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Scribes Q1 2007
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Run :- 850 Tuesday afternoon and my thoughts were momentarily diverted away from work by a thick flurry of snow blanking out the fine view of the A40 outside. Lucky old Whipping Boy should be setting the hash bout now, best send him a text just to remind him how fine the weather was last week, not gloating at all, just curious as to what he’d got up to last week to deserve such retribution from him upstairs. My moment of glee was short lived as I soon realised a) just how effing cold it was going to be later & b) without my usual hashing chaperone I’d have to actually drive myself to said Rising Sun – fairly inappropriate name considering the arctic conditions out there. So checked it out on the web, imprinted the route map to my brain, shrugged off Whipping Boys assertions that I’d be late when he called just as I left, smirked at Souper Cooper as we passed each other going in opposite directions in Speen. All going according to plan, nothing to worry about I’ll be there in plenty of time, until the Plough at Cadsden came into view…oh **ggerr, **llocks, **lls I’m lost & I’m late & if Cooper beats me now I’ll look reet daft & all them other hashers will hate me for keeping them standing around in the cold. **oody write up to do an all, so I can’t even cast anchor & go for a quiet pint. In the event, Souper Cooper drew all the scorn for managing to be even later than me & said hashers gnashers had been kept pretty much at bay by being given party hats, Champaign and pineapple chunks in celebration of this being our eight hundred and fiftieth run. Not sure what had cheered them up most but they seemed remarkable friendly for a bunch of people who’d been kept standing around in very little attire in sub zero temperatures. Eight hundred and fifty ferking runs I here you say, but that means that some of those amongst us have been doing this daft stuff for bloody donkeys years. On reflection the likelihood of me finding anything else quite so ridiculous to do on a Tuesday night is fairly remote, so roll on the next 850 runs and hopefully by then I’ll have at least joined the gassing group at the back & short cutting it on a regular basis. On on. Anyhow I digress, much to our relief on on was quickly called down hill through the woods and the 850th was off if great style as the party hats bobbed up & down in the torchlight (please no rude comments). Even with numerous on backs and a stiff climb back to about the same level we started at, the chill of the night was still not being beaten back, so quickly on across a pair of styles and down hill again through a field where the front runners missed the first regroup & were berated by the masterful Whipping Boy and reigned back into rejoining the main pack before being directed to a car park at t’other side of field and beyond a rather lethal barbed wire fence. Mind you all complaints were quickly dowsed by lavish helpings of chocolate and / or strawberry cake doled out from the boot of his car by Mr Adams. Back on the hunt after such sustenance, got us trekking across the field we’d just come from but luckily without having to traverse the barbed wire fence again thank god, with all that cake inside I doubt we’d have made it past without incident or accident. It was at this point that I really wished I had put my woolly hat on, fortunately the Dancing Queen came to my rescue by fashioning her neck warmer into some sort of head garment that seemed to do the trick. Up another the hill, across the field, more on backs getting the feel for it now? Then all of a sudden the going got a bit sluggish as Tractor Boy & Ferret’s legs stalled as their attention was diverted away by some spanking looking stables or some other horse orientated item. By this time, the number of on backs seemed to be drawing us to the conclusion that Whipping Boy had intended either 850 hashers to be on this run & that we shouldn’t therefore get caught out quite so many times, or that the on backs totalled 850 in some sort of Countdown way. Whipping Boy quickly allayed our fears by confirming that the reality was that the hash was 850 miles long and the weather would be warmer when we finished. So numerous were the hashers tonight that Mick & Barney were the only short short cutters, even with the mention of Coombe Hill being the vicinity didn’t put the rest off the task at had. Having no idea where the hell we were, I can only say that we crossed a road, past some houses, up a hill ,across a field and met up with the pair of pixies lurking in the hedgerow at the top. More on ons through the woods & crunching across the “would have been shiggy if it wasn’t so cold” ground, somehow enabled Moist to be the only fool to land up to his ankles in what must have been a bone numbingly cold puddle the size of a small lake – not sure how you managed that one, were you hoping it would swallow you up like some lucky portal back to the pub? Yob and another left us at this stage as the remains of the slowly thinning crowd set off for the final leg back to the pub, which oddly enough involved more hills, more woods and more on backs than you can shake a stick at. The sight of a warm pub was music to our bones, however the temperature gradient across the windows and door would have given any member of the Green Party an apoplectic fit. To round the evening off Mr Adams had prepared a quiz to end all quizzes, well done Whipping Boy & Dancing Queen for showing us what a top grammar school education can achieve & thanks for yet another great hash.
Run
No. 849 Well who would have believed that a run from the Dashwood arms, which is nestled charmingly at the foot of a deep valley, could be flat. Not I for one. However, I have to say that despite my feelings of foreboding, I didn’t run up a single hill all evening. Impressed? Well you shouldn’t be as I wasn’t actually on the hash so didn’t run anywhere - including up any hills. So why, I hear you ask, am I writing the Hash report? Well it turns out that Ade only made it for the last few minutes of the hash so he couldn’t write it. And, without Gerry there to nag David to get someone else to do it, nobody actually wrote one. So there may be a little - just a little - guesswork in tonight’s missive. At the normal twenty five to eight the usual crowd of hashers slowly congregated in the pub’s spacious carpark, all eager and ready to face Dick’s “Challenge of the Hills”. Two things were certain:- First: Dick would have checked out the run very thoroughly (OK Who said that - I heard a whispered “This time” - shame on you!). Second: It would go straight up the hill. Ten minutes later the pack was called together by the GM bellowing loudly in everyone ear “Listen to your hare you ‘orrible lot”. And, as of always nobody took a blind bit of notice so he had to yell it again. And even then the usual culprits of Kerry and Lenore carried on with their on conversations anyway, entirely oblivious to the glares from their fellow Hashers. Eventually, they quietened down, though not before Kerry had said “Wot Me?” very loudly and with a decidedly cheeky grin. Soon the rules for the evening’s engagement were explained and the checkers checked the first check. Steve went the wrong way, Sam got it right by going straight for the hill. The first hill was a killer that strung the pack out - and by the time the SCS were half way up it, the footpath was churned with shiggy and they were loudly bemoaning their fate. At the top of the hill, after a longish wait by the faster runners the on-on was called and the pack headed off to what, when it had been set was a run full of glorious vistas, but had since mysteriously turned into a dark cold and shiggy ridden route up two more of the countryside’s over abundant hills. Just into one of the woods Lenore was caught by a back arrow when she had mis-counted the number of people ahead of her - so around she turned and, by dint of explaining loudly that she always did the backchecks, waiting politely and walking slowly, she went back nearly a third of the distance of the others who were caught. Just over half way around the run Moose caught up with the pack (having arrived late, changed slowly and spoken to Jilly on his mobile while changing). He moosed only once for a change, but, as nobody else saw it he claims that it didn’t count. This was in stark contrast to his own run the week before where he moosed twice within the first 400 yards! Eventually the long-short split was reached, first by Sam, Nick, Steve, Ryan and Simon who then generously waited while Kerry brought up her rear - sorry, while Kerry brought up THE rear, chatting loudly with Tracey and just beaten in by Mick and Aud (again chatting loudly). The GM shouted that this was the split and tried to organise things. Then he tried to count the number of shortcutters. As per usual he got the number slightly wrong (he simply refuses to take his shoes and socks off so that he can get beyond ten!). Both the long and shortcutter’s routes seemed exceptionally hard at the time, with the shorts arriving, tired, weary and ready for a drink, back at about 9.05, followed 10-15 minutes later by the longs. In the pub there was the usual confusion and groping - err sorry grouping and at around 9.40 The GM bellowed for silence while he thanked the hare for what was, in hindsight at least, a truly excellent, memorable (and hilly) run.
