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Date
29nd March 2005 How much time do you allow for traffic jams and unexpected events when travelling for the hash? My usual forty five seconds proved totally inadequate last Tuesday when approaching Handy Cross on the M40, my heart sank as the sign flashed "Junction 2 exit closed". "Dammit! Guess I'll be running on my own in catchup mode tonight", I thought. I pulled off the motorway
onto the Marlow bypass and wondered "How the hell do I get to
The Crown at Farnham Common this way?" After several adventures
involving 2 horses, a police panda car and a muntjack dear, I eventually
arrived at The Crown Car Park, screeching to a halt with tyres smoking
at 7:52pm, only to find the hash still assembled in the carpark. Miracles
never cease! At 7:55pm the hash started straining at the leash and unable to hold back any longer, broke free from the carpark and thundered off in a southerly direction. Unaware at this stage that I was supposed to be writing the hash report, I paid scant attention to where we went but remember running around the perimeter of a large field, in the tried and tested manner of getting nowhere fast, whilst the short cutters jogged up the lane. Lenore appeared at this point on the other side of the hedge, spitting blood and feathers because the hash hadn't waited for her, but she soon settled into the fast pace up the little lane towards Burnham Beeches. Fast the pace was and there seemed to be more young, fit F.R.B legs than usual, I tackled the Hare about this and he said he had deliberately set a fast hash. (Thanks David) I found myself hanging on the back but managed not to get too dropped completely. At around 3 miles, Matthew (who had toured 3 countries finding his way around the junction 2 closure) suddenly appeared having abandoned his car in the middle of Burnham Beeches, (we had fun finding it later) On we ran I know not where, eventually arriving at the Stag pub and then on down the footpath and back down the road to The Crown. Good hash, notwithstanding the stressful start.
Date
22nd March 2005 Last week you were treated (subjected?) to a convoluted and nearly re-entrant run along the myriad pathways within Common Wood. This week, we were treated to a journey through Gerry's labyrinthine neural network, aka Quiz time. It all started outside the Chequers pub in Wheeler End when Gerry handed out a list, an envelope and an invitation to play Cluedo with him. “Goody, goody” said blondie. “I play Cluedo a lot.” Ah well, that's modern, single women for you. The weather was mild and dry, so we ran towards Great
Wood in good spirits to find the first clue, pinned to the back of
a tree (so positioned that nice passers-by wouldn't take offence and
pull it down). Clarke Gable holding a ghost? There are at least two
ways to look at such clues. One is to ask your self what it means.
Another is to ask your self what Gerry might think it means. These
mind games give me a headache (I lie). Betwixt Great and Hellbottom Wood we bade farewell to the SCB. Bon voyage, just follow the map. Hmmm. Fortunately, the Reverend (Cluedo reference) came to their aid just as they were about to fall off the edge of the earth and lead them back to the safety of the Dorrels wood. The FRBs galloped manfully onward through Hellbottom Wood. At the far edge, our manhood (ok, and womanhood) was challenged by the Hare. Those who were sensible stuck to the high road; those who were not went on a 4 contour O.p.O. detour to the 3rd clue. This clue had a sketch of the Beatles and a list of song titles, which Ken recognized as from the Revolver album. Aha!! Got it. Except we hadn't. Remember, it is not what we think, but what we think Gerry thinks. And we didn't. Hidden among the tracks was Clupea harengus harengus. Not knowing the album very well and being aware of Hari Krishna, I thought nothing amiss. Must be one of those Indian mystic chants. How wrong I was. This was nothing less than red herring (in Latin). I admit you got me there. To give a comparison in devilish cunning, Gerry is to Blackadder as Joda is to Luke Skywalker. Thoroughly confused, but not knowing that yet, we ran past Towerage (have you noticed how everywhere around High Wycombe is called some variation of “to the ridge”. Such lack of imagination suggests chronic inbreeding to me (long before I moved down, of course). The fourth clue lay in Denham Wood. This was a collage of lizards and dinosaurs. Obvious really. And on inn. The SCB were there, thoroughly exhausted having run to the edge of the earth and back. Also there were the locals. You know the ones, live in Toweridge. There was plenty of room in the back for us, where we were treated to hot potatoes and the answer to the quiz. Sam was Miss Scarlet and so won the minor prize. I don't know who won the major prize (Ed's note it was virgin Hasher Jo), but the chocolates in it tasted just fine. One of the locals came back to our room extolling us to support a favourite charity. He made the mistake of saying he was from London. The instant reposte was a HASH rendition of “Maybe it's because I'm a Londoner that I love Wheeler End”. The local retired gracefully back to the bar. Later, the same man approached Gerry and said “Will you give me some money”? Gerry's response is one that you should memorize. “Can I see you later? I am just finishing a conversation about entangled particles”. The local retired gracefully back to the bar. Just to complete the unusual conversation, Lenor told us about the hospital patient whose job it is to milk male turkeys. I kid you not. A warm welcome to our virgin hashers, Jo and Helen.
That's the power of the Internet. ble evening. Happy Birthday to Gerry. I hope your trip to Scotland is as good as the last 27. Oh. The answer to the quiz. A velocirapter stabbed Vivien Leigh in the Globe Theatre. Or something like that.
Just
in case you wanted to see the effect of David's scratched eye last
week
At the outset, all 26 of us failed to get run over, and successfully plunged into the depths of the forest. It seemed that every tree, bush and indeed tuft of grass had a blob (or in some cases, bloblet) of flour at its base, so the hash was sent scurrying around in what seemed to be ever decreasing circles. Shiggy was in abundance, so we were able to relish that glorious moment in the life of a hasher, when the water filling your shoes and soaking your socks finally starts to warm up - bliss! After
much running about in the usual fashion we arrived at A Point (or
was it Point A?), not that any of us hounds could see any point, but
we were assured that there was one by the hare, who then announced
that this marked the place where he'd stopped laying flour. Great.
