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Q3 2005 archive
We won SPECIAL REPORT NO 2 - HWH3 Clarendon Way Marathon - By Beverley The A team were just fantastic. Peter kettle ran an awesome first leg and was 20th man into the first transition where Ade, hastily pinning on his number ran a strong second leg. Helen slaughtered the hills on the third leg and handed over to Martin (Roger’s brother) who passed 79 runners to bring HWH3 home as first hash team in the marathon relay…..It was fantastic! The B team did a brilliant job too with Mark Bellamy running a superb first leg and coming into first transition only a short while after Peter. Mark handed over to Hailey who ran further than she had ever run before ( 8 miles!) and handed over to Roz who slaughtered the hills on the third leg to hand over to Ken. Ken flew home over the final 7 miles and brought the B team home as the second HWH3 team to finish. If there is ever a Tosca to be awarded it MUST go to Dave (Yob). After staying over in the locality Dave, Bernie, Ade, Gilly and I were told it was half an hour to Winchester…It was an hour. We got stuck in the one way system so Ade (as support) and Dave ran to the start of the race, where Dave started 6 minuets behind the gun. Dave ran a fantastically fast run to get to Bernie at the first transition ahead of an enormous amount of runners. Bernie did a very strong second leg and handed over to Roger five minuets before the B team despite the late start. Roger flew across the hills to hand over to me where I lost it completely and let the team down by coming in last of the HWH3 teams after Ken flew past me a mile from the finish. Please can you thank the runners who did not only a fantastic run but a brilliant job of supporting their team mates at each transition point. Please also thank Jo and Mark for there wonderful support and Peters family who were also there right up to transition three. It was a brilliant day and great way to put HWH3 on the map!!!!
Run
No:- 771 “Auds. Auds. What do I do?”
Run
No 770
The hare abdicated her duty to run with the hounds, a clear misdemeanour worthy of a Tosca nomination. PREFERRED TO WALK!!!! The true and proper duties for a dedicated hare were taken up by Kevin, Kerrys other half, he’s either a real star or it’s a case of blackmail. Called to order the hare’s address of the runs rules and challenges was short and sweet and we were all soon on the trail heading up the A40 towards the motorway junction. Crossing over the M40 the route was checked out and called right on along a track parallel with the motorway. At this point many had checked left and seemed convinced they were on trail showing slow reluctance to follow the hare, (an independent bunch?) Eventually this track led us into woods, which did little to stem the continuous drone of the motorway traffic. After several check backs allowing me and Rob Green to catch up with the rest, the trail turned away from the motorway and came to a crossroads marking footpaths L19 and L20. The trails were
checked out and called right down the hill. Well even though the hare showed little intention of going down hill the FRB’s took the bait and all but Rob and myself raced off down the false trail! Even the hashers that had been checking the other trails ran back and followed like sheep down the false trail! Despite the fact that by this time they had found it to be false and a troop of torchlights were heading back to the check. Finally the trail was called on left to the top of the hill where we emerged from the woods to a view of an idyllic valley. A neat farmhouse cottage nestling at the bottom against a back drop of more woods, above which you could see the red lights of the Stokenchurch communications tower - always a good landmark to provide a clue as to your rough location in this area. We ran down the valley to another check. That was the easy part as all routes from here were up! Soon Rob and I were a long way at the back struggling up hill through more woods. Kevin took pity on us and provided a short cut straight on at the next check - up the farm track to the main road instead of all the way around a nearby field. At this point it was clear we were heading back to Stokenchurch but were still the wrong side of the motorway. The trail was found along Mill Road and the pack rushed off once more leaving Rob, ms and on this occasion, Des in their wake. Our enthusiasm to keep up waned and we walked up Mill Road and Green Lane to the footbridge over the motorway. We picked up the trail on the common passing the front of the Fleur-de-leys Pub and into the nearby housing estate. The rest of the pack was long gone and at this point the trail went cold until flour was spotted along Slade Road leading to the Marlow Road. The thought of the pub was foremost in our minds and as the direction of the trail hadn’t been kicked through at the checks we decided a short-cut back to the pub was favourite. Special thanks to Kevin for doing the honours. Unfortunately he couldn’t join us in the pub as Kerry sent him home to babysit.
Run
No:- 769 It
was a fine September evening as the hounds poured into the car park
at the rear of the Lions pub, then gathered for a pre-hash natter
and exchange of views.