Run
No. 848 ALAS SHIGGY AND JONES You going out bashin tonight
then? What
was it like then. You look like you fell in a sewage plant. Smell
like it too.
Run
No. 846 PROLOGUE
NO RIFF RAFF PLEASE Mr TOAD STEPS IN PIT STOP VOYEUR
PARTING IS SUCH SWEET SORROW! It’s an outrageous lie! About 9.30 Mick said: ‘phew they’ve been gone a long time! ‘ thus vindicating my usual decision to take the shorty. Barney and Audrey opted to join the longs this week, we were impressed. However after three weeks of sliding along mud, I have noticed it is only very good exercise for tensing ones butt muscles, however this extra fitness helped me avoid a dip in the river. Off the longs went, their highly toned athletic bodies (cor!) rapidly receding into the gloom, faster than the eyes could follow, for an extra two miles of mudsliding and cardiovascular torture, suckers.
The home run was marked by timeless musical accompaniment from the Cookham church bells and the gurgling passage of the Thames beneath the weeping willows sighing in the breeze (Aah!) This masking the puffs and gasps and gripes of us shorties. I was happy in the knowledge that the sound of the bells would guide the longs safely home. Unfortunately for them Rickmansworth All Saints Parish Church was also rehearsing on Tuesday night which might explain their late return. ELIXIR OF THE GODS Mick the hare certainly delivered the goods on Tuesday night. I would never have guessed it but BS followed by an arrow inferred a BEER STOP at Micks place, Yahoo! So mine was a bottle of Badger beer, nothing ever tasted as good. Luckily we had plenty of time to guzzle plenty more before the longs arrived, we really missed them. EPILOG Run
No. 845 And so another week had passed and there we all were again, gathered shivering in a pub car park about to embark on some running, checking, log-jumping, moosing (x 5 tonight) sliding etc. Why we didn’t just go into the pub, order a drink and a packet of nuts, and settle down in the warm and dry with friends for some intelligent conversation and a set of dominos? Then I remembered hasher were not like normal folk!! Whilst lingering in the car parking, and with our virgin hare Andy waiting nervously in the background, tales of the weekend’s events were discussed. Namely the antics of certain hashers who attended Lucy and Ewan Brown’s leaving party on the Friday night. The evening started at the Hogs Head in Wycombe, then onto the Glass House, then back to the Brown’s for one of their legendary house parties. Suffice to say that Dick was still looking a little green round the gills having left the house party, not having the faintest idea where in South Bucks he actually was, but managed to make his way back to Wycombe to find his push bike and then cycled home eventually stumbling in his front door at 5am… much to the horror of his sons, who happened to have got in before him, and who thanked the Lord above that they had not bumped into him in the Glass House with their friends!!! As this is a ‘run’ report, I shall not bore you with any more stories of the weekend (like Ade being all paternal and giving good heart-to-heart chats about life and love, Helen and Chris wimping out of the evening early to get a kebab, rendering Chris worse off than if he had stayed out drinking until 5am… say no more!) So.. yes… back to the run report…. and give you the amusing details of the 5 spectaular mooses… After receiving our instructions from Andy, and an on-on left out the pub, we made our way down a very muddy, slightly downhill and incredibly slippery path. I say path, it was more like a mud-luge... all we needed was a sled and lycra suit. It was here that Helen met her fate and slipped, landing on her bottom in the mud. It was a few minutes later that she suspected it wasn’t just mud she’d landed in as her left butt-cheek started to itch. I did the honours and inspected her running leggings covering said cheek for any foreign object clinging to the material that would be causing the itch. As there was nothing there apart from mud we carried on no further sympathy or talk of itchy bottoms! On we went through some fields and over a few styles, with a helping hand from the gentlemanly Mike. Across Hammersley Lane and into the woods. It was here that Helen and I decided that we needed something eventful to happen to write about, and just as I was about to ask someone to oblige I stumbled on a leaf and landed on my hands. I have decided at this point in the report that this can only be counted as half a moose as I didn’t fall completely over, and just escaping with muddy palms so I relegate the number of mooses on this hash to 4.5) Anyway, hands wiped I tried again, asking Dick to kindly fall over to provide some report footage… and he did, right on cue!! After checking that he was uninjured, we laughed heartily!! While I giggle away at the thought of it, its over to Helen…. And here I take over the commentary……….though I’m not sure Jo has been entirely truthful thus far – I’m fairly sure we laughed heartily first and then checked Dick was ok. But he definitely moosed right on cue and we were very grateful to him for doing so. At this point this brought our moose total to 3, (sorry Jo I count your moose as a full monty, otherwise you need to find a better excuse for ending up on all fours in the woods with a stream of men behind you ;-) ) but then we got wind that Ade, the King of the Moose’s, had also suffered this fate (evidenced by some lovely skid marks down his front), so we proclaimed that this truly must by the ‘moosiest’ hash ever, which we felt followed on very well from the previous weeks ‘muddiest’ run ever and lead to a debate on the quality of the mud on each occasion – the previous week becoming known as the Tesco’s Finest shiggy and this weeks the ‘this is not just moosing mud but M&S moosing mud’. And amazingly at this point, less than a mile from the pub, Ade chose to show his true moosing prowess and executed a perfect rear end moose thus complementing his front skids with a beautiful set of rear skids! Just when his hash name was coming up for review for failing to live up to it for a while, it is safe to say he will be known as Moose for some time yet!! Therefore with a total of 5 moose, I declare this hash as the moosiest so far. Thoroughly well done Andy, a great virgin effort and well finished with a mountain of chips in the pub! (I wonder if we could have used the word Moose, or variations of this word, a few more times??)