But it's OK folks, he's given us a clue. Here we go, I thought, no
doubt we'd have to translate some obscure phrase in ancient greek
to unlock the secrets of the innermost chamber before we found our
way out of the woods. If only it had been that simple. Roger gave
us a map (see illustration). The GM sprung into action and employed
all the location-finding expertise he'd acquired in his long and prestigious
military career, by ordering us to read the map. Confusion reigned for a while, but finally transpired that we weren't allowed to go the direct route back to the pub. We found this out when we were tipped off by someone who shall remain anonymous (because I don't want to drop Bev in it), who told us the pub was less than a mile off; we sloped off; and were called on back to see some sort of motorised contraption (possibly the latest addition to Roger's range of exclusive sports cars?) just off the beaten track. So back we traipsed, to then be told we'd all been heading in the right direction after all. The SCBs were given a fairly straightforward run in, while the FRBs had to trail about finding "clues" taped to tree trunks. We managed to do this admirably, thanks to the navigational skills of Sam, a man who could find his way from Switzerland to Wycombe via Canada but still struggled to get us out of Penn Woods. Eventually we reached the last tree trunk, searched in vain for the clue, only to discover that the miserable so-and-sos who "own" the wood had removed it earlier in the day. Luckily the hare was with us, so it was on in for a well-deserved sit down in the pub, though not for the dogs who were banned - shame on the landlord! Nice one, Roger.
Date
: 71st March 2005 The Hash at Pooh Corner Pooh hurried along through hundred acre wood, he was in a hurry because he was going to tea at Christopher Robin’s house. Always something to look forward to, as Christopher Robin always laid a good spread. Pooh walked fast, hoping it would improve his already excellent appetite. Soon Pooh arrived at Christopher Robin’s House, stood on tip toe and pulled the door bell. “Come in and sit down” said Pooh’s friend. The table was groaning. What a feast thought Pooh. So it was, and the two lads sat down to eat. Cakes, tart, bread and, best of all, Honey – lots of honey. They finished the meal with Pooh eating a good amount of it, and over another cup of tea the two chatted. It was at this point that Pooh’s tummy caught Christopher Robin’s eye, one word sprang to mind …. FAT! My My, you’re getting lardy Pooh, said Christopher Robin “What, I say what. I’m a fine figure of a bear, what do you mean” said Pooh. “Well if you want a small word for a big tummy, Pooh, You’re Fat!! Yes fat” “Rubbish” said Pooh, “look I can still touch my toes”. Pooh stood in front of the mirror and bent to his toes. Rip! Pooh stood up quickly, hoping to get away with it, but a small piece of stuffing floated to the floor and gave the game away. “Bless my soul” said Pooh, “What was that”. “Fat beat splitting at the seams” said Christopher Robin. “A fat bear that needs some exercise like er… Hash. Yes hashing, that should sort you out” And so the night came, Pooh stood in a car park of a pub and wondered what the heck he had done to deserve this. It was dark, it was cold, and it looked very much like hard work. Pooh was hungry, then again he was always hungry. I wonder if I can pop into the pub for a little something before we start? Thought Pooh, but the thought process was slow for a bear of little brain, so before an answer had popped out, the hare shouted for the hash to gather round. “Listen carefully to what the hare has to say said Christopher Robin. So Pooh did. As he was listening he noticed a rather gloomy and very skinny dog standing next to him, “Looks like Eeyore” thought Pooh. “Alright?” said Pooh. “Hallo” said the skinny dog “I will be when I finish, this your first hash?” “Yes” said Pooh, a bit excited. “Silly old bear” thought the dog. Pooh listened carefully as Christopher Robin told him what to do, but not much of it made sense. Something about looking for flour and a long and short route. So with long route swirling around his small brain, the hash set off. It wasn’t long before the pack found themselves, after no small amount of searching, climbing a rather steep hill. Rabbit and his friends and relations flew up the hill as rabbits do. (Ed’s note, actually rabbits don’t fly, that’s birds). Owl flew (That’s better, Ed) up the hill and perched in a tree. Pooh laboured up huffing and puffing, his short fat legs pumping away, with gritting teeth he made the top. Feeling rather pleased with himself he decided to do some checking. So trundled off down a path. After about 200 metres he stopped and sat down, and scratched his head trying to get his brain into gear. “Now I listened carefully and I’m, sure something about flour was mentioned, but I can’t say I’ve seen any. That’s because the 3ozs of flour allowed by the hare to set the hash had run out. The hash now headed into the woods. Pooh now was more interested in looking for a sign that said “Trespassers W.” than flour as this would mean Piglet’s house and a chance to dive in for a little something!. As they reached a road, Pooh came across the rather gloomy looking dog again, standing close to the hare, head bowed and tail between it’s legs. “How are you now?” said the dog. “Alright” said Pooh, “Are you sure you’re not related to Eeyore?” The hash struggled to find the trail at this point and ended up running a bit more than they should have, much to the disgust of the hare, who had worked hard on setting the Hash. Christopher Robin was pleased and also not a little surprised. Pooh was running well. Bread and honey before a run really does work he thought. Eventually the pub was sighted and the on-inn. So back to the pub. That was the fact. Now the fantasy!!! On return the landlord was waiting to greet the runners, a fat ruddy faced man full of charm. “Welcome, welcome” he called to the pack as they rounded into the car park. “I hope you found the ample parking satisfactory, Please come in and make yourselves at home and sample the hospitality”. “Marvellous” thought Pooh. Just to tax poor Pooh’s brain even more he was handed a quiz sheet. Batman and Superman, Pooh scratched his head, but found the questions hard. A couple of answers came to mind. He was sure Batman’s TV programme was called Only Fools and Horses, and Batman was really Delboy and the Batsmobile was a three wheeled Robin Reliant. Good hash though,
just what we have come to expect from the Landlord …. Just what
we have come to expect. MOONRAKER Saturday 12 March Click here for photos Three teams of hwh3 members
took part in this year's Moonraker.
