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ARCHIVED TRASH -Q2 2008
The crowd gather from near (for Nick) and mostly far to make it to this lovely countryside run. Weather was fine. This hash and the hash from the previous week were the two hashes with the longest amount of daylight this year. Don't think about needing torches again so soon.
A long/short split took shortcutters back to the pub, and long cutters down and up a steep hill and back to the pub. Summer weather by British standards found the hash sitting outdoors for their drinks and chips (thank you Roger.) David partially did his awards last week. The popular countryside location also attracted a biking club to the same pub. Thanks for a good run. So a respite from Red Lions on 1 July, until our next Red Lion run on 8 July.
Run 914 Recycling is all the rage these days, if you believe the media, as is the wearing of second-hand clothes, which is chic. Congratulations, therefore, are due to Lenore (and Ken) for achieving both worthy aims with her run from the Red Lion in Coleshill, the second episode in the “Red Lion” Trilogy. This won't mean much to those of you that did not run with SH3 at the beginning of June, again set by Lenore, but starting from a car park in Hodgemoor Wood instead. The HASH went down hill almost as soon as we set off, running along the dual carriageway by the side of the pub that doubles both as public right of way and open drainage ditch. The latter was good for a few grumbles. Onwards and down along path CO2 which forms part of the Chiltern Way at this point followed by a rabbit like dash across the A355. All the Hashers survived without injury. A short jog uphill (still on CO2) and the going became rather more treacherous. Rabbits: badgers: meerkat. In fact, any creature that could dig seemed to have practised around the trail, so the air was blue with “hole-root-hole” cries until we had slowly passed by, injury free I might add. On our left was Brentford Grange as we regrouped and exchanged stories. Strange name as we were not near Brent, nor water, and building looked grandiosely like a common or garden farm. But hey, what's in a name? On we went, although there seemed to be some disagreement between hare 1 and hare 2 about the route, but the two parties both came together after 200m it hardly seemed to matter. We came to Bottom House Farm Lane named I guess in the days when “it does exactly what it says on the tin”. Now it would be called “Gardenia Avenue”. Strangely, there is an Upper Bottom and a Lower Bottom House Farm. I wonder how that came to be. Anyway, no time to ponder. Right into Hales Wood, across Bottrells Lane into Hodgemoor Wood. On the map, the wood is criss-crossed with a plethora of ants' tracks. Which ones we went on I do not know, so fast forward to the old “Magpies” pub, since re-named Beefeater Shangri-La (or something). Up Magpie Lane (still called Magpie Lane, not changed to suit the pub) and right for a loop around Bower's Farm. Here we saw five strange animals that I have since decided are Alpaca.
And the one below isn't an Alpaca, but a Hasher having feasted on beer and chips.
Ongar farmed flashed by to our left. Owlsear Wood was a blur then we finally turned for home. At Herfordshire House (ask Gerry about this if you dare) we went right on tarmac towards Sampson's Hill. Here we enraged a local (ie London Banker). His dogs started barking. Our dogs started barking. Some hashers stared howling. The local glared in that “there-are-thirty-of-you-and-only-one-of-me-so-I-won't-argue-but-I-didn't-pay-£2m-for-this-house-to-be-disturbed-by-oiks” sort of sour lemon look. Up the hill and sort of straight to the pub without the long loop we ran with SH3. Once beered, the one-eyed-cake cakes were passed around but they didn't survive long. Ade saw to that (it's a pun). Next week (which is today as you read it) those that make it will run with Pride along the Mane Street of Peppard, last of the trilogy. There, I've used up all the lion jokes (Ed’s aside - Roger, you missed the Main one!). Thank you Lenore (and Ken) for a very scenic run.
