tumble into one another. Another Vets siren splits the air. In Winter, it is another matter. Too cold, and no one wants to go there or can find it. Least ways, that was what Gerry thought. Quarter to eight and only 9 Hashers. However, in the next 10 minutes, the numbers swelled to a score, including the author. Off towards Bolter End (down market?) and beyond. We passed Audrey's house but Gary didn't want to invite us in, so on we went. Through some coppice with many pathways that had Gerry directing us with “On On, straight on to the left, or right, I think”. Let's take the optimistic view that things look different in the dark, and that it had nothing to do with brain decay with advancing years (or children at college). A right (or left turn(ish)) took us to Watercroft Farm (fortunately little of it in our path) and back to the North Side of Wheeler End. My opinion even at this point was that Gerry was in the pocket of an estate agent trying to sell the Brickmakers Arms. If we passed it 3 times, we must have passed it at least 5 times (Ed’s note, Roger is right - or he would be if we actually had passed it three times - in truth we only saw it twice, but maths never was his strong point). Warm, beckoning, you could smell the barmaid (to paraphrase the GM) when ever we passed by. Down towards
Piddington, and a sense of déjà vu for some. I think
this part must have been a well worn trail for some, as they seemed
to know exactly where they were going. Bullocks Farm was a little
more entertaining because we found smelly cess pit shiggy. First of
the year. If you stand in it, the skin on your feet will harden, just
as your running shoes disintegrate. Up the hill and back to, you guessed it, the Brickmakers Arms. But, fortunately there were no more paths to explore around this pub, so the trail turned for the Chequers Arms (at last). Good one Gerry.
Date
6 Jan Your scribe is not very efficient. Until the run on Tuesday was practically finished, she had completely forgotten that she had set the New Year’s Day run, and that she would therefore be the scribe for Roger’s run at Hyde Heath. (Ed's note She was actually reminded half way around after she grabed Ade in an anatomically sensitive area - though I never found out why) This lapse makes it difficult for her to describe all the ups and downs and excitements of the run, as her ageing memory is rather feeble. However, here goes with the best effort available…….. Hyde Heath is a little off the beaten track, but none the less a respectable band of runners turned up in the rather small car park, and eventually spaces of one sort or another were found for all. Lenore was back from her trip to the states, and was welcomed back to the civilisation of the UK. Those feeble souls who had not run on 1/1/04 wished each other Happy New Year. Ade turned up late as usual, and parked in the middle of what seemed to be a field. A totally new runner called Steve appeared in the car park out of the blue, but he seemed quite a nice guy as far as one could tell in the dark, though he is from THE NORTH. The run began by cruising round the streets of Hyde Heath, which to my surprise seemed much bigger than I remembered it. Jonesy (or was it Ian – who still hasn’t sold his house!) was heard to remark that the run was nice, mud free and flat, and this was a red rag to Roger, who immediately took us off into the usual spooky woods and dark fields. We had to follow weird peachy coloured loo paper. The pack kept well together and nothing very untoward happened as we pounded round, except for the temporary loss of Flossie’s ‘precious’. (For those of you who have not yet found your way to the cinema to see L of the Rs, this is Ade’s reference to Flossie’s new glowing collar, which is ring-shaped.) Flossie also provided another moment of interest, when the GM claimed to have left her behind tied to a tree, because, quite understandably, she prefers to have her lead held by yours truly, and therefore acts up when her wishes are not respected. Well, wouldn’t you?? Mrs GM was momentarily taken in by this specious claim, but quickly recovered her equilibrium when Jonesy cruised round the corner with Flossie and her ‘precious’ intact. For one of Roger’s, the run was quite reasonable, and it was not too long before we reached the edge of Hyde Heath again. Roger offered Platinum and Gold runs, though we were virtually in sight of the pub, and for some inexplicable reason some people accepted and set off into the dark again. Not so your scribe, who very gratefully trotted off to enjoy the warmth and good cheer of the pub. When
she walked into the bar, surprise surprise, there were two social
hashers, Swanny and Robert M, shamelessly sitting with their pints,
like pigs in muck. Ugh! PS. Another innovative idea from Porky Palmer – this year you have the opportunity to vote for Hasher of the Year etc. Don’t forget to fill in your nominations form, and if you didn’t get one – well, where were you on Tuesday night Date:
lstJan 2004 The Gate didn’t look very pearly on a some what grey and damp new years day. A good number (II?) of us met to what we anticipated a wet and slippery welcome to another year of great hashing in the Chilterns with hills looming up in every direction and no chance for a flat run (not that that should bother me!). We had a somewhat slow start as some still thought the start time was going to be 11:30 or even noon -so we set off at 11:10 with noAde in sight (If anyone knows what happened to Ade on that first morning of the year 2004, I’m sure every body would be interested to know. - Ed’s Note His Wife was Hung over so he gallantly volunteered to stay in bed). So we set of with Pet and Wayne, who already warmed up, checked promptly in the wrong direction. As anticipated, we started up the hill behind the pub with me at the front only to find a three back arrow at the top. Halfway back down I spied Howard in the distance trying to catch up with the pack - which forced me to go even farther down the hill and back up again. A few checks further on, standing on top of the hill enjoying the view, the On On was called from the path that went straight down to the bottom again. As for most of us without studs it was more slide then run and therefore rather slow, but as we found out the second time around, the faster and more relaxed you slide down the easier All back safely at the bottom it was only to go back up the other side, through a private yard with happy new years wishes from the owner - and on we went. This run was starting to look like a yo-yo as we again descended into the valley and up the other side. And after a long stretch along the top of the hill, we ended up back at the first check. Here we had an option of an extra small loop by going straight ahead and down the next path as we had done before, and a few of us did take that option. All back safely at the pub getting changed we had the opportunity to cheer Roger to the finish line as he came around - unknown to us as he was the only hasher to start at 11:30. After standing
at the Gate and knocking, the door was finally opened and we relaxed
by the fire for a pint of some sort or another and enjoyed the Thanks for a good start to 2004 to the hare Gill and her trusty mate Mike who carried the flour for her
Venue : The Gate @ Bryant’s Bottom Hounds : 12 Hare : Mrs GM Scribe : Sam The Gate didn't look very pearly on a somewhat grey and damp New Years Day. A good number of us met ror what we anticipated as a wet and slippery welcome to another year of great hashing in the Chilterns with hills looming up in every direction and no chance for a flat run (not that that should bother me!). We had a somewhat slow start as some still thought the start time was going to be 11:30 or even noon - so we set off at 11:10 with no Ade in sight. (If anyone knows what happened to Ade on that first morning of the year 2004, I'm sure every body would be interested to know. Ed’s Note - his wife was hung-over so he gallantly volunteered to stay in bed). So we set of with Pete and Wayne who, already warmed up, promptly checked in the wrong direction. As anticipated, we started up the hill behind the pub with me at the front only to find a three back arrow at the top. Halfway back down I spied Howard in the distance trying to catch up with the pack - which forced me to go even farther down the hill and back up again. A few checks further on, standing on top of the hill enjoying the view, the On On was called from the path that went straight down to the bottom again. As most of us were without studs, it was more slide then run and therefore rather slow, but as we found out the second time around, the faster and more relaxed you were as you slide the easier it was. All back safely at the bottom it was only to go back up the other side, through a private yard with “Happy New Year’s” wishes from the owner - and on we went. This run was starting to look like a yo-yo as we again descended into the valley and up the other side. And after a long stretch along the top of the hill, we ended up back at the first check. Here we had an option of an extra small loop by going straight ahead and down the next path as we had done before, and a few of us did take that option. All back safely at the pub getting changed we had the opportunity to cheer Roger to the finish line as he came around - unknown to us as he was the only hasher to start at 11:30. After standing at the Gate and knocking, the door was finally opened and we relaxed by the fire for a pint of some sort or another and enjoyed the company of other sweaty hashers. Thanks for a good start to 2004 to the hare Gill and her trusty mate Mike who carried the flour for her. Well done Gill and Mike. |
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