Date
: 1st March 2005 Having spent a not inconsiderable time trying to persuade Moose to set a run and being rebuffed with words like “ I’m too busy”, eventually he yielded and finally opted for The General Havelock – “ a local pub for local people” as Moose put it. Leaving late, I had the rather worrying sight of Gerry steaming along on his own towards Loudwater. S**t, has my £19.99 worth of high tech watch gone on the blink and it is really 8.15 not 7.35 and if so does anyone really expect me to catch them up. Or, are we at another pub which Gerry is running to and only me thinks it is the ‘avelock. No worries, at the pub all was well and it transpired that Gerry was doing a bit on his own (no naughty comments please) as he was going walkies with Lesley who was crocked but, being the game lass she is, turned up anyway. (ed’d note – she had heard there was going to be a beer stop!) Ade soon got us underway with dismay setting in as it was realised that the trail led up the increasingly steep lane next to the pub. Dismay soon, however, turned to something much worse as we took the infamous stile just up the lane on the left into the very steep and very muddy fields, obviously used for horses judging by the copious amounts of plop, of Cobbles Farm. Showing my age, as we attempted to run, walk, crawl or just make any progress up what was possibly the most difficult ascent in the history of hashing without a four wheel drive, I kept thinking of the old Simon & Garfunkel song “ slip sliding away”. I think slightly less pleasant thoughts occupied the minds of the rest of the hash with cries of “Ade you must be joking”, “Who’s the ijit who set this” and the usual ribald comments being heard. Eventually we got to the top, next to the M40, where Ade, in a fruitless attempt to retrieve matters mumbled “ it’s a lovely view”. Sorry Moose, didn’t really cut the mustard that one. A brief jog into the edge of Fennell’s Wood led us to the much admired and frequently used tunnel under the motorway. But, computer says no and we head instead downhill to turn right on the shiggy laden path along the bottom of the wood. A little way along this track some steps of the downward variety hove into view. Ade did in fairness say they were slippery but it didn’t prevent one of our number moosing. I know it is amazing, but I was actually IN FRONT of quite a few of the pack and hence have no idea who it was who went for the horizontal option although no damage was apparently done. More steps, more mud, roots everywhere and eventually we emerged at Loudwater – bottom of the big hill going up to Flackwell Heath. Confusion set in here as the hare had declared all flour to be on the right but, having expended precious energy crossing the road, the on on was called from the left hand side. Mind you, have you ever known a hasher who didn’t struggle with the right/left problem !! We sort of oosed across the crossroads and, having started to pick up speed, soon found that the trail went left down some dodgy road through some rather less than salubrious housing. At the end of this road, a right hander took us up a path to the A.40 where came the well respected and much enjoyed short/long split. Being a shortie, I went left along a footpath next to the river Wye. I was taken aback to find our GM going short but was informed that, on fixing another problem on part on Davids anatomy, Lesley had buggered his hamstring. Hope the first bit was worth the second !!! The hare had informed us to run to the new retail park where the longies would be meeting us from Cock Lane. Don’t know where they went other than I heard Wycombe Heights golf club mentioned but they did seem to be a long time. Eventually there was the cheery sight of lathered hashers coming down off the mountain and we briefly regrouped before being ushered through the retail park, where Ade proceeded to hurl abuse at a female motorist for forgetting to turn on her headlights as she drove off. It is an easy mistake to make, especially as she was putting on her lipstick at the time. At the back of the shoppy bit is a vast tract of land, with a very convenient footpath along the river. Ade was expounding to all in earshot as we ran along said track the details as to how many twee little boxes the developer is going to cram onto the land , which was the old Wycombe Sewage Works. After refusing Moose’s kind offer to do a detour to “’ave a butchers at the new bridge works at Bassettsbury Manor”, we ran up onto the old disused railway line to emerge in close proximity of Mini City – Ade’s house. Whoopee, hospitality. Yes Moose and Jilly had come up trumps with veggy sausages and other yummy veggy things in pastry which were well enjoyed. This was washed down by some French lager and here I have a complaint. Could not make out the alcoholic content and Ade you know that anything under 4 per cent ruins my fine tuned system. After the grub and indeterminately weak or strong beer, a short run led us out onto the road on which resides the General Havelock and yes, deep joy, Fullers ESB. Well done Ade and Jilly. But next time -------- check out the beer.