Run
No:- 768 Ken’s Return At least two dozen merry soles gathered in the well gravelled car park of the Fox Inn, enabling late comers to pull wheel spins more akin to late night gatherings at a Tesco carpark in their attempts to get parked up before the hash vanished into the woodlands opposite. Rumour has it that Loo-ease (aka Bernie) admitted to earlier late night supermarket car park type activities, by stopping for a quickie & a wee stop before we set off. Perhaps we should swap the pubs for supermarkets in the future to make our clan feel more at home & seek out other like minded souls. On – on across Ibstone Common, before the first of the on backs saw the FRB’s offered the choice of squeezing back past the brambles, falling in a ditch or forcing the stragglers to do either of the former. No points for guessing which choice they made. The aptly named Hellcorner Farm saw the disappearance of the short cutters into the darkness and the loss of any sort of illumination from my torch, so if the rest of this drivel is a bit patchy you’ll understand why. Parsonage Woods revealed the first of what turned out to be quite a few lost or kicked out flour marks, before the GM ordered us into a nearby churchyard for one of Gerry’s impromptu history lessons. St Marys all on it’s lonesome, apparently so because the parishioners all died off during the plague and yes the graveyard did seem quite full for such a small church. Decended past a whole bunch of cows that proceeded to stampeded away like more like a heard of buffalo and then watched Cassy trying to cause similar grief to a large crowd of woolly creatures, soon turned on it’s head as small sheep brains soon concluded that said little dog was no match for a few hundred weight of mutton and wool. After a woman walking had passed us a number of times as we grouped and regrouped, the hare revealed that he ‘wasn’t sure which way it was and was just checking for flour marks’. Now I may have been only hashing for a wee while, but one of the rules I picked up fairly early on was that the Hare was supposed to know where the route went. Fortunately, Lenore managed to pick up the scent and off we trotted up Turville Valley parallel to Holloway Lane for a 100m ascent which about halfway up was rudely interrupted by an on back that got it’s lines crossed with the short cutters the other side of the valley (mental note to ignore torch lights & shouting in the distance next time). Regrouping at Northend it was fairly obvious to those in the know that we’d soon be heading into the rich and pleasant land of the Wormsley Estate (Getty owned and run), another long descent and climb ahead then. At the next check in the bottom of the valley, the conversation somehow turned to knowledge of the difference between buggery and sodomy, the most common response seemed to be ‘buggered if I know’ and I’m glad to say that I’m none the wiser still, perhaps if someone would like to fill me in next week (Ed#s note – an unusual choice of words …?) Having fallen to the depths in standards of conversation, the following check seemed to carry on in the same vain. Being closely marked by the letter ‘B’, bloody check or blackberry check were admirable suggestions, however I’m still marvelling at Jo’s suggestion that the marking was a pair of nipple-less breasts; quite what this meant we were supposed I still have no idea. The hash then
proceeded with caution, was this through fear of what the next check
would drag out of our depraved minds? No, the looming vehicle lights
across the field had spread fear of mortal combat with local land
owners, but apparently with not quite as much fear as Audrey &
Kerry had experienced. They’d got lost and the said vehicle
had been sent out to find them, except they hid in the bushes to avoid
it. So remember for the future, if you are lost on a hash the first
thing to do is not to hide in the bushes (unless you are Looease stopping
for a quickie of course). The long haul up to Ibstone Road saw our
first bit of real mud for a while, which Lesley fell for good &
proper, yelping and squealing like a goodun. Once gathered on the
road the hash again split into the ‘I can smell the pub’
and ‘completely stupid brigade’ (the latter I joined purely
in the interests of correct journalism you understand) only to be
frog marched down and up a U shaped route through Commonhill Wood
before the much anticipated On Inn. Well done Ken & Lenore, try
not to loose the route next time eh.