Run
No. 844 Mud, sweat and beers!!! Before setting of for the hash I had looked out of the window a few times and hoped the rain would stop soon. I thought about lighting a fire and staying in! Then a little voice in my head reminded me I had to do the write up!! Driving there I wanted to turn around several times, it really was a horrible evening and there was one word which sprang to mind immediately – MUD or Shiggy in hashing terms. I have to say that the word never left my mind for the rest of the evening and I have decided to dedicate this write up to the word MUD. Helen announced there is ‘SOME MUD’ on this hash!! To which I thought was a great use of the word some! With the instructions duly given we set off into the rain. We were called left and out along the road which gave us a false sense of security – oh joy of joys this is going to be an urban hash!! We very soon ended up on what I believed was a riverbed. I am reliably told it was just a MUDdy track through the valley in King’s Wood. There was MUD everywhere and the rain which incidentally never stopped seemed to get stronger. The long/short split was offered here and I’m sure more people than ever went short. I’m not really sure why!! I of course went with the longs and we came out of the King’s Wood after hauling ourselves up a MUDdy cliff face and crossed the road near the Cherry Tree pub where we found yet again more MUD. We crossed the recreation ground, through more MUD, an enormous pond which I’m sure the hares had deliberately chosen to go through and several big lakes which had formed in the park. My trainers were actually beginning to look white at this point and were nicely cleaned although very wet! Moose commented that his trainers had not been so clean in a while too! We eventually emerged at the Hazlemere junction and proceeded along the Beaconsfield road in the direction of the pub. I’m sure I am not the only one who hoped (and prayed) that we would head straight back to the pub along the road! Sadly the hares had other plans and took us left and out onto a track. Roger asked ‘is this track normally only used by horses’ to which the hares replied ‘Yes’ and ‘laughed!!!! I knew that meant more, yes more MUD. I heard Helen say – Mind the puddle! I’m sure I was heard to say under my breath ‘which one’ from the hundreds we were running through. We took a left turn and ended up in Common Wood where Roger reliably informed us there is a dry track. Our hares had not used this track at first and took us along the edge of the wood and through yet more MUD. We did finally join the dry –‘er’ track and proceeded to the exit. We ran along Penn Bottom road to the crossroads where I have to confess I did consider dunking the hares into the pond conveniently positioned next to the road to my left! We ran on up another river bed, and yes I am implying there was more MUD and eventually found a more welcoming than ever ‘ON INN’ which had survived the heavy downpours. The hash made me think of a few songs like ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’ and of course – ‘MUD, MUD, Glorious MUD’ and one or two of us could be heard singing this on the way around. None of us seemed to know the full words to the chorus so I did some research: Mud! Mud! Glorious
mud! I then decided to write my own version of the famous song especially for HWH3: HWH3 Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud A red shirted hasher
was running one day While all those
around him seemed happy and gay Chorus: Mud, mud, glorious
mud
Now the HWH3 hierarchy
and all that malarkey Chorus
Each week they’re
out running in packs for the long and short Chorus I did manage to collect a few quotes from the hares on the way around which I’m sure many of us will remember from that evening of rain and MUD: ‘Imagine what this was like on a bike’ We had to drag our bikes up here earlier! It is the thirteenth!! And of course ‘mind the puddle’
Run
No. 843 Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the Mid-day sun, and if the turnout for this weeks Hash can be considered any sort of indication, the same can be said for running around in the freezing cold! Still, the dogs appeared of saner mind then their masters, and were certainly better dressed for the weather than some of the short wearing hashers. Well, this week's adventure started badly. As I was innocently standing in the cold, moaning about the cold the GM (more from him later) suggested between a torrent of verbal abuse that I might like to do the write up this week. Being that I respect the voice of authority and was shocked somewhat at the language echoing around the car park I agreed. As is customary the Hare began to explain the route for the evening, and introduced a virgin hasher, a long term return, and a visitor. With the GM fair chomping at the bit he led the way in a charge of venerable yet vulnerable flesh down the main road. It is at this point, not knowing the area and it being dark and all, that I lost where we were, where we had come from, and where we were going, and had to rely on my fair Hashing companions to help me fill this page. Common practice dictates that if you want something to write about you simply run along behind Jo or Helen, and if they are running together then the Hash Trash will write itself. Unfortunately this tactic failed this evening. Helen had little to offer, this may have been due to the fact that she had only eaten a bowl of cereal and a packet of BBQ flavour crisps (which she rather enjoyed) during the day and was feeling a little weak. Jo agreed, as she cannot do anything without a good portion during the day. Rather disgruntled by this it seemed my only option was to run off and do some checking. This uncharacteristic burst of energy and enthusiasm coincided with the ascent of the longest hill in Buckinghamshire, bugger. In fact how the Hare managed to set a run during which we seemed to run up, up, up and up, without the running down bit afterwards I'll never know. Sometime around this point in the Hash our respected leader, a man for whom I had previously held in the highest esteem gave us a glimpse of an alter ego that would shock the hardiest of characters. With a tone as hard and cold as ice the GM (which could possibly stand for Gross Masochist) suggested that a foot was gently inserted under dear sweet little Cassie, and that she be “lifted against the nearest tree.” On getting home it seemed only right that the RSPCA were informed of the situation, but there seemed to be some confusion, as they reported back that the old dog was on his last legs! With all this excitement we have missed a long/short split, more upwards running and some good quality sticky shiggy. The On-Inn brought us out onto the main road right in front of the pub, and gave me a chance to regain my bearings. The pub proved warm welcoming with cracking fat chips that brought out the most base predatory instincts in most of the hungry hashers. Great run, good chips and 'St. Austell' on tap as well! What more could a hasher want?
Run
No.
842 Another beautiful January night in the Chiltern hills just above Marlow and as usual the Wycombe hashers gather for their weekly dash over the hills and through the woods and fields of this lovely countryside. And to start with I also need to mention that there are still and probably always will be some hardy runners who revel in the feel good of the refreshing cool air on their bare legs. Well, the time has come and the hare calls the pack to order, explains the usual, well remembered rules plus long-short splits but with an emergency shortcut at the end if needed. (What a novelty for the short-cutters. Did anybody bail out the emergency chute?) We then were urged on to get going as it is a longish run. As we are all used to by now, as the first on-on is called one, not to be named hasher was just about ready to lace up his trainers. As a good buddy I stayed behind to for company. Just about ready to take off ourselves, his mobile rings and his wife has an important message about some eBay auction or something. Thanks Gilly for making us catch up. So running passed Wood Barn Farm seeing the torches of the pack in the distance we come upon a lone four legged hound with a red flashing collar and hear some excited shouting in the distance. This can only mean one thing, Tex is running his own hash again! Reaching the next check just as the last of the pack turns right onto the footpath it is time for the first pit stop and so we find ourselves lagging a few hundred yards behind again. So I make a comment to Ade, “as the scribe, this is a good place to be. I won’t have any idea what happens tonight and so nothing to write. But this is what it’s all about, a social run.” We eventually reached Marlow Rd and also the first long-short split. This started a long debate of who should go where and where is where and who is who which probably was the reason that on some later long-short split it was anonymously decided to strike a committee and go through the proper channels but that didn’t get off the ground as the whole politics was just too much for us mortal hashers. In any way it had to be a long time to make a decision here to give the walkers time to catch up to us. As we finally went on again it was down to the footbridge across the A404 along the sewage lakes to Little Marlow. With a few more loops and detours we passed Merton’s Hole Cottage and came again to the A404 but still on the wrong side. It was here the hare had two options. One was straight across the 404 and the other down to the underpass. No one was courageous enough to attempt option one. The hare assured us it was the shorter route but only faster if you are successful to dodge all the cars and actually make it to the other side in one piece. So under the A404 we all went, back up the other side, across the field and soon we saw the On-In. It was a wild dash for the pub with Max close to the front and looking for Matt who must have been lost in the scramble somewhere. Good
hash Steve. Thoroughly enjoyed it, especially when we weren’t
standing around debating which way to go. Thanks Steve. If you are
interested to see where we went, here is the Google Earth link. http://trail.motionbased.com/trail/kml/episode.kml?episodePkValues=1999685
Run
No.