Run 913 Being my first “hash-write-up”, I wasn’t really sure where to begin. Yes ok, one would usually begin with the wholly amusing events that occur in the car park before the run begins, but there was no car park, forcing many dedicated hashers to scatter, squeezing their cars, or bikes, into any gap they could find, and ‘legging it’ to the pub to start. I got a lift with Jo, to whom I , apparently, lost my convertible-virginity - as she was the first to give me a ride in a car with its roof down (no innuendos intended!). (Ed’s aside, All those people who thought Pocket would get it off with Jo put your hands up … Thought so!) We set off swiftly, guessing and following roads, but quickly, the run became more scenic as we made our way into the first set of woods. Upon entering, Mike had an intimate moment with an unlucky, and rather surprised, female, passer-by. Being a gentleman, he held the gate for her, but was most disappointed he received no phone number in return. Outrageous! We headed on and it became increasingly apparent that Graeme gained immense pleasure out of giving on-back after on-back, metre after metre. At multiple points in the run, everyone got a chance to do an on-back. I mean, I’m not used to it but even I spent a large majority of the run nearer the back of the pack, only rarely finding the energy to suddenly show off my signature rocket boost. This lack of energy was mostly due to the weather. We shouldn’t complain, but it was so hot, that fellow hashers were becoming more and more exhausted, and as a result, even more brain-dead… impossible! After crossing our first large field, we reached another wood line and proceeded up a steep track, which we thought would just contain another series of high-numbered on-backs. When we reached the top however, it was a false trail, and we were forced to turn back on ourselves. We headed the ‘correct’ way continuing under the cover of trees, Graeme quoting, “This would be a nice view, if there weren’t trees in the way”. We reached a check overlooking a pond, I must admit, the woodland scenery was pretty awesome. We carried on, only to realise Graeme had added an almost complete double-back to the route, unsubtly, which Mick and Barney almost saw through, when they discovered flour directing us the other way while the hare was giggling that he sent the pack on a false trail. We headed ‘up’ the woods, meeting no less than 6 further on-backs,. I kept hearing high-pitched squeaking noises, calling Cassie’s name. It could’ve been Lesley, and it could’ve even been David. It turned out, Helen had been put in charge of Cassie, and was doing a grand job, not that the hound needs much looking after. We eventually decided that whoever had the great responsibility of looking after Cassie would be appointed temporary GM, but this was not to Helen’s knowledge thankfully. Heading up through the woods, we eventually reached the open again and headed across another huge crop. Graeme stopped, and gave us long runners the something extra we needed to regain our attention, that had almost all gone by this point. We were sent another quarter of a mile up to view a mine! It sounded spectacular, and would’ve been, if you find piles of sand in a pit, fascinating, like Gerry, who seemed to know an awful lot about the stuff. We then went a little further, to discover a much larger, more amusing “mine”, and it was at this point, Indiana Jones sprung to mind, after just watching the latest film. The pit was filled with wet sand, acting much like quick sand. The more childish of the hashers began throwing rocks in to see how far they sank, and pushing each other down the slope, risking almost certain death. I deny being a part of this… cough. After our short digression, we were back on track, and I was yet again reminded of Indiana Jones, by the huge amount of roots and trees we had to avoid in the next wood, much like a jungle from the film. The trek back was a long one, and at the long-short split, the longs were told there was only another one and a half miles to go, which didn’t sound bad. However, it seemed to go on forever, as the trail, with thousands of on-backs, continuously teased us with views of the pub, setting Ade off with another rendition of “I can see my house from here”. We were then forced to run back uphill again before finally reaching the on-in, after even more on-backs. Thanks Ann and Graeme for a great run, and for picking the weather so well!!
Run 912 The whole of the Hash had been eagerly anticipating an enthralling run following two days of unrelenting stair rod rain. The gathering in the car park of the well-known Yew tree pub was as usual happy and jolly, welcoming at least three virgin Hashers. However little did they know that this Hash was to turn out into a white-knuckle ride of unanticipated scope, read on dear Hasher. The pack set off in full cry to the right straight into the empty lift shaft of a distinct lack of flour anywhere. Our heart went out to Audrey after it became apparent that the rain has dissolved every trace of flour anywhere. So on we went using Audrey’s maps to guide us. Tracey said that this Hash only needed one word to describe everything and I must but agree along with every Hasher there that that word is Shiggy. To the Virgin Hashers it was carefully explained that this meant mud. There might have been muddier Hashes but this was thick ankle deep mud everywhere on every path.