Run
No 767 The Hash of Stress & Stingers The Stress started for me at the end of the run when Roger informed me that it was my turn to do the runs report. What to write is always a challenge when most of all it needs to be entertaining and a little bit witty. And as you all know I'm a quiet sort of person, and not really either of those things. So risking a blinding headache or a nosebleed, here's pen on paper. Oh, by the way, I'm giving Noddy, or Pooh a rest this time, no reason, just that it's hot at the moment (NOT COMPLAINING) and I can't be bothered to think up a story line. So, as most of you were with me on Tuesday and travelled the trail, I don't need to go into much detail of route, as most of you didn't know where you were, and didn't really care (Ed's note: I am not sure that Moose has quite caught on to the idea of a runs report?) Now the stress may have started for me at the end of the run, but it started for the GM at the beginning. We were all there standing in the carpark and ready for once at 7.45 (Yes me as well!!) Anyway 7.45 came and went, and so did 7.50. At this point I looked over to the GM who was pacing up and down kicking stones. “Right,” he said. “No sign of that !*!**! Staines. Ade, you know this area well, you're going to take us for a run”. “I'll get some toilet paper from the pub and we could have a live hash” I said. That went down like a lead balloon (Ed's note nightmare memories flood back of the GM's live debacle, err sorry live hash) “Look, just a gentle run in the countryside, thank you, we don't want any tearing around in this heat”. He was right, it was still about 70F even as we got towards 8 o'clock. Just then Dick put in an appearance, “Lost the trail somewhat,” he told us. “Was getting a bit stressed, didn't think I'd be back in time.” With normality restored (Ed's note Ehh? On a Hash? Are you sure???) we got away. We went along a bit, then up a lot!!, then along a bit more. I can't remember too much about the route as this week I did more chatting than running, so didn't pay enough attention to where we were going. But we had gone about two miles and the hash was still a speech-free zone, when opportunity came a knocking in the form of Rob, who came bowling out of the trees giving off odours of baby wipes and talcum powder and looking like he could use a night's sleep. Wow, I feel a speech coming on, so in the woods somewhere we got the first speech of the evening. Congratulations, Rob, on the birth of his new baby daughter. Ten Pounds, poor Lesley. What a whopper! Must be all those grow bags thee landscape gardeners use, or manure, or something, any way WELL DONE! Off then to Towerage with its little triangle in the middle of the road and three lanes running off each corner (Ed's note, technically that makes nine lanes). Dick, at the start of the run, told us there were no surprises on this hash, so when we found an X in the road drawn in flour, there was a lot of head scratching, intakes of breath, and wondering what this could mean. False trail, so we all ran down another lane and, once again X, at that point someone called on-on down Towerage Lane towards West Wycombe. Now this was rather disappointing because we were happy at the top of the hill, going down so early would mean another hill to climb and it was hot, like I said! At the bottom we waited by the A40, you know the place, village one way, Piddington the other and a dirty great hill in front. On-On came the call, and bless my soul where do you think we are going? Well, not into West Wycombe, that's for sure. Quarter way up the hill a back arrow, half way up a back arrow, near the top a back arrow, Palmerisms we call them and where was Palmer? In Spain where he was safe. Oh, and each back arrow said eight hashers, so everyone got caught at least once. Now with the hill out of the way, you would think the strain was over for a mile or so, yes, you would wouldn't you. But no, lurking in the gloom (it was quite dark by now) were some of the most vicious stinking nettles I have ever had the misfortune to allow to touch my legs. My life they were 'orrible, all the sharper when you take a bath or shower later and climb into bed with your legs zinging away. (Ed's note, actually Ade, they are even worse if you have your bath that night, rather than to wait until Sunday like normal) At the top of the next hill was a strange sight. In the sky above the trail and at the next check aircraft vapour trails formed an X in the sky, just like the ones on the road in Towerage. Was this heavenly help from God to assist laying the route that was running badly behind time? Is this St Richard of Piddington, or just a trick of the light? Or the effects of a hippy lifestyle? Speaking of a trick of the lights, it was rather dark by now and my torch was failing fast and I couldn't see much but sheep, lots and lots of Sheep. So must be in the field of the farm opposite the Dashwood that makes a big thing of lambing in the spring, you know, fairground rides, quad bikes, trips on the tractor, that sort of thing. So ON-INN then. The stress free effects of a speech-free zone were coming to an abrupt end in the pub as the glorious excuse of Tosca night became apparent. The winner of the fine ornament that, in the best interests of the public good, remains nameless, but I will say this. Just as you go thought that pure art of falling flat on your puss was dying out, I give this month's star moose, made all the more shameful by falling flat at Gerry's Feet. PS Noddy will return.