841 We all knew there was trouble ahead; whilst enjoying the post-coital chips at last week’s hash in Holmer Green, an announcement came over the tannoy that there was a mistake in Hash Trash; the next two hashes had been mixed up. The place for this week’s hash was correct, we were told, but the venue was incorrect. Huh? Is that all clear now? Good. Very thoughtfully, Gerry sent an email out on the afternoon of Sam’s hash confirming that the evening’s enjoyment would take place at the Horseshoes pub in Bennett End, a micro-hamlet nestling beneath Bledlow Ridge in the Civil Parish of Radnage. The waxing moon winked at us from behind the wispy clouds, thousands of stars twinkled brightly in the heavens, and the sounds of owls stirring in the trees and bunnies snoozing in their burrows beckoned us from our warm cars. After running through the suburbs of Holmer Green last week, bathed in the warm orange glow of sodium streetlights, tonight’s hash had the more usual ingredients; it was pitch black, freezing cold (our first minus hash of the winter), there was likely to be lots of shiggy, and after the storms of last Thu, several randomly placed fallen trees that even had Helen ducking when the “Heads” calls went out. “Tonight’s run is approximately 5.16327 miles”, called out Sam the Hare, reading from his GPS gizmo. “And there are several short cuts along the way, giving choices of 3.26509 miles, 3.74103 miles, and 4.36392 miles if you don’t fancy the full kaboodle”. On-on right out of the car park, gently uphill along Horseshoe Road towards Radnage. Incredibly, we had only run about 50 yards before the first Long/Short split. The Longs turned left off the road and headed steeply uphill, towards Android Farm. An acute right hand turn at the summit and we were soon heading back downhill, only to be met by the Shorties running up the hill towards us! What a complete cock-up already, and this despite Sam’s assurances that there would be no funny business on tonight’s run. No false trails, lots of flour, all blobs on the right, stop at the regroups; in fact all the usual hoo-hah pre-amble that we get each week that often bears no resemblance to reality once the serious business of hashing gets underway. We continued
en masse along and now down Horseshoe Road. Lots of junctions meant
lots of checks, and lots of time for the chattering classes at the
back to exchange saucy tales from the Hash Christmas Party. A right
turn off Sprigs Holly Lane led us into St Mary’s church at Radnage,
nervously looking out for the mysterious Wasp Woman. Before the First
World War it was said that the Wasp Woman walked this area tending
graves in the yard. She was deformed, having a claw-like hand and
a hideous face which she hid beneath a makeshift black lace wasp bonnet.
She died sitting on a bench in the graveyard surrounded by the hum
and thrum of wasps and was only discovered, still sitting, three days
later. A corpse above ground watching over those below. The second Long/Short split. The Shorts turned right along the ridge, the Longs crossed the road, swung left (at this point Matt’s dog Jack swung right and nearly caused a pile-up), then ran downhill towards Lodge Hill Farm before joining a winding track heading parallel to the ridge, leading to Haw Lane opposite Dean Farm. We turned right and ran up an especially vicious hill, eventually regaining Bledlow Ridge, with lots of backs to keep us in check. A brief regroup (the Shorts had been here too) before descending through the woods to Bottom Road. Surely not another split Sam? We’d been out now for an hour and a half, the Longs who had disputed the route down through the woods had already disappeared along the road, oblivious to this final split, speeding towards the On Inn which was beckoning from about a mile away. “OK, another split” boomed the hare. “That way along Bottom Road is about 1.00003 miles, and the long way in the other direction is about 1.50002 miles”. Despite the usual mutterings and grumbles, most of us did take the long way home via Bottom Farm and The City before eventually heading downhill for the last time, through Popeye’s Wood, crossing Grange Farm Road and then a short sprint up to the Horseshoes car park. At this point Sam announced that the long route was approximately 0.23751 miles further than he had told us. How strange, perhaps his GPS gizmo had been affected by the cold? A piece of string and my Ordnance Survey map at 64mm/mile reported just over 5¼ miles, or 5.28125 miles in Sam-speak. No micro-hamlet is complete without a micro-pub and we packed the place like a tin of sardines. The GM collected the few remaining fines and charitable donations from the Christmas Party, then we all headed home along icy roads to wake up the next morning to a covering of snow. Thanks Sam for a very hilly and incredibly accurately measured hash, and for that comedy “All Back” which allowed Kerry’s cold bits to protrude to the fore. Next week’s hash is at the Bennet Pub in Horseshoes End. Or perhaps it isn’t
Run
No.
840 Oh! Deep joy my favourite part of hashing, writing the run report. But as this is hashing there's bound to be loads to write about knee deep shaggy; hashers in their droves, getting lost never to be seen again; impenetrable undergrowth, even Ray Mears would struggle with; sprained ankles, broken limbs, packs of rampaging dogs terrorising livestock and wildlife, even the weather forecast was in my favour - torrential driving rain. Thank god we are not a road running club, which only uses well lit urban areas on dry nights, what the hell could you write then!! As the hashers gathered, at The Old Oak Holmer Green, in eager anticipation, of to night's run, our hare, Peter Kettle steps forward. He quietens down the excited chatter and says “to nights hash is a bit different, a road run on well lit roads staying within urban areas thank goodness it's stopped raining!” (F**k). We had a choice of 3 routes, small, medium and large. The small 4 miles with 1 hill (much moaning from the mercurially challenged), medium 4.5 miles with 2 hills and the large 5.25 miles with 3 hills, and at some stage the now infamous Peter Kettle Hash Dash. The large route is part of Peter's regular training runs and should be done in 32 minutes, which would leave plenty of drinking time. To be fair Peter had given plenty of advanced warning the hash was going to be a road run. Knowing I would have my usual trouble with the write up and desperate for inspiration, I cheated and looked up Holmer Green on the web, the result, www.knowhere.co.uk. According to the Knowhere Guide “Best and Worst in Holmer Green” the worst things are The Old Oak and I quote “increasing numbers of yardies picking up little girls to sort crack!” (Helen be afraid, be very afraid.) Armed with this information I spent most of the hash looking for blacked out BMW's full of gangster's packing Mac 10s and Uzis, blasting out rappers Tupac and 50 cent. This does raise the question, was the trail of white powder we were following flour or another substance allegedly wildly available in Holmer Green and should Holmer Green be renamed Holmer Brown? On the plus side dodging bullets from the many crack dens would have kept the pace up. The route, which when viewed on a map took on the uncanny resemblance of a bong, led us round Holmer Green, via Beech Tree Road and Watchet Lane, passing the “yards” of the upwardly mobile Yardies!! We then turned into Widmer End along Brimmers Hill and then Cedar Avenue, Holmer Green Road onto the Amersham Road. By now the more astute hashers (Gerry) had noticed a flaw in Peter's preamble, the hill count which had already reached 3 and we were only half way round! The hash then head up Inkerman Drive, Pheasants Drive and Laceys Drive and to the Wycombe Road. The last 1 km was the Hash Dash, a loop round Orchard Way and Earl End Road, then back to The Old Oak. The very astute hashers (Gerry) took the opportunity, while Peter set his stop to sloop off to the pub, the rest of us had to sprint at 10 second intervals a round the Hash Dash. Back at the pub, I thought it best to stick to beer as asking for a coke and a straw in Holmer Green could lead to a very embarrassing situation!! That's assuming we would all get in the pub with it's many rules. Such as No swearing, No under 25's and No dogs, barring half the hash. (not all bad news, rule number 1 would keep the G.M.'s speech mercifully short.) It just leaves me to thank Peter for the bucket load of chips and setting a great hash or as they now say in Holmer Green “Wha gwan blood, nuff whole'eap respect for da irie hash tru der yard, it's a rah ting.”