'What a twerp' I thought to myself as I got out of my car Gene Hunt style at the back of the Dashwood Arms. This is of course my usual reaction to seeing Gerry, but today I had even more justification than usual. Thanks to some overly lateral thinking involving chicken wire, face paint and a cowboy hat he looked, as he oh so nearly said, like a twerp on at least three different levels. (Ed's aside - he went as Wyatt Erp- or Wire Twerp or Way a twerp) Roger's Bent Copper outfit seemed almost obvious in comparison. There was a fine array of other costumes as well: The owner of High Wycombe's premier fancy dress shop had come in a different car whilst wearing a bowler hat under the impression that this made him a dead ringer for a criminal Noel Coward. The GM did a particularly effective Lord Lucan by disapearing off to South Africa (Ed's aside, actually it was a pub near the gates of Missenden Abby)again (possibly with Lesley playing the part of his nanny because she wasn't there either) (Ed's Aside -she had a doctor's note - either a foot infection or gout). There were several Plods - but that's the short cutters for you. PC Tracy and 'special' constable Andy laid down the law and we made our escape. (Darn - why did nobody come as Dick Tracy, even I could made a joke out of that). Anyway - we made a right out of the car park towards West Wycombe. A quick false trail up one hill and then over the road and up the hill on the other side (let's face it, we weren't expecting a flat run.) The path up the hill was more of a trial than a trail involving as it did the cruel and unusual punishment of breaking rocks just by treading on them. A right at the top of the trial took us through Cockshoots Wood (there's a crime related headline right there) and then pausing only to admire Ade's house we ran back down through the fields towards the garden centre. Helen was first to reach the bottom of the fields and I was er.. least first. Technically I think Dick was behind me but I'm a bit wider than he is so he didn't get spotted. Our 'punishment' for being at opposite ends of the Hash was to run the next three checks handcuffed together. Apart from a slight disagreement on which side of the road to run on we coped with suspiciously practised ease. Once we'd been unshackled it was over Chorley Road and into the woods where we had a slight detour for a false trail before emerging at the Cope ancestral pile. There was no one home though, so instead of all going in for a nice cuppa it was back over Chorley Road where Simon filled us in on his time as paper-boy for the 'head in the freezer' house. Apparently he didn't get a Christmas bonus. Then it was upwards and upwards as we made the long drag back up the hill. At the top Ade looked quite the picture as he trotted off into the sunset in his bowler hat. He came back again though. Finally we went back down the rock-breaking trial trail again to the bottom of the hill where there was a healthy on in back to the pub. The bag of swag for best outfit went to Tom who'd lugged a DVD player round the whole route. I wonder if he can claim on his insurance - reasonable wear and tear surely? The chips went to everyone (all right mostly me). Thanks Tracey and Andy - I'm sure the force was with you.
Run No 910 Still awaiting Ade's scribe...? (Ed's Aside Depite teh fact I twisted my ankle, everone said it was a really good run)
Run No 909 Aylesbury’s Ring, and Mr Blobby We met in the Red Lion Hotel car park with a few things on our mind:
Eventually Ade showed up fresh from setting the trail and briefed us on the delights ahead. “Well done to all of the Marlow 5’ers” said Ade, and continued “tonight, a hash with a difference – a run around Wendover that’s flat rather than hilly”. “We’ll believe that when we see it”, muttered the increasing gaggle of runners and riders and dogs. Punch was on fine titifilarious form and had his wife Judy laughing at his jokes at least twice. On-on up the High Street (doesn’t that lead to the vertical ascent up to Coombe Hill?) before looping back behind the parade of shops and meeting at the first check opposite the road leading uphill to Halton Camp (wasn’t this supposed to be flat?). After a few more twists and turns and ducking and diving we dropped down onto the towpath beside the Grand Union Canal, Wendover Arm. Built in 1793 to supply water for the locks at Marsworth and Cowroast, we were all relieved to learn that we would now be following the 390ft contour line towards Tring. Lots of “oohs” and “aahs” as families of baby ducks scattered to the opposite banks as we trundled past. The next check had us clambering up from the towpath and running for a few hundred yards down Halton Lane before a long/short split. Now there’s something you don’t see every day of the week – a local resident proudly flying a Blue Star of David Israeli flag at full mast in their front garden. The Shorts headed off towards World’s End, the Longs turned into a nature reserve in the woods beside Aylesbury Sailing Club. No sailing tonight, just a few lonely and miserable fishermen waiting for their luck to turn, exchanging tales of the ones that had got away. “Mine was about this long and this thick”, gestured one of them with his hands. “Oooh” said Helen and Jo. Right onto World’s End Lane, then we branched right again to run through some immaculately manicured allotment gardens before emerging left onto Church Lane at Weston Turville. “Mr Blobby used to live here”, whispered those in the know. For a brief few hundred yards we followed the route of the Bearbrook 10K, then we turned right to run across the fields past Clinkers farm, across the Wendover Road, past Hideaway Farm and then carefully clambering over the railway lines with a Royal Mail sorting office on our right. “On on right into this field” yelled an FRB. “No no no no” the hare eventually yelled. We had been fooled by an encrusted lump of guano resting teasingly on the stile. So we turned left instead, now heading south roughly parallel to the railway line, crossing Nash Lee Road, ascending a few metres to reach Wellwick Farm. “That was my first hump of the evening,” Jo gasped under her breath, she thought out of earshot of the pack. The lights of Wendover were beckoning in the near distance, and we ran along the Aylesbury Ring, over the footbridge next to Wendover railway station, and a final quick sprint along Dobbins Lane to the very welcome On Inn. “About 6 miles,” said Ade as we settled into the warm fug of the Red Lion Hotel drinking our beer and eating our chips. A local chap at one end of the room invited us all to enter the Coombe Hill Run, but he had a hard time making himself heard above the hash banter and tails of derring-do from last week’s Marlow 5. “Of course I could have gone a lot faster if it hadn’t have been so hot” was a common refrain. Well they all say that don’t they. Thanks Ade for our first ever flat run around Wendover and some nice chips.