Run
No 766 On the sole sunny day of a wet and miserable week, the keen and eager group of hashers gathered in Bourne End station car park. Especially keen and eager was Sam on his last ever hwh3 hash. Before the start of the run Ade reminisced on the momentous achievements of numerous marathons, half marathons, hashes and runs that Sam had successfully completed (whilst I curiously wondered how much the packing case of medals and cups would weigh). As a special treat for the GM, Ade had dotted the trail with S stops. At each of these the GM had the opportunity to perform a speech to he enthralled hashers (if he wasn’t out of breath that was!). Spot on 7:45 the hash set off at great speed over the river and along the river bank towards Cookham (where Stanley Spencer was born). Past all the dog walkers, amblers, runners and canoodling couples until we reached the long short split at the bottom of ferry bridge. The shorts carried on over the bridge and into a foot path on the right hand side. We optimistically hoped we were heading back to Micks for a quick drink or two, but Mick having run to the start of the hash was all fired up for a nice long run. Across Hedsor Road and into a recently cut corn field up a slight incline and out into a housing estate. Mick was whizzing along at a fair trot even though there seemed to be a distinct lack of flour. Then right into Cores End Road where we ran alongside the river Wye (which those of us that took part in the High Wycombe Half remembered with fondness), and left up a footpath to follow a dismantled railway path which conveniently skirted round a rather large looking hill (the long route went up to the top and back down again apparently). It was dark by then and the trees formed a tight canopy. Those with lights put them on; the rest grumbled and stumbled along. The footpath ended in a housing estate where we took a left. This is where confidence in our navigator reached an all time low. Mick accidentally letting slip “if only we knew where exactly we were” and “isn’t it amazing how all housing estates look the same”. All eyes peeled for flour, we headed off down a road that looked a sure fire dead end until Barney pointed out there were footpaths in either direction. “Go left” called Mick … then shortly after “eh actually go right” Fortunately this proved a good move as we soon ended up in an identifiable area and even discovered a flour trail! This we followed into Marlow Road, past numerous shops including Wheelie Good Bikes which has a good stack of medals in the window (a relative of Sams?). Then back along the river Thames, past the pub (on the opposite side of the river) and back to the deserted car park. The walkers had already decamped to the pub. The longs (who by all accounts had a very scenic, hilly and fast hash) were not back for a further 20 minutes. Interestingly Peter who had cadged a lift with Simon and Dave was car key less, which let me discover the fascinating story of Twist the dog. Many moons ago Peter had been a hearing dog for the deaf trainer. After stipulating that he was only willing to train a mature bitch, he was soon landed with a puppy dog. This he trained for six months in all the techniques important to hearing dogs. Unfortunately however the dog wasn’t overly confident in crowded situations so the assessors said to give him an extra three months training. After which the puppy was still not overly confident and failed his hearing dog for the deaf assessment. Here comes the dilemma, Peter was asked if he could keep the dog (which he’d already had for nine months!!). So this is how ‘Oliver’ entered the family. Sometime later Simon met up with his speedy whippet also called Oliver. To prevent two dogs in the same household being called Oliver, and the resulting mayhem and confusion, Simons whippet was renamed ‘Twist’. The longs meanwhile had all lined up for the GMs speech half way down some big hill somewhere, and clapped Sam a fond farewell. Sam then led off down the hill straight into an on-back (good one Ade!). After the hash everyone headed off to the pub to make merry, and wish Sam a final farewell. So long Sam and thanks for all the hashes.
Run
No 765 A Farewell to Sam The sun shone brightly down on the righteous as we gathered to say a fond farewell to Sam – whose last Hash is this Tuesday, before his return to Canada, after 339 runs. It was to be Sam’s special Hash and the GM launched into a few words (as he does on every available and several non-available opportunities). I thought I even saw a tear glinting in the corner of the GM’s eye – but it was probably the thought of having to run the whole hash again for the second time in a few hours. As usual the GM went through the rules and, as usual, nobody listened and/ or ignored them. The only thing most of us heard was that Sam had to do each and every back check! (as opposed to the each and every back check he usually does.) The scandalous (but true) rumour of the GM and Lesley being caught sleeping together spread like wildfire. We started (predictably) by going up hill, before a quick left by the church took us deep into the countryside and the woods towards Moor Copse and Moorend Common. If we had gone 200 yards to the left we would have seen the 800 year old Ackhampstead Church which isn’t there anymore, but was moved stone-by-stone to Cadmore End 100 years ago. At the road we doubled back and ran past the allotment at the back of Sam’s house. The GM, who seemed to be particularly fond of his own voice, pointed out the countryside (presumably in case anyone missed it) and we ran on through a field of cows to the first long/short split. A half mile detour and a false trail through Fining Wood took us virtually back to the split we had been at a few minutes before, but now we had the task of catching up the short cutters. For anyone who hadn’t realised it, the GM again pointed out that we were in the country (and also committed the heinous sin of called his own false trail). Down one side of the valley, over the road and up the other side we caught up with the short cutters at the next regroup. The GM pointed at a tall hedge nobody could see through and said that the view was magnificent. He also jumped up and down and screamed at people for a while, though nobody was quite sure why. However, he seemed to enjoy it and at least he stopped telling us we were in the countryside. A left turn into Mousells
Wood – which isn’t, despite popular misconception, named
after Ade falling over all the time but was, apparently, the scene
of a Wallaby sighting last year, and we said good bye to the short-cutters
and headed off to finish our run. The trail was laid in a cunning
figure of 8 through and around Spurgrove before foxing several hashers
as we returned to a point we had been at a mile or so back. The bemused
hashers stood around making intellectually astute comments like “Huh”
and “Wot do we do now” and “Huh” (vocabulary
not being a strong point among some of the faster runners). Eventually we re-met the GM (and somehow Jeff), found the On-Inn and the “Thanks Sam” sign and ran Hong Kong style back to the pub. One curry and several pints later, a bunch of tired but contented hashers slipped back into their real lives and bid a last-but one farewell to Sam.