Run
No. 839 Ah well now. There was nuttin going on in Hoirland – no take up on me very generous offers of cheap black top and the lucky heather sales were slow after the pre xmas frenzy. So I tought to myself Moichael it’s about time to do anudder hash so it is to be sure. So down to Wendover I goes in the Shamrock Green pocket rocket to foind tousands of udder hashers millin about in der cair park. Nice carsey I thinks, I’ll go for a waz. What sort of place is it dat has a bog all bootifully lit up but wiv a great steel door which is locked. Pog ma whoane !! Now der GM intros some shiny new hashers includin one reeled in by that lively colleen Jo and den dat noice lad Mattu gives us some words about der hash and den we’re off. I could still do with a Gypsy’s Kiss mind. Well now, we firtled about round the local housing estates (some drives definitely in need of some new black stuff) and got mildly abused by some of der local inbreeds before runnin across der bypass and out into der countyside. After most found out straight on was as bad as a pub without Guinness we all went rioght and started to slog up past some woody bit called Bacombe Warren to Upper (and bejasus it was rioght upper) Bacombe. On the way up t’der mountin top, Jo’s virgin tripped over a root and nearly got a mud pack to go wid his moisturiser. Dere was also a sound like a dog down at the bottom of the mountin so Saint Moichael slogged back down (a bit) to check it out. At the summit disaster stuck, worse than the insurance man turnin up wid his arrears book. Dat foin colleen Audrey done went and pulled a hamstring. So me, GM, Barney, Kerry, who’s just been to Hoirland on a sales trip tryin to shift some more lucky heather, and tousands more went back down the short cut past Low Scrubs and on and on and on down Bacombe Hill to der town. Now den, the rest is just hearsay, or as we say over the water filthy lies. The hash apparently took in the high altitude trail to Lodge Hill where, in soight of der Chequers estate and dem fancy camera tings the boys all dropped dere trousers to show the P.M. wat we tink of the increase in beer prices. Mattu now sent der hounds off to Coombe Hill, Wendovers answer to Everest, and at some point dat udder virgin Duncan did a Moose. Ah wee now what a shame ter get mud on dat noice new tracksuit. The monument was taken in on der tour just to make absolutely sure the troops were completely knackered before runnin ‘em down back to der top of Bacombe Hill and down past Hill End Farm back to der town. Now den. I have to say dat the pub was not the biggest. In fact oive seen bigger peat cutters carseys but never moind now. Der big girl behind the bar kept a noice pint and Mattu came up wid enough sandwiches to feed a hurling team on a day trip to Ballykilliekrankie --- and at last dere was a chance for a Gypsy’s. Well done Mattu.
Slanja
Run:
834 The second of January found us at “The Ugly Duckling” in Tatling End, which I don’t recall visiting before. This was to be our second run in two days, so it was pleasing to see so many people there, willing to subject their bodies to more punishment (or is this a trait that distinguishes HASHERs from normal people?). From the outset, there was a sense of urgency, heightened by the Hare pulling latecomers from their cars and pushing them on their way, shod or not shod. Shorts
were ushered along the A413 towards London, the rest in the opposite
direction into fields bathed in the rumble of the M25. There it was
evident that it had been raining all day as the grass underfoot had
the consistency of sponge. Unfortunately, no one had the decency to
affect a “moose” event and give me something to write
about. May be that had something to do with the fact that Moose himself
was absent and therefore not able to lead by example. All safely over, we slid down into the valley gouged out of the earth by the River Misbourne. Here, at least, there was some water flowing. Back at Great Missenden near the source, there are only dry pebbles and lollypop wrappers to mark its course. We clambered up the other side and entered the village of Higher Denham, which is the commuter belt for Denham Village, some 2 leagues hence. A few twists and turns along the roads brought us to Denham Golf Course Station and all became clear when the Hare announced that a train was due in 4 minutes. The pack split at this point into those that would ride the rails, and those that would yomp to Denham Village station. On-on we ran, alongside the track, feeling really proud of our progress until the train shot by and left us bedraggled in its wake. At the station, we were united once more, to then dive under the track and onwards along Pyghtie Footpath (how do you pronounce that word?). If the terrain seemed familiar, it was because we were re-treading part of the HASH set by the GM late last year, close to the 60 berth car park behind The Green Man pub. No time
for sightseeing though. There was a HASH to be hashed (?). Out along
village road, across the A412, across the A413 (more fast cars) and
into the tranquillity of the countryside. Blacksmith’s Lane,
Froggy Lane (what sort of occupation is a Froggy?) and Hollybush Lane
soon lay behind us. There, the offer of a short appealed to some,
the rest of us tottered along the edge of Gladwin’s Wood. At
some point in the recent past it must have been a very tranquil place,
but now was bisected by the M25. On our right we were joined by a
herd (15+) of very inquisitive hairy horses that galloped in time
with our own legs. I am glad that there was a fence between them and
us as I do not know how good their eyesight or brakes were. Thanks
to Mick who deserves a Hash Medal of Merit. He was out reconnoitring
and timing the route on Sunday, setting it on Monday, modifying it
on Tuesday afternoon before running it with us in the evening. The
timing with the train was just perfick. Even better, we missed out
the very, very, very long loop highlighted on Mick’s map.
Run
number: 838
The Children's Run: Roger also set a very short run for the children.
The under 10's were represented only by the Cooper girls, who navigated
their loop together with Dad. The runs I haven't added 'cos I was on holiday will be added over the next few days
Run:
834 The Hare Tells the Truth…..Mostly We assembled in front of the pub, and the hare gave the usual type pre-run instructions. Here’s a pub quiz. 1. Only
one of the following statements by the hare is false. Which one? 2. Again,
Rob told the truth, mostly. Which of his statements below turned out
to be false? 3. Compared
with Rob’s usual runs, this one was 4. The
food at the on-in was 5. Lenore
is taking this opportunity to (shamelessly) advertise a good Christmas
concert
Run
no 833 Unexpected
place at dog skool. I followed on about 5 minutes later, and soon caught up. In that 5 minutes the hash had progressed a full 150 ft, and what were they doing when I caught them up, resting! It was here, well I think it was here, that the Hash split into two, the long and the short. The shorts went straight on, and the longs went down the hill and back up again to join the shorts at exactly the same time (Ed’s note, that sounds like time travel to me did I miss a breakthrough?). All very impressive just like when the two parts of the London marathon join, But with only 1000th the impact. Still it makes a change, the short's usually slip off to the pub at this point, when there is no one watching. Gypsy Mick was having such a good time that it all got the better of him, he started talking about entering the Cardiff Marathon next year as he had heard that it was flat. Mick, it’s flat and 26 miles. If he's taking his medication he's not taking the correct dose. Of course I'm forgetting it's through the streets of the city, plenty of opportunity to sell some pegs on the way, and maybe the odd drive to tarmac. Now you may be aware of the dog obedience school that tacks on to the hash every week, the one run by Whipping Boy ..well it’s at this time that it becomes apparent the one of the charges has gone AWOL. After a count up it is revealed that Dexter is missing and a search is put into place. Meanwhile the rest of the hash has moved on and discovered a large hole in the middle of the woods. When I arrive Yob and Potter have already thrown themselves in, and Ewan (keen to show that driving his brother's VW camper is all about life style) is about to surf down the sides on his arse! All this after last week, acting as the perfect gentleman and clearing a wooded path of branches for Jo with his genitalia. (Ed, Ade seems to be implying that Ewan is clearing the path but that Jo has his genitalia, again, perhaps I missed it) What a man!! We move as one up through the woods to a road. Whipping Boy thinks that his school is intact, when it dawns on him that the wayward Dexter has cleared off again. Lots of calling and whistling results, good echo is discovered and trying it out on confuses the dog and sends him belting off in the wrong direction. He eventually returns with a long line of cars trailing behind him. Next bit is a long straight road with a large puddle stretching right across the road. This has been put there to run through, and run through it was, except the GM. and a couple of the committee I think. THIS IS JUST NOT ON and is setting a bad example to the younger and less experienced members like myself. Now that's the runs report done. But wait a mo, it’s Tosca night again, just as I thought that I had finished. Why it happens every time I have to write this stuff, no one reads this tosh anyway. Anyway in the pub it’s Tosca night like I said, and Rob decides to play a little jokey pokey on the GM. and makes out that he has forgotten to bring it with him, only just as the GM is about to burst a blood vessel at his stupidity he produces it from under his jacket. Oh Dear, teasing the GM is playing with fire let me tell you, there will be retribution have no fear. Watch this space. Any way guess who won the Tosca, Yes Ewan, the first member of the hash ever to snag his wedding tackle on a tree. Beat that. Well I expect there will be more next week, so set your alarm clock and make sure you're there early, Rob's going to die for his cheek and it should be good. Oh and by the way, I think a place in the dog school has become available. Good bye. What of Dexter's schooling? Well he's coming along…..