Run
No 739 Oh God, please someone should have warned me. Not only did I not find out about having to do the write up on this hash until halfway through the night, but also with Mad Mike at the helm I really didn’t have a clue about what we’d let ourselves in for. With near freezing temperatures and snow a plenty on the forecast, remarkably all was going well until Whipping Boy, Twist the dog & I arrived just in the nick of time to be guided to a suitable parking space. Only to moments later watch the hash disappear rapidly into the night, innocently I presumed their rapid departure was payback for the number of run backs I’d set last week. Having kept one eye on the direction our companions had left whilst tying our laces, Whipping Boy & I were further delayed by his greyhound’s refusal to act anything remotely like a dog. The Twist being that one has to drag him for the first mile until the friction burns have warmed him up sufficiently for him to get moving! However we were soon able to catch fleeting glimpses of darting torch lit figures amongst the three bedroom semis dotted around Seer Green and were once again with the Hash proper. I was then reassured to find out that there was a tight schedule to be kept and the hash’s rapid departure was all part of the plan. It was around about this time that I spotted the hares first marker, given the forecast of thick snow, rather ingeniously formed from orange coloured flour, or so I thought. As we trickled down towards Longbottom Bank, the relaxed pace gave me time to ponder as to why I hadn’t been able to spot the Hares earlier markers, thoughts of the need to replace my torch with a brighter version were rapidly replaced by the truth of the matter. Despite all the forecasts to the contrary, it hadn’t actually snowed at all and the coloured flour had rather backfired, leaving many run backs sadly missed. A short trek along Bottom Lane, saw us soon heading through Blue Close Wood where a strategically placed run back at the top of a climb taught all those non-checkers a thoroughly deserved lesson in manners. Rumour has it that for some unknown reason (probably the wish to remain within the realms of something approaching core body temperature) Kerry and Audrey actually ran up this hill and were for a fleeting glimpse the Hash’s FRB’s. Seeing that I’d already been tricked into this write up, I prefer to believe that they must spin the same yarn to all the virgin scribes just to see how gullible they are. After a sprint through Birchen Spring, a regroup by the A355 revealed the true night temperature (f’ing cold by my calculations), then off again towards The Grange where the shorts & longs were soon separated. Mad Mick mysteriously and secretively tore the map in two, pressing the top part along with two gold sovereigns into my hand and whispering something about watching out for Blind Pugh. A single glimpse of the map had given us a pretty good clue as to the direction to take (unlike the invisible orange flour), but once into Browns Wood the GM was convinced of his local knowledge and had there been a garden path I’m sure he would have led us up it. However, sense prevailed and the route was quickly found heading down to Netherlands before the left down the edge of Ledborough Wood found its way onto the back roads of Beaconsfield. At last somewhere I recognise and can write about without cribbing off the map, as we trotted down the slope to regroup with the shortys at Beaconsfield train station. “Good we’ve got about 10 minutes” called out the hare, “10 minutes for what?” being the fairly obvious reply. “10 minutes for a beer before the train comes”. Now for those who are well versed with the mind of Mad Mick Jones this seemed to be quite an acceptable and normal response. However for the rest of us accepting the truth was only possible after the amble to Mick’s car (strategically placed in the BR car park) revealed a boot full of Stella and orange juice and a fist full of train tickets. Yes, we were all booked on the 8.53pm Marylebone train, destination Seer Green. Predictably said train was late, but for us bemused soles this paled into insignificance given the surprise factor of Hashing by train (now I’m sure that truly would be something altogether more difficult so please don’t suggest it, maybe train spotters do it already I really don’t know). Once at Seer Green, beer bottles discarded correctly, the longs & shorts once again parted company only to be immediately pursued by the hoards of car driving commuters leaving the train station. Okay so it was only two or three, but none too pleasant all the same. A circuitous route touching on the boarders of Jordans finally lead us home to the more than welcoming arms of Three Horseshoes. Apart from the barman insisting that a St Clements (Orange juice & bitter Lemon, you get the picture) must have Bells (whiskey) in it much to Whipping Boys disgust, the landlady was most accommodating and welcomed us to return at any time in the future (Red Lion at Bradenham take note). So Mick a resounding success, managing to give the assembled hounds both plenty to grumble about (orange flour, fallen beach leaves, mutter mutter) and plenty to talk about for many months to come. Apart from Gerry who I understand who took a right instead of a right right at some point (ed's note - unfortunatly it was before he even go to the pub), so he arrived mega late and didn't see a single hasher until he got back to the pub so he and missed most of the ensuing frivolity. A++ for a cold winters night. Run
No 738 Well, the boy done good didden 'e? First time out as a Hare and only 7 hashes under his belt!!!!, - it's obvious that he'd been paying attention as to what Tuesday evenings are all about. Dick ensured that like Matthew, his first run would be memorable, so we enjoyed a world record number of check backs all run with good grace and gusto by Dan the 12 year old and Rob, his friend from Chobham, who were in a league of their own, - what with Sam in running up mountains in Timbuckthree and Ade with the leg and knee palsy after his recent hit and run misfortune. They showed us all how check backs should be done. No standing over the back arrow for 1 minute waiting for the pack to arrive deciding if it said '6 or was it 8 back' ? for them. Some day Dan, as our resident infant, you must tell us what it's like running with your Granddad, then having to put up with him for 8 hours the next day in the office. Now to the main thrust of the evening: -I would like someone to sit down and explain to me in