Run
No 764 The
BFG crept quickly but silently, on tiptoe, along the tarmac road in
front of the jolly farmer. His breathing was fast, damp and expectant.
His arms twitched with a life of their own, fingers curled. He closed
in on Jilly, unaware of his approach, until her nape hairs screamed
in alarm. She turned quickly, then said nonchalantly, “There
you are Noddy. Take your garlic capsule and deep breaths.”
It was a good night for a hash, the blackberries by the car park were ripening nicely (and were very tasty), the sun was shining lazily and the pack was chatting contentedly. Then Roger went and spoilt it by making us run all over the countryside for the next hour and a bit. We started by turning left into the first field and, within a hundred yards of the start, the pack had lost its way, lost the flour and was being chased by a herd of rampaging cows. Eventually Roger brought the tail enders up and yelled that the path went to the corner of the field. So naturally most of the hash dashed to the gate there. This was a pity as the trail didn’t go there but 50 yards away in a different direction – but we eventually double back (with one notable exception) and went the right way - only to run around on the other side of the hedge and back to the gate we had just visited! The exception was Jeff, who saw where the path went and climbed over the gate (sneaky!). At the road the pack split into those who immediately ran straight up the field opposite to the very top of the hill and those who milled about at the bottom for five minutes, and then ran up the hill anyway. At the top we passed Pednor House before running through the intriguingly named “Black Grove”. I looked up Black Grove on the internet and was puzzled to find it was something to do with breeding cattle – though it is just possible that it was a different Black Grove. We plunged on – and I choose the word plunge with some care as Moose performed one of the technically most perfect mooses I have ever seen – a full out flying dive with twist, one and a half rolls and an extra, and piercing, cry of “Yowie”. The dive gained considerable extra style points as the last half roll took him into a blackberry bush (now squashed). This could have been the origin of the “Yowie”, but I might be mistaken about that. (Well done Ade – a great contender for the Moose of the year award). At the top of the next hill we ran down the road to a regroup – which turned out to be the long short split - causing us to run back up the hill again. A sharp right took us past Redding’s Farm and on to Redding Wick woods with its impressive earthworks (of a twelfth century manorial settlement, originally a home to around 50 people). Turning north through South Heath we went to Hickman’s coppice and got to within spitting distance of the Pheasant at Ballinger (though please don’t spit as it is a nice pub). Turning back towards Charteridge we ran through Ballinger Grove. At this point I thought the hash was looking up as everyone in front of me got caught by back arrows so I was at the front at the check! This, it turned out, was a pity and I was far in the distance by the time Roger caught up and said “The flour is on the right”. I had found flour all right – but it was in the middle – and I had set off fully confident I was on the right route. On down the long, long (but well marked) hill all the way to Herbert’s Hole – where I found a check. So I checked it out and was running up the other side when I thought – Hmm, somebody should have caught me by now. So I went back to the check at Herberts Hole – still nobody – then back up the long, long hill (which had grown mysteriously longer) only to find an arrow pointing in the other direction! (I measured my excursion on Magic.gov.uk at over a mile!). It turned out I had been running backwards along the shortcutter’s trail! Fortunately Roger had back marked the correct trail very well, and fortunately I soon recognised where I was. Unfortunately I realised I was still a very long from the pub, it was getting dark, I didn’t have a torch and worst of all I still had to abseil down, and then up, the massive, mountainous, Everest-like valley by Pednor Bottom. But 50 yards from the pub
it was welcoming to see Roger coming back to find me.