Moose’s
Birthday Run Dear Reader,
The Birthday Boy arrived in the rear car park with a smirk on his face. What were we in for tonight? Was it to be another vertical mud slide up to the Motorway? How many times would we go up and down the dry ski slope tonight? Do we get another lung searing grind up to the redundant Ercol Factory on the north of the valley? Was it to be another run along the toxic waste area masquerading as a stream? It was all the more surprising really, as all portents of a miserable night before us proved to be utterly wrong, - we had a cracking run over beautiful countryside - and at a fair clip too. Have you noticed that as Ade gets older, he has gained more of a gentle nature? Ade was kind to us before we even started having given the ‘Shorts’ the opportunity to split off from the pack at the entrance to the pub car park. However, trouble was brewing not far away. We might have seen it coming whilst being briefed, - had we been more astute. ‘Disaster on the M40 Motorway near High Wycombe’ Sally Traffic announced on BBC Radio 2. ‘M40 Carnage caused by excessive noise in a pedestrian underpass by rogue runners’ screamed the much read Wycombe Evening Sentinel. The next day. I’m told that a certain Mr Eddie Stobart, Mr Christian Salvesen and Mr Wincanton Logistics are about to sue the rowdy running crowd whose shouts and whistles distracted 3 of their drivers 30 feet beneath their haulage vehicles whilst driving along the motorway at 50mph. On On down to The Crooked Billet then back up through Bloom Wood, Warren Wood and onto Hard to Find Farm we went. It was superb canter on a Tuesday in November but, this must surely be a wonderful run in the summer. Please note the next Hare to volunteer for this area. Unlike the poor unfortunate Euan, who, half a mile later careered into a branch the width of a cricket bat handle and fell down on the ground clutching a private area iin agony. Now, Whipping Boy knows a thing or two about animal husbandry having inflicted several injuries to sheep on hashes before. ‘Wow, did you hear the noise of the branch breaking and shall I rub his Xxxxxxs for him’ he enquired? (Ed's note, after a quick look around to check that Lucy wasn't there a lady who will remain anonymous, (but if she wasn't anonymous would be called Jo) offered a similar service. Thinking quickly for once, I advised Whipping Boy to refrain from becoming a field hospital medic but I have to confess that I did hear the loud retort. On reflection however, I’m not so sure that the breaking noise ACTUALLY came from the branch itself, - but I’m sure that that is something that Lucy with verify with us next week when we recount the incident around the bar Now if you don’t already know it, Euan actually works with timber all day at the Wycombe University. How fitting therefore that this testicular injury will become the source of mirth with his work mates for the next week or so. It certainly proved to be the highlight of Ade’s run and we all hope that Euan’s voice will soon drop from falsetto. Back on down the hill to Chez Ade fortunately without the annual visit to Chernobyl Channel, - where jam doughnuts and beer awaited us. Thank you Ade and Gilly for your hospitality, but is it just me or does a mixture of sugar, jam and hops curtail or assist our running performance? -’cos the run back to the pub seemed to take forever. If Ade failed at all with his run it was observed in the assembled fraternity’s communal disappointment of not seeing the world’s most expensive mountain bike he has been telling us about for 3 weeks. Oh what a laugh we could all have had in testing it to loosen it up a bit. Now, having tried out Moose’s, - ‘new last year’, - carbon fibre, all singing, Sturmey Archered, £3million beast when I nearly split my tights on the upturned axe purporting to be a saddle, I was left wondering just how much sharper the upturned axe would be on his ‘new this year’ latest investment. Sadly Dear Reader
Ade, yet again, watched by his two sons and the rest of the Hash in
the pub,- what with senile dementia firmly setting in, - we found
that the Birthday Boy’s breath was so short and laboured that
he failed, several times, to blow out the two imaginary candles on
his imaginary cake that we failed to organise for him. All he could
manage was to ram a peanut up his nose whilst attempting to emulate
the well known bar trick of ramming a peanut up your own nose.
Date
14 November 2006 Roll
up, tune in, log on to “Drinkers in need”, the weekly
show that seeks to raise public awareness about the problems that
some drinkers have and that alcohol cannot fix. Tonight’s
venue is Denham, a quiet street by a quiet stream near a six lane
byway. David, and Miss L too, (a Xmas pun) chose this setting because
they hoped to irritate the Nimby-c nerve of the residents and so raise
awareness for the cause.
Date
7 November 2006-11-12 The hash started in the usual way – Roger explaining the rules followed by me checking in the wrong direction. Well, actually there was a twist – though I didn’t find any flour and had to turn back towards the pub (passing the window of a Chinese restaurant for the second time. There were two diners in the window, a man and a blonde – do remember these people as they turn up again). Half way back the pack started running in my direction – so I had to run back past the somewhat startled faces of the diners in the restaurant yet again. Then someone who will remain nameless (Phil Crooks) called us back again! – with me passing the diners for a fourth time. Only to find that I had been going the right way all along – so I turned around and ran past the diners for THE FIFTH TIME. I am sure the gentleman (who was a big bloke) was getting up to find out what I was playing at – but fortunately the site and sound of a screaming hoard of hairy hashers sent him scurrying back to his table, his date, his food and his reflections. After that the run went a bit downhill for me. It shouldn’t have done, as Roger had said it was totally going to be flat, but it did. (Aside, I actually counted three “totally flat” hills on the way around the 5.5 miles of the hash). We soon turned off the A40 onto the first of a series of roads. If we hadn’t, about a mile further along we would have arrived at the archaeological site of a Roman Kiln (at the appropriately named Kiln Court). But we didn’t, we turned right into the Spinny, followed by Wattlington Road, Butlers Court Road and Tilesworth Road before leaving the tarmac and heading into Wood Walk - named, presumably because it is a wood and you can walk through it (aside: on the same theory I wonder what the Butler was caught doing to have a road named after him?) Three roads further on came the Long Short Split and the shorties headed back to the pub. All of a sudden Helen came into her own – and started dashing everywhere at maniacal speed and dragging the pack reluctantly along behind her (usually falling further and further behind her). Some of the more sedate and august hashers (OK, slower) at the back started muttering things like “Nobble her”, “Cut her legs off below the knee” and “Time for a kneecap job”- but it was only talk (they wouldn’t have been able to catch her to do it anyway). Eventually we found ourselves in the high street and knowing where the pub was we headed back towards it – the entire pack following Helen yet again. This was a shame as Roger sneakily took us down to the railway station. The knowing hashers then realised that there were only two ways back – over the railway bridge or, as Ken elegantly put it “Bl****” miles in the wrong direction (yes, he has a way with words at times of stress doesn’t he). So over the bridge we went. With hindsight this too was a mistake, as we had to go back and go the other way! By now the back runners were beginning to flag – but we still had to run almost to the other side of Beaconsfield before doubling back and wiggling through the oldest part of the town. Because the buildings we passed were so old I decided to look up the history of Beaconsfield on the internet and was somewhat surprised to find that Beaconsfield was the scene of a minor gold rush in back in 1877 and “by1896 the mine reached depths in excess of 250 metres”. Soon after this it flooded and, although it was eventually pumped dry by the “Beaconsfield Pumpers …. the rising costs and equipment breakdowns were outweighing the revenue from gold recovered”. And if you think I just made that up here is the reference http://www.tco.asn.au/oac/community_history.cgi?oacID=29 Then it was back to the pub for a well deserved pint and the inner peace that only comes from knowing either you have had a good run or you don’t have to do it again for another 7 days!