words of one syllable how it is that some of the most charmingly situated and 'high on ambience' pubs in our realm are almost without exception managed or owned by 24-carat arseholes! This one was the mentor of them all. I only hope that he sued the Charm School. Not only were we not allowed to park in his empty car park on arrival, but also on using his toilets before the run we were subjected to him readily condoning the nudges, titters and winks of assembled clientele, (totalling 6), standing around his bar, all of whom gave living proof of what happens when cousins marry each other. One of them, - with knuckles grazing the floor, - a nose on the side of his face, - and an ear in the middle of his forehead, - had clearly never seen a runner in running kit, in his life before. (Perhaps it was because his beer gut was so fat that he hadn't seen his dick since puberty either). So, - we were regaled with hoots of laughter on entering the pub by none other than Mine Host who, 1 hour later, was about to enjoy and multiply by a factor of 10, his total evening's turnover. The run went well and was well marked, up past Noble's Farm, - along the ridge through Hernton Wood. The moon was out and things were going fine, - until we ran around the front of the Mausoleum when Lesley 'did her hamstring' and Ian did in his 'something that prevented him from running thing'. So it was left to Ade and your Scribe to shepherd them back to the not so convivial arms of Mine Host on the Deliverance movie set. Ade was the real star as he picked up the two walking wounded in his car. As a result of the mercy mission, what went on up the hill and in Kit's Wood, - Gawd only knows, but if went as well as the first half, - then it went well. Meanwhile, for the four of us, (yep, we even beat the short cutters), it was back to the welcoming arms of the Publican from Hell. After 4 repeated requests for ice for the hamstring, Ade had to grab El Thicko by the throat to get him to realise that, as all of the Hillbilly's were now tucked up in the straw bedding in their respective sties, we were the only source of revenue in that poxy wind swept empty car parked crap hole and that we WANTED SOME BLEEDIN' ICE! Remind me never to go there again please. Moonraker teams and ice-skating talk for the rest of the evening courtesy of Hash Tick. Dick, well done, 25 hounds started, 25 finished and then consumed 25 bars of genuine honest to goodness Swiss chocolate donated by Denise. Thank you Denise. What more could we ask for? (Apart from a pub with a useable car park!) MESSAGE
FROM SAM in Far away places We started right
on time and run around Ratna Park and Tudikhel (parade Ground) and
then out of Kathmandu to Bhaktapur where the turnaround was at 20K
(my time here was 1:28 and in 6th place). This is the first time in
any marathon that I had a personal motorcycle escort, unfortunately
only for the first half. For the first 15Ks the water stations weren't
setup yet and then they were at 5K intervals. Doubling back to Kathmandu
the traffic increased but marshalling was pretty good with marshals
and police on all intersections and the traffic was stopped as soon
as a runner approached. We then turned unto the Ring road into Patan
and from there straight down into KTM. This is where I should have
had my escort. At about 35K I couth up to the runner in 5th place
and we ran together. He is a teacher living here. About half a K past
the 37.5K mark we came to a big intersection with no marshals from
the side that we approached. (At this point we were in 5th and 6th
place). We saw some marshals across the intersection pointing runners
into the direction to our left so we followed the turning lane to
the left. After another 300 yards we came to the stadium entrance
and did the 3/4 lap of the track to the finish line. As I stopped
my watch I realised that there was something wrong. I finished in
2:45. Looking a the course map later I realised that we missed 2.2
miles. You can imagine how ticked off I was as this would have been
a PB and possible right around 3 hours. When we left for home and
drove through the same intersection there were marshals on the side
that we approached from and directed the marathon runners straight
through. ICE SKATING FROM LENORE Twenty-nine men, women and children braved the cold weather on Sunday afternoon for the hash's first ice skating event. We made our way through the indirect Oxford streets to the ice rink. We logjammed the entrance as 3 intelligent adults attempted to count the number of adults and children in our group. Fortunately the temperature on the ice was somewhat warmer than it was outdoors. Skaters ranged from first timers to fairly experienced. Some of the less experienced showed noticeable improvement during the session. There were Mooses on the ice, but the spectacular ones were all by non-hashers. No injuries, so everyone will be fit and running on Tues.
Run
No 737 Funny, isn't
it? No matter how nippy it seems in the car park before the hash -
and believe you me, it seemed pretty nippy - once you've run up a
dirty great hill you soon forget about being cold. So that's where
Mark, our first-time hare, chose to send the merry band of hounds,
including a virgin hasher (aka sucker, sap, poor mad deranged fool
etc). Being Shrove Tuesday, Mark had laid (tossed? possibly, I'm sure
I heard a few of those caught by the Palmerisms liberally scattered
about the route call him a We were headed
for Rotten Row, but before we found out just how rotten it really
is, on right was called - your correspondent raced down the trail,
only to have the pleasure of calling the false trail and sending everyone
back from whence they came. Past Hutton's Farm, up onto Pheasant's
Hill, then down again - we were looking good for a nice early finish.
Yeah, right. Finally, after much hard slogging we reached the On-In, marked appropriately enough by a lemon - Hong Kong rules dictated that we followed the hare back to the agreeable surroundings of The Stag & Huntsman, where the SCBs had all but finished consuming the contents of the kitchen. Nice one Mark
- and I will be the first to admit that I was very dubious about that
being anything less than 7 miles; until I visited www.magic.gov.uk
and used their measuring tool (my tool not being much use for measuring,
you understand) to find that it was just a touch over 7km, which in
English is around four and a half miles. I shall leave Roger to factor
in gradients, inclines, declines, reclines, contours, detours and
other more arcane geographical features...