Preserving Mick’s MOT Certificate Run No 908 Mick’s Run. What were we in for tonight? - we thought. Bet it’s a cracker. What our virgin Hasher Dan and newly returning Anthony must have thought at our Car Par antics remains to be seen, if indeed they ever turns up again. Basically Mick here’s some advice, - it’s false economy to buy a cheap geen car. So here’s my in depth and highly researched report of the Run. First if all though here’s a:- Warning to All HWH3 Hashers
How to Jack up a Wheel
As to the Run. As I said, - What run? However, I did find out that our newly returning derrière sufferer had been bragging about her amorous encounter with a Fat Turkish Masseur, and that most of the slow runners were found skulking outside a pub on their third pint of Pride when I arrived. Apart from that, I can’t tell you much about it. That loud mouthed guy in the pub was good value though. Hey, - The Hash should ask him to make a speech every week. Well done Mick, a good run, a friendly landlord and lovely chips. PS. Get yourself a Citroen Deux Cheveux, or even a Noddy Car like Moose, - they never get punctures!
Date 29th April 2008 Mike Gilbys 4th Memorial RunWET WET WET! Torrential rain greeted our arrival at the pub car park and continued to persist as our hare GM David briefed us about his preparation of the evenings trail.Great to see Mike Gilby’s commemorative plaque is still there to rekindle the memories of HWH3 founder years and his characteristic leadership. Surprisingly the hash started with a choice of short or long trails,- many choosing to warm up on a brisk long sprint over the fields at the rear of the pub whilst a few with the hare squelched along the lane to Bovency Wood Lane. More surprises when we met a group of walkers sensibly attired with umbrellas and delighted to see similar fools braving the heavy storm for no apparent reason, - but hey! Who needs a reason! Eventually reaching a sharp bend in the lane a footpath took the trail straight on across fields and into woods. No sign of the long trail hashers we half-heartedly checked for the on-on until the hare told us to follow the path though the wood until you come to Harehatch Lane turn right and left into a field in search of a flour trail towards a farmyard full of horse boxes that turned to be Jennings Farm. Continuing through the woods we arrived at a road where it was marked as a regroup to wait for the rest of the hash. It had stopped raining and was turning out to be a bright spring evening, after five minutes recounting where and when we had been here before the rest turned up with Gerry nursing a spiked heel due to mooseing (falling) onto barbed wire .Taking a little time to greet everyone the trail was swiftly checked out and called up Green Common Lane. This turned out to be a long uphill pull with many of the FRB’s being sent to the back en-route to the next check and another choice of short or long trails. The long trail skirted around a field before joining the shorter route at the edge of a wood emerging at Hicknham Farm close to the main road between Beaconsfield and Taplow. We all regrouped to cross the road into Boveney Wood and on-on around numerous tracks that were formed by logging operations we emerged the other side of the wood on Abbey Park Lane recognised as the way I had arrived at the pub that evening. A short trot back the way we had started and we were back at the Blackwood Arms whilst the long hashers were once again sent across fields to arrive the same way they too had left the pub from the fields at the back. The Blackwood had an excellent drop of Breakies and mounds of tortias. It being “Tosca” night David was on form and recalled many of this month’s misdemeanours.