Run
No 761 About
forty hashers turned up bright and breezy to enjoy a ‘normal’
hash to find this would be a ‘P’ hash involving parcels,prizes
and forfeits. It promised to be an enjoyable and sometimes frenetic
evening!. The key rule is that when a ‘P’ sign is found
the hashers must run back to the person holding the parcel bag and
the last person to arrive is given a bag to open which can be a prize
or a forfeit. The route which was approx 4.5 miles for the long route
took us through Sunters Wood, High Barbers Wood and Spring Coppice
in Wycombe.
A Hashers Tale - or Beethovens' lost "Ode to Jo"
A consultant in Bulgaria - One of the hashers is spending a considerable amount of time as a consultant in Bulgaria, He was told the following by a Bulgarian. The consultant in Bulgaria
visited a sheep farm and spoke to the farmer
Run
No 760 A Virgin Hasher’s Story by Jason Klingaman Well, I actually lost my hash virginity the week before at Sam’s brutal Revenge Against the Brits run. However, due to the fact that I spent half that hash suffering in an exhausted daze and because this week was a new hash variety called a “Live Hash” the experience was once again fairly new to me. As I learned at the live hash last week, several of you have done 150 to 400 runs, so I’m sure the memory of your first hash is just a faint memory, long forgotten. Allow me to refresh your memory with my story of being a virgin hasher. First of all, we all gathered around and listened to David give the instructions, which all flew completely over my head. I just heard something about live hash and toilet paper so needless to say I was already getting worried. Then we stood around waiting while David ran ahead and I heard people asking if, in a live hash, they can tear the hare apart with their teeth if we catch him. At this point I was looking for my exit. But finally we started running. So, being clueless as to what we’re doing, I naturally followed the pack after the frantic On-On’s were called from inside the forest. I’m running along peacefully when suddenly I hear talk of the hare being caught and wondered when the feeding frenzy would begin. Much to my surprise, however, there came strolling along an extremely angered David chewing out the Hashers for not following his instructions. So we all headed back for the woods and waited, this time hearing even more violent schemes being planned against the hare. We take off (on the right track this time) and zig-zag through the woods. I have absolutely no idea where we are although some people seem to have memorized the smallest, most-hidden trails in the heart of the woods and seem very eager to go down them. I follow the general direction of the shouting until everyone stops for a regroup. More talk of catching the hare. Follow the flour. One team split off to allow the faster members go, and later another group split off. In the end I don’t think anyone caught the hare as he was still completely intact when we arrived at the pub. When it’s all over I called home telling them about my first hash experience, then spent the rest of the time convincing them I haven’t started taking illicit drugs. A big American thank you goes out to all of you for making me feel so welcome at these last two hashes. It was great fun hashing and getting to know everyone. Happy running!! Tuesday (By Jack)– a walk in the woods with 15 mostly young teens was a fascinating opportunity to observe a slice of British culture in action. There was the choosing of teams – one to walk the pink trial and one to walk the yellow trail. The colours were representative of the toilet paper tied to the trees marking out the prescribed path for each team. Of course what purpose was there to teams unless there was competition to see who could get around their trail the fastest? At various points along the route there was a regrouping to count heads to make sure no one was lost in route. Two real young children about 6 or 8 did fabulously. They charged ahead of the adults and kept up with the teens with glee. At one point one young fellow decided to plough a short furrow with his beak as he tripped over a tree root not seen in the twilight. However, he gallantly picked himself up and headed on as if nothing had intervened in his stride. As we rounded a point on the trail in the woods it opened onto to a beautiful pasture sloping away to a forest a mile or two away. A small dog came out to meet us barking very disturbingly. It was followed by an old woman who also was disturbed because the adults who passed by earlier were just having too much fun and making too much noise. She muttered something about she hoped they never come back there again. It is however a public footpath and she probably can’t do anything about it. After making a loop, we arrived back at our starting point and then switched colours only this time we had the added responsibility of gathering each bit of the toilet paper so as not the litter the woods. There were times that some of the older teens had to be encouraged to ‘get the lead out’ and keep up with the pack. What was interesting was that when we arrived back at the PUB these same boys had loads of energy to put ice cubs inside the clothes of the girls and boys. They all enjoyed themselves celebrating their making the rounds with coke, fanta, water, cupcakes, and squares prepared by Leslie. The adults arrived back, had their pints and headed to home anticipating a repeat of a similar experience week year. See through the eyes of a conservative Canuck.