Run
no 736
Rumour has it that the main reason for the break in tradition by drinking before the run was to slow down the FRBs, a thought heroically supported by Roger who was huffing and puffing near the back of the pack when we got to a mile out. Upon being re-assured, by Gerry, that the killer effect of running on alcoholic gas would wear off before the run was over, Roger again subsided to his wheezing back of pack position to wait. Lenore's briefing was complicated as she introduced what seemed to be a whole new set of hash way-marking symbols. There was L, S and G routes, the G route being longer than an S route, shorter than an L route and was for anyone who was feeling Grumpy (presumably she was referring to one of the 7 dwarfs as I am sure no hasher is ever grumpy). However, if you didn't want to feel Grumpy you can feel S for Sleepy instead. The next new symbol was a double blob on a tree, which, everyone realised, after she had explained it for the third time, meant exactly the same as a single blob on a tree. We think she tried to explain the difference between the two symbols, though they meant the same thing, but her subtlety was lost on us - and she nearly had to join the Grumpy party as she hadn't wanted to start late but did due - to her extended blob explanation and our non-understanding of it. Shades of Oscar Wilde's quotation about two countries ….. And then we were off, or at least we would have been if anyone had found the flour, so hints were dropped and the on-on called down towards Mallards Court (which used to be the home of local hero Major George Young who died at the Somme in WW1) and then on to Stockfield Wood. At the bottom of the hill (or it could have been the top but it was dark at the time) we re-grouped, then turned left towards the Grubbin. Shortly before the Grubbin was reached the Short-cutters went their merry way and, shortly after it, the G runners (which I felt really stood not for Grumpy but Gerry) left as well. I joined GM David on the G run, so the L run remained a mystery but probably went along Gipsies Plain. There are two Gipsies Plains in the UK - one with “a host of Common Spotted Orchids”, sadly, this was the other one, where, presumably, they have the Never-spotted Orchids. Returning to the G run, the GM bravely took charge of the map. Regrettably, it was of little use to him and even, after we explained to him three times exactly where we were and which direction we had to go in, he still tried running in totally the wrong direction. Over the top of the next hill and down the other side we came to a wood complete with short-cutters. They had split into two groups, a “scenic” group with Mick and Kerry admiring the countryside and a checking group who were ahead, running and totally lost. After a host of checks and an encounter with some boy scouts we arrived at the top of a hill and a check. Following a flour trail completely on the wrong side of the road, we eventually arrived at a check with an upside-down 3, also on the wrong side of the road. Believing we were going the wrong way along a trail (presumably the L route), we doubled back to the last check , where we found a bar. We would have oscillated between the two for ever if the GM hadn't made the brave decision to cross the cross and head over the bar to the bar. Afterwards, in the pub, we celebrated a slightly belated Tosca night - with a well deserved award going to Beverley for her Bash organising prowess.
Date
: 25th January 2005 It was Swanny’s turn and, whether it was anything to do with his name or not, he chose The White Swan as our venue. Every time we visit this notorious emporium I can’t help wondering whether anything has changed – since we last ran from there or indeed over the last thirty years. Same much varied and battered furniture, same 1950’s style decorations ( had these explained to me as I am far too young to know anything about that era), same “oh do you really have to be here, customers really are my biggest problem” welcome from the landlady. Anyhow, we gathered outside complete with a virginal hasher who seemed to be French. I had a feeling she was a bit different when she stood in the road to try to preserve a generously sized parking space for Lenore and didn’t move even when she was practically on my bonnet. Eventually, after waiting for some late comers supposedly stuck on the M40 (ain’t got a clue whether they actually turned up or if they were merely a delaying tactic) we got started. Mike Swan had pronounced the run to be only 3 miles – pity my electronic gadget tells me it was 4.06 !!! We ran along the A.40 to the end of the village, swinging up round the back of the high street to pass the entrance to the Hell Fire Caves. Kerry said she is working in there which prompted a variety of suggestions as to the exact nature of this from acting as resident ghost and scaring the punters witless to carrying a little tray around replete with choc ices, popcorn and drinks on a stick. Running down across a field, we passed Flinthall Farm to cross the ‘Risboro road and plug on under the railway line into open country of the uphill kind usually preferred by hares. We slogged on losing varying amounts of traction upwards passing the end of Cookshall Lane. Running along the edge of Little Cookshall Wood, we spied upon some interesting little markers complete with numbers --- 1, 2 etc. I couldn’t help wondering what the highest number along the trail, which by now had left West Wycombe well behind, was that we would get to. At Cookshall Farm we turned right running across open land towards what transpired to be Downley Common. At this point, Mike offered us of the SCS a shortie which, as we were not too hot on the trail of the leaders, we gratefully accepted. From here on, I can relate where we went and can only pontificate upon the additional perambulation enjoyed (?) by the rest of the pack. For us, the trail led past the Bricklayers Arms to a cunningly tucked away path next to the school. This led downhill – oh deep joy – passing the end of Branch Wood to eventually emerge on the aforementioned Cookshall Lane. Along the way much of import was discussed. Would there be nibbles, would the old trout have shut the pub before we got back and, if not, would there actually be any beer on sale? The lane ended at Pedestal Garage (wanabuy a dodgy motor john). From here it was an easy pull on through the village back to the emporium. As for you longies, well it seems to me that you must have shimmied around the nether regions of Downley before passing Plomers Hill Farm and dropping down to pick up the trail through the bottom of Branch Wood and then on in past the garage. At the pub, all
was not lost. Someone, I think it was Lesley, produced not only a
substantial bar of wholenut chocolate but topped this off with a zonking
great slab of Cadburys finest. Another encounter of the calorific
kind.