Run
No 828 Those awaiting the release of the latest result of the now regular collaboration between legendary director Gerry Palmer and HWH3wood film studios have finally had their blood thirst quenched. In fact judging by the blood splats in the toilets, I would judge that many a vessel was filled to more than overflowing. Loosely based on the 80’s classic tale of human endeavour pitting man against man, Gerry’s ‘Chariots of Fear’ instead pits a lone runner against a motley crew of beasts and ghouls as a simple evenings hash turns into a night of torment and terror. Set in the gloriously spooky woods of Speen and Hampden the wonderful array of spectres and miscreants left nothing to the imagination, with fangs and fearful faces a plenty. Given the history of litigation against his last epic, the extent of Gerry’s plagiarism is even more risky than his most ardent fans have come to expect and his inclusion of characters lifted straight from the soon to be released remake of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre must rank as suicidal. However, his ability to seamlessly merge such diverse players as Martin Bell (suffering from a single gunshot wound to the head but still able to affect an admirable stride), an elf from Toytown and two female surgeons with an unhealthy desire for the open jugular is nothing short of incredible. Even Scooby’s shaggy made an appearance with a knife deftly slung straight through his temples. As the plot unfolded and the blood mixed with the untainted mud of the Chiltern Hills, it became apparent that Gerry had been unable to persuade the studios to part with the huge fees now demanded by the likes of Souper Cooper & Whipping Boy (fancy dress boys not women’s clothing). However, with only the three wolves available to him the fang count was still as high as we come to expect. Undeterred, Gerry was able to cast the GM in a multitude of characters ranging from highwayman to French maid (who’s a dandy highwayman now then) as the story took an excursion into local folklore surrounding a certain Master Cooper highwayman & nearby witches pond at Highwood Bottom. Refreshed on gory details and chuffing good brain fodder, the lone hasher attempted an escape by checking to the right, only to be pulled back into the fray for further scares as the ghostly Martin Bell momentarily became full bodied once again & swapped platelets with a blood soaked surgeon during an on back. As the troop emerged from the darkened woods onto a partially lit tarmac surface, Count Dracula and The Scream (appearance courtesy of some Danish museum or Police evidence room I forget which just now) along with other walk-on extras took fright at the alien running surface and scurried off back into the woods for more blood letting before dawn. Meanwhile the remainder of the characters (including Day-Glo pumpkin, Pumpkin head & Pumpup pumpkin) made their way from Turnip End down the valley to Guy’s Spring before things got really nasty and all hearts were ripped apart by a horrendous incline that left both Brother Fishnet and Ken’s ghoulish reincarnation getting close to being pierced through the heart by wooden stakes as the stiles fought back with vengeance. So, grim was the next passage in the story that the director even issued a voice over warning about the depth of the darkness approaching and the rattling of bones from the devilish skeletons proved particularly eerie, so the local landowners had installed totem poles and issued noise abatement notices to ward off the evil spirits aroused by Palmers film making. In my mind the
grand finale should have seen a regrouping of the full cast of creeps
& ghouls returning to their natural haunt to feast upon the flesh
of the lone runner, however this is probably something a bit too close
to my our personal fantasy & shouldn’t be expressed in this
hallowed page. Instead, once returned to their favourite hostelry
and with the hapless locals dispatched scurrying into their nearby
motor coaches in mortal fear of their lives. Palmer & the GM blew
a further few raspberries at the Hollywood establishment by conducting
their own mini Oscar ceremony amongst the ghouls whilst feasting upon
the fine flesh of potato and drinking the blood of hops. A fitting
end to one of Palmers best productions of late, unfortunately unless
any bootleg copies were made, this production copy has been seized
by lawyers representing the top five Hollywood studios and is unlikely
to see the light of day (or should that be dark of night) ever again.
Run
No 827 The Lions at
Bledlow is a famous old pub with the attraction of a humungous car
park excellent for our ever-increasing following.
Run
No. 826
There once was
a man called Palmer However, I never seem to learn from my mistakes and I opened the envelope only to discover…. There once was
a hasher called Barney The long and
short once again did part OnOn and OnOn
we went We ran on like
a rutting young buck The hare had
left us one surprise,
Well Done Barney and all this with not feeling well. Remind me not to turn up whe you are better, in Ken’s words “More flour lets give Tesco even more power!! Ed’s note (1) The long run
got lost, it turned and it tossed Ed’s note (2) As of always
our Lenore Then went back
- a whole five feet “Is there
“Kick me” on my back?
Run
Report No 1 (Yes, there are two this week!)
The Plough nestles amongst the beech woods at the foot of the Chilterns so there is really only one way to go. So it was no surprise when on-on was called in the general direction of up. Having myself subjected the hash to several stinking climbs the previous week there was considerable grumbling as we ascended the footpath at the side of the pub heading towards Whiteleaf Soon afterwards the hash split and the short cutters headed off in a downhill direction while we long cutters were subjected to an extended crippling gradient, eventually emerging on top of the hill overlooking the Whiteleaf Cross. On previous occasions Rob has taken the hash across the brow of the hill onto the cross itself (a huge carving in the chalk) and I was looking forward to seeing the fine views over Princes Greensborough and beyond when “on-on” was called and we plunged back down the hill and into the wood again. Further down the hill we came to the cricket field were we met the short cutters again. The hare then proceeded to give them a dressing down for not waiting back at the golf club as intended. Anaracistic lot those short cutters not like us law abiding long cutters! Time to climb some more hills so off we all went through some twisting footpaths until we came to the road which was Whiteleaf hill. We were now below whiteleaf Cross and crossed the road to climb the hill on a footpath parallel to the road. It was a hard slog but we eventually gained the top of the hill after crossing back over the road once more again just missing the fine views over Princes Risborough. From here it should have been downhill all the way back to the pub, but hashing isn't like that especially with Rob as the hare. He sent us down the hill then up again on false trails and climbs that had everyone climbing hand over hand with numerous on backs until eventually we arrived back at the pub tired and weary. Good hash Rob maybe a little more flour next time would be good. Run Report No 2 Date
Tuesday 10 October Set off from home, on time and went via Naphill, Walter's Ash (don't ask) and West Wycombe, to Cadmore End. At The Ship Inn, the car park was remarkably empty. No matter, there is another pub up the road. Up the road we went. One Pub. No Hash. Maybe we're where we're not meant to be? Quick call home. Push sprog off MSN and find that we should be in Cadsden. Moral. Never trust your memory of an indistinct conversation with the hare to be. Called Karen. She, being a bright girl, had come to the same conclusion as my party. Not enough time to get to Cadsden. Why not have a live, flourless, HASH of our own? Good plan. Off to the Old Sun. Obligatory wee stop then off we went. Karen lead the way as it is her local area, adapting one of her dog or kiddie walks for the occasion.