Venue:- Harrow, Hughenden As most of yee folk know, neestled behind this ere pub is one of the darn steepest and longest of hills in them thar Chilterns and trusting that we couldn’t surely be be conned into slogging it up the escalator at the such an early stage in the nights proceedings, I duely checked along the road for the first flour blob of the evening. Nah, no such luck, someone had either upset Barney in a previous life or his sadistic streek was taking a walk down mean avenue for the day. So, off we toiled onwards & upwards, rewarded by a few of our canine friends deciding that the climb was weigh too much and deeming that a certain load shedding was called for half way up, nice. True to form the view was indeed nearly worth the effort and at the juncture the shorts split whilst us longuns on onned past Pipers Corner School and down (yes that is down already) to Bass Lane Farm, where the sound of other canines and humans out enjoying themselves set the local dogs off in near vocal implosion. The longs & shorts now lovingly reunited by confusion & chaos sprinted across a field bathed in evening glow to quickly find that Barneys hatred for all thing houndlike was to lead us up hill again along Trees Road. Unfortunately for Mike, struggling along at the back of the pack I decided to vent my anger at falling for such a long back check down hill by ordering him to carry me back up piggy back style, apparently he doesn’t like the weight of Dick pounding into his back.. Now you’ll understand his fagged out expression once he reached Coombe Lane. Soon after reaching the lofty heights of Na Phill at the top of Coombe Lane, the longs, shorts and mediums got suitably confused and separated once again. Barney’s malice boiled over into a swift trek along a lane sweetly laced by the recent passing of a very ripe and leaky muck spreader (t’was a warm evening an all), luckily us longs soon had our extra loop licked & rejoined the jibbers jaunt on Hunts Hill Lane before sidling around the backside of Na Phill pausing for a wee detour down some poor unsuspecting driveway and eventually emerging by the fun of the fair on the playing fields. Not content with sending us up hill, down dale and through all sorts of shiggie over the course of the evening Barney still had one more long loop which mercylessly (try saying that with a lisp) scraped the edge of the woods of ‘ever so easy to get totally lost in’ Na Phill Common before rejoining the actually lost shorties in Little Stocking Wood. By now we had hills in our rhythm and a heady mixture of waste products in our nostrils, so the last uphill struggle past the stench of mounds of mature cow manure did little to curb our spirits & soon the much welcome down hill, on inn shone out like a beam of glistening sunlight. Cheers Barney – apart from the up hills the rest (what little was left) was a really nice run.
Venue TheSquirrel @ Booker All ye are that are lame, halt or just plain dim, welcome to HW3. Two new disabled categories should now be added. Ye enraptured adolescents that are sore afflicted by being joined from lip to hip and ye that are slightly older but confined to hanging about the back door in the rain at the end of the run as if ye were reluctant Salvation Army members – yea, be welcome also. In Ryan’s case, just as well he is Kaivalya’s Siamese twin. Though all 14 of the other short route Hashers returned with mud on their shoes, Ryan found a spot that sucked his right leg in it up to his crotch. Without the join, we’d have lost him altogether. Mum Audrey was so grateful to Kaivy (last seen eagerly licking Ryan’s good leg) that she stripped off to the god of dark evenings to reveal a camisole blazing incandescent white in the cloud covered night. Was the scribe the only wise man to be drawn uncontrollably to this holy vision. Thank you indeed, Mother Audrey of the Night for displaying your better points. Further misbehaviour earlier in the run from the opposite end of the age scale. In full twilight, Andy was seen to don a battered pair of pince-nez before turning on his bedside night light. Even with his back turned, he made it obvious that whatever he was groping about for in his voluminous track suit bottoms was not small change. Not wishing to turn into prostate groupies, we older men averted our gaze only to meet those of the older ladies taking more interest than was healthy in Andy’s bottoms searching. “’Es gorra map!” one of the ladies shrieked with the fire of witch burning blazing from her eyes. To happier times on the trail. What an education it is to be in Helen’s company! To find a shared passion for dogs – I quite felt that I’d turned into Mark as Helen freely shared tales of her Labradors that so please her husband by burying all manner of organic material in his (their?) ex-pristine lawn. I now know that Labradors love fruit and veg and, without training, can run off with a sealed plastic bucket of fat, remove the lid and feast on the contents until the bucket is ready for a refill. Fitting then that we came across a piece of Aboriginal flour art that looked like a horizontal figure 8. The hash elders gathered to work out which part of Helen’s anatomy these two perfectly formed circles represented. Given that dear lady’s extended period on her back, the elders were rapidly steered from guessing the obvious when Helen drew their attention to the lack of nipples (on the art work, not the lady herself). “Must be her ears”, came the disappointed conclusion. A second disappointing conclusion was the pub’s lack of a catwalk for Sam to parade his 400th run T-shirt (“When Sam can, you can”) and Barney his birthday T-shirt (“The Beer Hunter”). A third disappointment – by 1030, Dick had disappeared as had the chips (though technically they had failed to appear in the first place). A chip for every blob of flour would have tided the Hash over to the weekend. Great run, Dick: lousy catering. The Long cutters: It seems that the long-cutters had the privilege of an extra two miles, plus a run around the airfield, of “GM running down the runway fame”. Oh and a whole set of footpats (and yes, the spelling is correct) with more shaggy than you can throw a stick at (assuming that you wanted to throw a stick at it in the first place). We were also introduced to an unusual HH stop in the tunnel under the motorway, which seemed to stand for a “Hash Howl” which was greatly enjoyed. Infact Ade went on enjoying it with copious additional yells while the rest of the pack were already half way across the next field. Where did the run go? You’ll find the answer in Andy’s track suit bottoms (but don’t pick your teeth afterwards).