Run:
734 Sure enough just after the ON-ON-OFF a large white blob appeared out of the darkness (hair in snowman guise?) and we were ushered away right, left, over across a field and right over another field. We were scrambling along when the leading pack suddenly came into view; were they floundering in the mud? Were the girls gliding over it? Had our training finally paid off? NO ! the men were in retreat just in case they were mistaken for babes. (Ed’s note : A sneaky back arrow just beforea ladies-only check ). How did you get here? she asked as the hair (complete with mega wicked grin) appeared in front of her at the Ladies check . Gill declared at this point that she wasn’t a lady so wouldn’t check - so your “blond” scribe was sent right by Gerry. Some how she knew she was being led up the garden path but went anyway. The rest of the pack squelched off in the opposite direction. The girl finally realised she had been duped and turned around. Cries from the hair could be heard resounding through the trees ‘Lovely mud glorious mud for you hashers to wallow in, no soap needed.’ What a great idea the silly blonde thought - mud packs are great for your complexion. A thought that was lost on the men as they desperately retraced their steps through the slimy shiggy once again following the back arrow in the middle of the muddiest path since the Battle of the Somme. By this time the babes legs were getting heavy from the layers of wet soggy deposits that had adhered to her black slinky tights. It was a relief for her to re-grope (Ed’s note - I am not sure but you might mean Group?) on the tarmac. We zigged over the road to a long and short check. Oh what a magnificent huge one the girl observed ‘what do you use?’ Gerry answered her sarcastically ‘a special blend of plaster of Paris which stays stiff and doesn’t blow away in the wind. What a clever idea she thought. The group split: ‘longs’ crossed into a field of cows (no cowering Beverley hiding behind Mike Swan this time). The ‘shorts’ missed their check and had to break into a rare sweat to catch up the pack (The hair went back for them) on the road down into Lee Common. The gigantic blobs went past an old Bugel (Ed’s note a Bugel is a type water softener - I think you mean Bugle?) then over an underground river and swallow hole. Strange thought the dumb blonde, I can’t hear a brass band or see any birds in the sky. Then she found herself turning right onto a path full of puddles which led to a pub called the Cock and Rabbit. This is better the blonde chatted to herself, a proper Italian restaurant : must tell the GM about that. Then things wobbled around a bit past a restored C12 church and left onto yet another muddy footpath with the 2nd L & S split at the top. The girl thought she would follow the FRB’s round the field of Camelidae (Llamas to you) (Ed’s note - A Blonde that can speak Latin! - impressive), left turn down through the wood to a check where the hair fooled us by zagging instead of zigging. The girl looked down at her sodden wet feet and smiled to herself as the boys yet again re-traced their steps. Still this time it was ON-ON-IN to the snug. Back at The Old Swan she learned that the 4 shorties were so engrossed rhapsodising about their stilton that they totally failed to spot a check the size of a dinner plate. It did however come in useful as we demolished a pile of chips…. Thanks guys a much tastier alternative to ketchup. Sam - we saved some mud and plaster of Paris for you. It should come in useful for Josiah who we hear has broken a phalange of his great toe. Run: 734 Sure enough just after the ON-ON-OFF a large white blob appeared out of the darkness (hair in snowman guise?) and we were ushered away right, left, over across a field and right over another field. We were scrambling along when the leading pack suddenly came into view; were they floundering in the mud? Were the girls gliding over it? Had our training finally paid off? NO ! the men were in retreat just in case they were mistaken for babes. (Ed’s note : A sneaky back arrow just beforea ladies-only check ). How did you get here? she asked as the hair (complete with mega wicked grin) appeared in front of her at the Ladies check . Gill declared at this point that she wasn’t a lady so wouldn’t check - so your “blond” scribe was sent right by Gerry. Some how she knew she was being led up the garden path but went anyway. The rest of the pack squelched off in the opposite direction. The girl finally realised she had been duped and turned around. Cries from the hair could be heard resounding through the trees ‘Lovely mud glorious mud for you hashers to wallow in, no soap needed.’ What a great idea the silly blonde thought - mud packs are great for your complexion. A thought that was lost on the men as they desperately retraced their steps through the slimy shiggy once again following the back arrow in the middle of the muddiest path since the Battle of the Somme. By this time the babes legs were getting heavy from the layers of wet soggy deposits that had adhered to her black slinky tights. It was a relief for her to re-grope (Ed’s note - I am not sure but you might mean Group?) on the tarmac. We zigged over the road to a long and short check. Oh what a magnificent huge one the girl observed ‘what do you use?’ Gerry answered her sarcastically ‘a special blend of plaster of Paris which stays stiff and doesn’t blow away in the wind. What a clever idea she thought. The group split: ‘longs’ crossed into a field of cows (no cowering Beverley hiding behind Mike Swan this time). The ‘shorts’ missed their check and had to break into a rare sweat to catch up the pack (The hair went back for them) on the road down into Lee Common. The gigantic blobs went past an old Bugel (Ed’s note a Bugel is a type water softener - I think you mean Bugle?) then over an underground river and swallow hole. Strange thought the dumb blonde, I can’t hear a brass band or see any birds in the sky. Then she found herself turning right onto a path full of puddles which led to a pub called the Cock and Rabbit. This is better the blonde chatted to herself, a proper Italian restaurant : must tell the GM about that. Then things wobbled around a bit past a restored C12 church and left onto yet another muddy footpath with the 2nd L & S split at the top. The girl thought she would follow the FRB’s round the field of Camelidae (Llamas to you) (Ed’s note - A Blonde that can speak Latin! - impressive), left turn down through the wood to a check where the hair fooled us by zagging instead of zigging. The girl looked down at her sodden wet feet and smiled to herself as the boys yet again re-traced their steps. Still this time it was ON-ON-IN to the snug. Back at The Old Swan she learned that the 4 shorties were so engrossed rhapsodising about their stilton that they totally failed to spot a check the size of a dinner plate. It did however come in useful as we demolished a pile of chips…. Thanks guys a much tastier alternative to ketchup. Sam - we saved some mud and plaster of Paris for you. It should come in useful for Josiah who we hear has broken a phalange of his great toe.