Run
No 759
In stentorian tones he pronounced the rules and led us to the road (The Frog must be the worst pub in Bucks to park at) where he announced an immediate long/short split. What follows, therefore, is a recollection of the short route – with cock ups. Us shorties set off along the lane, with the longies going in the opposite direction, to the junction of the track to Poynatts Farm where a whole heap of flour declared it to be on left for both shorties and walkers. Always Drunk immediately checked right passing through a veggie patch, under a washing line and over some toys before hearing the on on from the other direction. Donner und blitzen !! The trail led up a not inconsiderable hill into Combe Wood which we traversed coughing, wheezing and generally muttering about the hares parenthood. This was not helped by GM, who for some obscure and totally unforgivable reason had gone short, shouting his usual encouragement?? regarding legs and ears. Halfway up the hill we encountered a lady “walking” a dog. As Sex Goddess and No Name remarked shortly after she could walk nearly as fast as we ran, a situation which led to the discussion of many dastardly plans to slow her down. We crossed Dolesden Lane and ran up the poppy bedecked slope with Porn Boy well in front. At the next check, GM did the decent thing and went off to join the longies whilst the remaining jolly ensemble ambled on to the next check. This was completely confusing as half the white stuff had been obliterated. At this point Porn Boy insisted the trail was left up a hill. He was backed up vociferously by Shag Muffin with the result that Sex Goddess, No Name and Always Drunk had no option but to follow. Sure enough, it was a cock up – no flour, little trail and no sign of anybody else. After firtling about a bit, No Name came up trumps by exploring an illegal fence down sort of track and found a post with all sorts of strange and arcane signage on it but IN FLOUR. Yippee, we were back on the trail. It was, however, at this point that we realised we had lost Porn Boy who had run on somewhere or other (came out on the long trail). We tracked on down the field vaulting effortlessly over a steepling pile of dog poo to emerge on the road near Turville. A next left took us onto completely the wrong path which was rectified by a rummage along the side of a cornfield where much fun was had battering each other with corn purloined from said field. We arrived at the foot of that gut busting, lung bursting hill up to Cobbestone Mill where Simon’s Dad stood forelornly all on his own. Don’t know where he had been but he seemed mighty pleased to see us (no he didn’t have an erection). Glad to say the short trail avoided the 1 in 1 hill and instead took us to the outskirts of Fingest where amazingly, convinced of the trail, No Name volunteered to check downhill. Course, stands to reason it was the other way and we leapt off along the track through Hanging Wood during which traverse, both Sex Goddess and No Name nearly came a cropper but recovered their poise manfully (well womanfully then). We emerged on Chequers Lane and ran smoothly down to Fingest which, yes, was a spit from where we had been 10 minutes earlier as No Name took pains to remind us. We were heckled by the local inbreeds. Here, Shag Muffin went left with Simon’s Dad never to be seen again whilst Always Drunk, Sex Goddess and No Name legged it right in the absence of flour. The pub hove into view in reasonably quick time where the awful truth set in that we had no car keys, these being with Shag Muffin and Porn Boy. Some fun was had playing with the toilet and other bathroom accessories which had been dumped alongside the path from which the missing shorties eventually emerged and No Name insisted we all skipped where a sign said “skip here”. Eventually the keys turned up with the hashers. Two things are noteworthy from the after run proceedings. Firstly, Porn Boy reckoned the prices were OTT – is it Mayfair he quizzed – has he ever been there I ask. Secondly, we were hugely entertained by Roger who had either :- (a) Been intoxicated by the heady mixture of a Samathon
and Erdinger strongish lager. All in all, quite
an eventful night. I wonder where the longies went ??? (Ed's note
- they went up 5 huge hills over six miles plus back checks - Sam's
final revenge run! Well at least it will never be forgotten - even
Ade said he was tired and aching!)
Hash
759 Ed’s Note - the Scribe of this week’s write up claimed that the write up was so booring that he / she didn’t want his / her name down on it - so Lenore will have to remain anonymous. After two rainy Tuesdays, this Tuesday evening the
sun was shining and hashers and their dogs ventured out in good numbers.
This included almost all of the12 survivors of the Wycombe Half. We
welcome newcomers Jennifer and also David/Yob, who has hashed before.