DOUBLE VALUE Run No. 904
Run No. 904 Allo me luvvelies. Squire Palmer asked yers truly to say summat ‘bout the run last Toosdie set by thet nice yoong milk maid Jo. I tink the Squire be a diggin over his patch in th’ope ev findin gold bracelets or summat. T run wers frem The Crown at ‘Azlemire – that zider house wiv a big car park but nowhere to put yer tracter init. Anyhwo, I turns up and put me old Intrernational next ter Roger, who has one ‘o dem fancy nue topless tracters. Talkin ‘o nue, me old mat Barneys only gorn and got iself a brand spanking one and rite nic tis to although I couldn’t sea where the plow fits orn to it. Jo and a foo udders was in the church car park but I’s don’t like parkin anywear relijus ‘cos I go down the zider house on Sundey instead. After some rite nice werds bout flower and such, Jo sent us orf down an alley facin the zider house to some fancy lane called Pine Hill and den rite along anudder fancy road wiv sum mighty nice lookin farms and barns, called Manor Road. Didn’t see no manor tho. Now it’s no wunder there ain’t no peeleres ‘bout ‘cos thems all sleepin here. We wers up and down like farm hands after a bad jug of ale. Rite long pull it were two till wees got to a joinin place were we were sent rite by Jo ventualy. Turned out der woods was at ter bottam, these bein Kings Woods tho I’ll wager my pigs tackle there ain’t not niver been no King ere. Jo says to us ders a lang short ere so us shortuns go up anill rite wilst the langs go orf rite on sum rite lang detoor thro der woods. Now Jo said there were some depreshun on der way round to play in and I were tinkin, is dat der same depreshun I gets on a Monday mornin and, if so, hows them langs guner play in it? Anyhoo, us shotuns ran up this rite slopey path. Dificult it were two unless youm ave one leg shorter an der udder. Atter a wile them languns came a shoutin and a hollerin fit two bust a gut – summat bout on on and after how do’s we set orf together up thro the woods. Now here dere was a fire putter outer which I gave a good kickin to. Ken the manure delivery man said I outa be careful case twas a bom. But twernt so dere. Weem came out o’twoods on some big common, langside Totteridge Lane wannit and ran on fast as could be, faster than a pig twards a bukket ‘o slops, ‘cos wees nows there be The Beech Tree zider house round ter corner. Anuhow Jo says no,no,no,no, yoom ain’t goin in there and drinkin and playin shove happeny and pinchin the bar maids bottom so wees had to cross over Amersham Road. That is , ‘cept fer Audrey who’d indjured ersef cuttin corn and Lesley, her wiv the majic fingers wat make people screem, whoom went directly back up ter lane. Now den, last time we wers ere it were as wet as Barneys throat after ploughin 100 acre but pleased ter report, it were nice an dry now. Good ‘ole Jo lets us shortuns orf der hook and gives us a wisper bout a nice easy on back to der zider house whilst she takes them languns rite round Mary’s Mead and Greeen Street so thems rite nackered time they gets in aint they. We squoodled back to The Crown and got to drinkin. Should have seen young master Andy put em away. Lad can drink faster than my old sow can push out piglets and that’s sayin summat. Getting worried we was. No not bout them langans, but bout were der cheeps was ‘cos we were rite hungry now and there were no sine of no cheeps ter wash down wiv the zider. Anyhoe, Jo gets back ventualy and to our great releef the landlord comes trottin out wiv buckets of cheeps which we scoff in rite good time. So Jo, rite good nite in all. When yoom milkin this week, think of us happy farm ands repleet wiv good scoff and fine zider. Just a shame wees had ter run fer our zupper. Couln’t yoos cut dat bit out nex time eh eh.?