Run:
733 We rapidly filled the pub car park on a now dry evening. The rains had moved away for the evening on the strict request of the GM I'm sure! Moose arrived on time and attempted to find a parking space, it took a few seconds for the gathered hash members to realise they were standing in the one remaining space! It turned out the GM and Leslie had set the hash earlier that day because Phil had been advised not to run. The hare/GM then gave us the instructions and informed us we were on 'Hong Kong rules'. There were just a few moans heard amongst the crowd! The GM then route marched us away from the pub and up the hill to the start of the hash. I am sure the GM was fed up with being at the back when we get to the first check so he decided to implement the HK rules! We got to an enormous white circle on the ground and the hare explained that this was the first check. Many comments were made about the great quality and size of the check! It was at this point that Simon was disciplined when Twist pulled him 'over the top' and into no-mans land! Twist needed the toilet apparently and is very strong! The check was on a footpath and I could see three possible routes. We were however informed by the hare that we could check left and right only. This did confuse a few! (Ed’s note - mainly it confused Lenore) We were called 'On left' and went henceforth into the mud. There really was no requirement for it to rain because plenty had come down earlier in the day! The path was very wet and slippery and the still night was disturbed constantly with the shouts of 'shiggy'. We arrived at what would appear to be a crossroads and expected a check. There was however an arrow pointing straight on an up the hill. I followed Moose and a few others followed us up the footpath at the side of the field. We got about half way when we were called back. The hare had set the run in the field not on the path, how were we to have seen that? (Ed’s note - the dirty great arrow was a hint) We crossed the fence just in time to be caught by the first of what seemed to be a million turnbacks! This was for 6 people as well!! At the end of the field was a check and Moose unknowingly called the hash on in the right direction when he shouted 'shut-up' to the very loud barking dogs at the nearest house. At the end of the next field we found the long/short split and Simon's dog Twist tried very hard to deter people from taking the long route. I am very grateful to Simon for announcing what had happened! Off we went in two groups and on through more and more and more mud! We got to a check just before woodland and the hash took a right turn. No sooner had they all passed the check when the Hare announced it was a 'false trail'. I was the lucky one who had been checking straight on so I must admit I was quite disappointed that the game had been given away before everyone found the F! We ran on through the mud, and the mud, oh and again the mud. I can honestly say this was one of the wettest nights I have seen in a long while. As if by clockwork and synonymous of the GM's meticulous planning we met the 'short cutters society' at one of the next checks. We set off in search of the pub and to get our legs just that little bit more covered in mud. After another million turn backs and a very slippery uphill stretch we reached the start point of the hash. Yes we were back at the enormous check and we had arrived in the one direction we were prevented from checking at the start. This really was cleverly planned I thought! After a brief stand in the cold we were route marched back to the pub by the GM. Hong Kong rules apparently state that any hasher running in front of the GM must buy everyone a drink! Guess where everyone was!! Thank you to the GM and Leslie for a great run Back in the pub we were all given a great history quiz and I was reminded of those school days when everyone is trying to get the answers off each other. I'm not sure who won but it was most enjoyable. Thanks Ken. Lenor asks: Q: Why were the
vases in the pub glued onto the mantel?
Due to an unusual bout of administrative flair and brilliance two reports were written for last week, but none for New Year’s Day! Incriminating photos for the New Years Day Hash will be published next week. Runs report No 1 Date:
4th January 2004 Having just watched Lord
of the Rings again, I didn't know whether to call this report “There
and back again” or “A Horse's Tale” by Nick d'Affrick.
You can choose. Much to Lenor's dismay,
the darts team were in town. The last time we had met them was in
Wycombe a few weeks ago and they still had their pet smoke cloud with
them for company. We were forced to huddle up by the games table and
watch a football match on a humungous wide screen TV while gnawing
on (very) hot roast potatoes that Nick had conjured up. The woman on the barstool had moved on, new owners you see. It transpired that the bar maid (Clare) is a second cousin to Nick, and, surprise, surprise, lives at Little Affricks. I have now met so many of Nicks female cousins and second cousins on either his father's or mother's side that I am confused. In days gone by, people that other people lived with were introduced as your “uncle Derek” or “Auntie Vera” and I have just about got the hang of that. Nick admitted that he
should have been extending the “Entente Cordiale” and
moving into his new home in Great Kingshill with his French cousin.
But the HASH had to come first. The other good news is that this house
lies next to a HASH path, so we look forward to stopping by in the
not too distant future. Runs Report No 2 Date:
4th January 2004 The weather of the day did not promise a pleasant evening but as we go ready in the lane behind the pub it looked like it could be a clear night. As I recall, being out in the dark away from the lights of civilization, we all marveled at the stars and how bright they are. But first to the beginning. Joining the pack in front of the pub, including Ade who was also ready almost in time, we were still waiting for Roger who happened to forget his head-torch at home. Way to go Roger, good he lives only down the road in Holmer Green. So, off we went without Roger and thanks to Nick's generous arrows of self-rising flour Roger was able to catch up with us in no time. The trail led us towards Spurlands End farm were I'm not sure if we actually lost some of our hashers in the muck. Do you ever wonder why cows and horses, having such a big field to run and stand in always are in the corners und churn up the mud knee deep? Even as an ex-farmer I haven't figured this out yet. Along the road to the north-west point of Widmer End and onto the foot path past Hoppers farm into Great Kingshill where some of us wondered if we really are on the trail as it took the pack about five minutes to catch up. Here the hare informed us the there is a long-short way. Long being 7.8K (4.88miles) and the short ??? can't remember as I normally don't pay much attention to the information about the short option. From here I can't remember
where we went and as it is almost a week now it is all a blur. All
I can remember that there was still lots of mud. Who needs to spend
any money for a health spa and mud bath if it is all in front of your
door step and we can have one every Tuesday night. Don't be shy, come
and join us. They say it is good for you!! We arrived back at the
pub in time for the football game and some wonderful roasted potatoes.
New Year’s Day Run Run:
731 Due to administrative “flair”,
I volunteered recently to write this. Since the run was 2 weeks ago,
details may not be GPS specific. To confuse the brain more, Roger’s
previous New Year’s Day run started from the exact same pub. Fortunately, the rain held
off till we were inside the pub.
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