Run
No. 824
Run
No. 824 Eds Aside - 43 runners - Our biggest hash ever bar the children's runs! Unaware (or possibly forgetful?) of the rule that last week’s hare is the next week’s scribe, a combination of late from work and failure to use my GPS this week, resulted in me arriving too late to find pen and paper to take notes for the Hash Trash diary, so details may be lacking this week! In fact it was only through the generosity of Beverley and Roger, who valiantly stayed behind to guide me that I caught the trail at all! However, to the event itself. Firstly, our special thanks must go to Aud and Ryan, who valiantly overcame their wounds and injuries from the Chiltern marathon run and walk combination to organise a hash without using either quad bikes or zimmer frames to assist them! Starting from the wonderfully scenic village of Hambledon, (which was new to me – has it ever been used as a film set?) the pack trotted off into the woods, chatting away as hashers do - after a busy day at work and with the thought of plenty of exercise to clear the mind and help develop a thirst for proper beer in a proper pub in a proper village in our fine land! Amongst the stories recounted that night, was the saga of our illustrious GM and his recent marathon coast to coast cycle ride – 145 miles and various injuries over the course of 4 days if me ears and memory have served me right – good stuff David! The evening’s outing also provided rocket man, alias Peter Kettle, with the opportunity to conduct running negotiations with various volunteers and conscripts regarding our entries for the impending Clarendon marathon relay – dashing back and forth along the line of hashers, he cajoled and informed various members of their opportunities and/or duties, prior to later handing out full details, in the pub garden, whilst we recuperated from our exercise. But I get ahead of myself – with a turn out of about 40 runners, including even more virgin hashers or arrivals from other packs this week, we fielded a long string of runners who enjoyed the usual choice of long and short runs, with an intermediate split added later on. I intended to ask Aud for a map, to find out where we went, but I became so engrossed with Clarendon negotiations in the pub garden (“OK Peter, I will run a leg, but don’t forget I don’t do hills, so can I run a flat leg?”) that I forget to do so and I remain woefully ignorant of where we ran, including where the secret long/short split took place – I say secret because a large group of hashers stood nattering at a check in the wood for some time before we realised that Aud was no longer with us and someone asked if she had got lost, but a rough head count suggested that she had set of with the shorts, who were too modest to call goodbye!
Date
: 19
September2006 There can be no doubt that a lot of thought went into planning the run – also a GPS as, upon asking for a map I was also given a very impressive colour-coded print out of all 20+ checks, all complete not just with detailed co-ordinates and directions, but also with actual height above sea level! So we started off at 99 ft above sea level and went up 5 ft before we got to the first check point – which confused me as I had thought it was downhill. I eventually realised that there was a little bump at the end, so it actually worked out quite well. A left turn at Yew Tree cottage and an interestingly called “Straight on to the left” took us to Andrew Hill Lane (height 166 ft) where I overheard the question “Can you ever get tired of sleeping?” Sadly as I was checking I didn’t hear the reply. Through Little Wood and on to the first of a series of regroups where, at the third, the shorties left us and headed due south through Summerlins Wood. The brave and intrepid Long cutters pressed fearlessly on around the back of Burnham beeches. By the 8th check we had risen to a stunning 379 ft, each one of which I could feel in my legs. Lots of comments about the lack or Park Rangers as they normally tell us off when we run through the Beeches. Somewhere around here Jo, who on last week’s run had told us all about the things she was prepared to do in bed, continued with a very graphic account along a similar theme, this time about things she liked to do in her car, many of them involving her top. When she realised that it was my turn to do the write up I think her comment was “Oh God, I’m sunk” We descended to a regroup at a mere 287 ft somewhere in the middle of Staplefurze Wood. I looked up this wood on the internet hoping to discover why it had such a strange name. There is exactly one mention of it on Google – and that was on our own website and a run we did earlier in the year! We
skirted uphill around Egypt Wood reaching one of the highpoints of
the run (406ft), (aside, what do you call a mean Ancient Egyptian
leader? Un-fair-oh, before descending through the next four checks
down to 148 ft. Here we joined Dukes Drive in the Beeches and had
to run all the way back up to 384ft by the next check. Lesley did
her usual uphill sprint and Roger informed me that he had been slightly
offended by last week’s and the slur it cast on engineers –
so especially for him:- The second condemned person is a revolutionary agitator, the lever is pulled and again the blade doesn't stays up. He cries out: "The revolution cannot be stopped!" and he is pardoned. The third condemned man is an engineer. He looks up, points and says, "I think your problem is the cable is sticking right there..."
The hash got of to an interesting start. Our bearded Hare for the evening arriving 5 minutes later than everyone else had, in his absence, raised hopes of an early pint. Alas, out of the gloom he appeared just as several hands were reaching for wallets. A good start? It was to get better. Off we trotted, down a road I don’t know the name off, to a track heading off towards somewhere else, heading in a decidedly downish direction. The only sound drifting through the thick evening air was, as usual, Ade – heartily rejoicing Helens absence as he was under the impression that this would make the run easier. Not so, the glee was replaced by a flight a steps leading, according to the map, to nowhere. With On-Ons replaced by strangled moans the hounds limped of into some woods, somewhere. At this point it is customary to describe the remaining route. That’s not going to happen I’m afraid, and it’s not my fault. I challenge anyone to look where they’re running and eavesdrop on a conversation along the lines of: (female identity
hidden due to the personal nature of the conversation) With this off I ran, fingers in ears. Eds note - Ewan missed the best but was when the un named lady (Jo) said "I'll do anything in bed provided I can get to sleep eventually Through the woods we went, to some fields, between here and there, and over a couple of fences, over which a kind farmer had installed a sturdy style stile. Resting on said fence furniture, catching its slimy breath was a dainty little snail. Dick, monopod lover at heart, cried “Mind the snail” at exactly the same time the Alex’s foot landed with a heart wrenching ‘crunch’. So incensed by this act of savagery was Dick, I fear it no coincidence that when Alex took a high speed moose (smashing his torch and grazing his knee, with the face saved by beard alone) it was he stood behind him, with a strange look in his eye, and a smile beginning to curl around his lips. Moral of the story; Do as Dick says. This vicious encounter also coinsided with the second long short split, and those who did not want to risk the ‘Snail Mans’ wrath took a left that led somewhere, presumably back to the boozer. Those braver souls headed up, up, up up and away. After running in a uppish fashion for seemingly far further than possible the faint glow of the pub was visible, and with that came the on inn. Back in the pub was the usual eerie quiet often associated with full moons, the witching hour and GM’s holidays. It came upon Gerry to break the spell to announce, in her absence, Helens Birthday and 50th run. Always seemed a nice girl, but nothing compared with her twin sister (the one with the glasses and cardigan) what a looker! Ade upset the barman (surprised?) by leaning on the fish tank, and then telling everyone else, in his usual quiet and conservative manner, not to follow suit. Helen rounded off the evening by possibly arriving as late as possible, drinking a half, and being informed that her left breast was the most sought after slice of cake. Good firm cake it was too. Getting a lift home with Jo, I can confirm that her car seats are dry, so it is not the soft top that drips… All in all the sort of fun that you look forward to every Tuesday, now that the Bill is not on. Cheers Hare
Date
: 5 September 2006 Every now and
then on a HASH, we set a first. And last Tuesday’s HASH, from
the Black Lion in Naphill, was such an occasion. Two virgin hares,
the Brown girls, Lucy and Rewana (pronunciation silent R, silent a). At Piggotts Wood, shorts went left with Lucy, and the longs went astray with the lady in a red dress. We paused to admire the view down the valley, which is magnificent on a summer’s day, but had to be imagined when we passed by. There followed
a long stretch through Piggott’s Wood, with Bryant’s Bottom
below us on the right. As we ran, we could hear a loud and raucous
bellowing coming from the field beside us. It seemed to follow us.
Some likened it to a flock of grizzly bears, others to football hooligans.
However we were wrong. A newly thirty-something female informed us
that we were listening to the demanding sound of un-sated heifers.
The look on her face suggested she had just come back from holiday.
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