Welcome back to newcomer from last week, Brian Avery, and third timer
Peter Kettle. The trail went through woods and countryside. There were the usual checks and checkbacks, (David Y. seeming to get quite a few of the checkbacks.) It seems there were some shortcuts that most of us weren't aware of until all of a sudden some shortcutters appeared. We all enjoyed the summer advantages of not freezing and of running in daylight on mostly dry footpaths. It was fairly flat running for here in the Chilterns, too. More than half way around we were joined by Roz and Wayne, who had met up with traffic, but managed to find us by hearing us from the pub. There was the regroup where several of us counted the pack. Instead of averaging all the numbers counted, we went for the number that three people agreed on, so we would get whole people. Then on to a déjà vu trail. (Mick has been taking lessons from Rob in trail setting.) Eventually we got to the final long/short. “The long is about another mile and a quarter,” the hare said. What he didn't say was that it was a vertical mile and a quarter. As we made the ascent Alan reminded Moonraker participants of the 1087 steps we had counted up that hill. There was a major regroup at the top to make sure no one had given up. Then a quick on-in to the pub. A happy birthday to Audrey, and thanks for the cake. Congratulations were made to the A Team for winning in the social club category of the Wycombe Half, and also to Sam, for placing second in his age group. Just a worning to all of you when its you're tern to do the riteups, Jerry has menshuned that there are almoste always speling misteaks. And grammar to. ADDITIONAL NOTE FROM AUDREY I'd like to thank Mick for suppliying the cake for everyone last Tuesday, It was very kind & generous of him & lovely surprise. (And yes that was her spelling of suppliying so we can thank the anonymous scribe again for her sarcasm).
Run
No 758 American July 4th run The atmosphere was a jolly one as we gathered in the carpark all dressed in our festive “July 4th” gear. Costumes ranged from Roger’s Statue of Liberty to the girl-next-door look, via cowboys, Indians and several other flattering (and less flattering) demonstrations of US sartorial elegance. Lenore (who is an American) shoved a pillow up her T shirt as a comment on her compatriots’ somewhat “weighty” diet issues. The rules were explained and ignored as usual, though extra emphasis was put on an all-important second re-group (Barney take note). We zigged right along the road then back to the common before zagging in the direction we first left in - meeting the shortcutters by Cadmore End Common. Turning right towards Watercroft farm, local knowledge helped the few of us who knew the only way the footpath went. At the check before Leyrove’s Wood Ade called left and was followed by most of the pack, with the notable exception of the Hare. Perhaps Ade should have listened to the rules as Lenore had said that it was two blobs and on, rather than the usual one. However, the false trail we all found had good views and nobody minded too much. Back to the check and down the hill to the wood the first “Flag” back was found – and everyone had to tear back up the hill – with the last person having to carry a US flag at the back of the pack until the next Flag-back. Now staying at the back with the flag wasn’t actually part of Lenore’s rules – but, as I said earlier, nobody was listening to them anyway, The pack split at the bottom of the hill with shortcutters going straight up the next hill and longcutters running around the wood, before meeting at the second regroup at the top. Uniquely the regroup was a sparklers stop. Jo sneakily took two sparklers and her wildly flailing arms made complex patterns that was a joy to see - and demonstrated that even smart, beautiful people can make a total burk of themselves at times. Then Lenore read a poem she had written for the occasion. To be fair I use the word poem loosely as they obviously don’t teach meter, scansion or rhyme in America – but apart from that, and the actual words, it was fine poem, (click here). Sadly as Lenore wouldn’t let us go on until she had finished it, we had to wait for it to reach its shuddering crescendo before, amid much heckling, we moved on. Now Barney really should have been listening when the hare said the Shortcutters were to go back where they had come from – but as he didn’t we all enjoyed the look on his face a few minutes later when he ask where they were - and realised he was on the long route! For some reason we met Nick here as he had set of late and mistakenly run the wrong way around the trail. (Typical hasher!) The route took us towards Devil’s Wood near Sam’s office, before turning up one of the steepest hills I know – only to find a flag mark at the top and having to run back down again. It must be said that Helen, who was carrying the flag at the time, displayed a previously unsuspected cruel and malicious streak by dallying at the foot of the hill, so we all had to go back to the very bottom. True, she made up some excuse for this about checking in the wrong direction - but having gone up and down the hill like a yo-yo I dismissed this and just reflected on her numerous shortcomings! A slow trot up a very long route took us to within a stone’s throw of the pub – so naturally we turned tail and took another loop in the wrong direction. The honour of the multiple flag carrying was split evenly between David and Lesley who both managed to be last back on two occasions – and as they were the only ones that had decided to wear Union Jacks, this neatly demonstrated Britain’s sporting prowess. Great Hash – and I particularly liked the flag idea!
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