Run No. 903 The first light run of the year started with a bellow from Hare Mike designed to bring the pack to order. As usual it was followed by no discernable difference whatever, but a second foghorn-like bellow seemed to slowly penetrate the outer layers of consciousness of some of the brighter hashers and a state approaching mild attention was eventually achieved. (Except, of course, amongst certain of the SCS who carried on chatting regardless, only deigning to notice the gesticulating hare when he got to the bit about the length of their run.) Special awareness (OK, mild mockery) was directed towards the young lovers – but it didn’t matter as they were oblivious to everything except each other anyway. The Hare went through the usual rules but with the added bonus of telling the shortcutters that they weren’t going to take the short cut as it was only 3 miles, but they were going to go “Medium” instead. Fortunately they had sunk back into normal chat mode and so didn’t notice – just as well or there could have been a riot. It is doubtful that the extra mile penetrated as far as the “star-crossed-hashers” either. If it did it generated not a flicker of interest. The pub was ideally situated opposite a charming common with several footpaths leading away from it. So naturally the more canny hashers checked these ways, and just as naturally they were wrong as we took a double right into a housed area. After that I became either a little lost or totally disoriented. Fortunately Mike gave me a map in the pub afterwards, cleverly marked with multiple colours, presumably indicating different routes. Unfortunately there were five colours and only three routes so it didn’t really help much. Into the countryside we plunged only to be caught short by the first of several “AFs” or April Fool false trails. “Ho Ho,” we went as we merrily turned back to find the true trail. (Technically the bit about the “Ho Ho” is a lie, but I am sure the FRBs didn’t really mean what they said about the hare – and I don’t think it was physically possible anyway and was probably just a jolly jape in keeping with the spirit of April Fool’s day.) On to a footbridge over a railway with an arrow marked suspiciously close to the check. (Ah Ha, this looks like a false trail we chortled but ran on anyway to get the most out of it.) A few check marks later we came to a corner and an entire lack of flour – but no “AF” so on we went for over 1/3 mile to the next check, also with no flour. Deciding to check it anyway, just in case, the two checkers found nothing and so returned to find the pack amassed – but suspiciously without either of the Hares. “Ho Ho,” said Gerry, “we fell for that one – we must all return the 1/3 mile uphill.” And to a man nobody moved – except Gerry who returned calling on-on. But several hundred paces and numerous calls later the torches were still congregated at the non-check doing nothing. An extra loud series of bellows stirred them into motion and one by one they returned amidst much Hash-moaning and the odd gnashing of teeth. It took over ten minutes to get everyone back and by that time the walkers had turned up as well. A long regroup and an even longer drag uphill we arrived at the long/short split, with the longs turning right up the hill. Right at the top of the hill we were delighted to find yet another AF. Amongst the numerous chortles I must have mis-heard Ade’s comment as I thought it sounded like a graphic description of boiling the hare in oil. So back we went, or at least three of us did. I found out later that the rest of the pack stood around for a while wondering what to do (Duh!). Sadly just as we caught the tail end of the short cutters we also caught a back arrow – and because of the aforementioned dithering it was over a ¼ mile to the back of the pack! Soon we found Hare Mike waiting to lead us on the last long-short split (predictably up a hill that seemed to resemble the great north face of the Eiger). Apart from checking through a bog much of the rest of the run was relatively peaceful as the pack was now too tired to moan anymore. Back at the pub we were greeted by chaos and chips. The chips were excellent and the chaos caused by the narrowness of the pub was quite fun as well. Many thanks to the hares for reviving the lost art of making the pack moan and thus enjoy themselves uncommonly. And as for the star-crossed lovers, several bellows and not a few bashes around the head plus the judicial use of a crowbar later they were cruelly parted and the hash dispersed into the night.
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