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Q3 2006 archive
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Date
: 29th August 2006 KERRY BEARS ALL A short play by A.Hasher Act 1 Arrival and Departure (The pub car park) Mick : Kerry your back, yippee. Act 2 The Run (or how to get lost without really trying)
Act 3 The Finale ( also known as the
pub) (Scene is inside a ropey boozer) (Cast bow to audience who applaud rapturously or throw things. Three curtain calls or off stage sharpish for a quick snifter)
Run
No 819 Hashing
from the Mulberry Bush. Across the road
to the first On On Mind the stingers,
forgot my torch The virgin hasher,
she kept her grin Another check,
bleedin’ heck An L and S, about
time too Roz and Emma,
oh what a dilemma The Longs ran
north, then down the hill, Check back, check
back, that’s six we’ve done Through the gate,
then we all turned right We’ve been
here before, exclaimed Lenore Pitch black now,
Gerry’s got his torch A car boot sale,
we rummaged around A concrete M,
or was it a W My arm is aching,
it weighs a ton We must be there,
we must be there The A355, which
way to go I’m heading
home on the Central Line One last split,
this must be it Down the hill
called Magpie Lane Editors note
- yes, you really did run past Stockings Farm, Upper Bottom, and Ongar
Second, his remark that: “The short, medium and long trail split at 1¼ miles”. “Oh goody!” chirped Ade. “We’ll be there in just over four minutes”. (Wrong! We hit the split after 40 minutes.) Third, the flour mountains that regularly blocked the trail showed a usage rate of 1kg per 10 checks: children had to be lifted over them and Simon’s bull mastiff thought Canine Christmas had arrived early. Although the GM’s announcement of Potter Kittle’s birthday was delayed until the end of the run, Neil-Neel-Kneel took a running leap at the bar in anticipation of possible chip-shaped treats after the run. Sadly, his trailing foot caught the pump handle of the guest beer, forcing him to occupy pole position by the kitchen door for the duration of the run. To prevent anyone else from threatening his position, Neil-Neel-Kneel laid down a barrage of noxious smoke from his home made roll-your-owns. The contents of these soggy strips of The Sun had been raided from Holmerty Green’s green bins. A separate incident delayed Simon’s start. Demonstrating a re-run of First World War trench warfare, he became entangled in the barbed wire used for his demo. A quick viewing of the Kitchener poster reminding him that England needed him (and the police for alleged sheep rustling) inspired his unharmed release. Audrey’s huge torch – designed to warn night shipping in the English Channel - added to the pre-run nerves of the short trail runners amongst us. The torch was in fact her means to beat husband (hers and anyone else’s) about the head for improper calling on the trail. (Not surprisingly, all male calling was loud and clear throughout.) Great to see four virgin hashers take the field. Karen, Zack, Theo and (oh no, another) Neil-Neel-Kneel clearly wanted to find out for themselves how long Potter Kittle’s short runs were. Welcome all! Great to see also, Mark and family again but not so great to discover the family’s dark secret. At his first run a few weeks back, Mark was a strapping, caber-tossing heavyweight. As this (short) run progressed, mum Alison and son Andrew turned back from the gathering gloom for home, leaving daughter Ailidh to scamper ahead of the pack. Every so often however, she would take a long pull from a tube attached to Mark’s back – she was liquidising and digesting her own dad! By the end of the short run, Mark was reduced to a half-thickness Twiggy and his faint farewell was drowned by the loud and satisfied burps issuing from his daughter. Given the length of all three runs, Gerry’s notes of the Medium Run follows. After the split we set off uphill, which was good as my condition seemed to go rapidly downhill from the moment I was committed onwards (Perhaps committed was a good choice of word?). Although we didn’t get lost at all on the route, we did go wrong as some local Herbert had rubbed out a check – so we ran through it without noticing and - typically for an event-prone hash, actually found the flour trail from one of the other routes! so we were a good way out when we eventually were called back. I won’t say who was leading the pack and took us the wrong way - but it was Lesley! A long while later we were regrouped in front of a stile and told we were in for another Hash Dash – when we were to sent off on a measured ¾ mile at 10 second intervals, with the slowest at the front and the idea that it was a cross between a race and everyone ending up at the finish together. It turned out to be more of a steeplechase than a normal run as there were 4 stiles to be hurdled on the way – at least they would have been hurdled in "style" if each of them hadn’t caused a queue – so the new spelling of hash dash now has four Qs in it! At the long medium split the GM was heard to yell “Ignore the flour and take the quickest way back – Chris knows where he is so follow him.” Which would have been good if we hadn’t lost Chris at the first check….! Eventually he was retrieved and the shortest route happened to follow the flour anyway. Those on the Long Run are, at the time of submitting this report, making good progress westwards from Land’s End - the following report was submitted by Roger when they eventually returned. The parting of the ways between longs and mediums was an epiphany, in an abstruse way. To our right was the light, to our fore lay a land bathed in shadow. Which way to go? For the indomitable nine, there was but one answer. “Stupid is as stupid does” said one philosopher in recent times. We followed the same logic to press on between high fences. Dogs raved on our left. “Look out for the tree blocking the path”, advised the hare. Bump. “Beware the roots”. Stumble. What a kind hearted hare the hare was. Spurlands End Road. Right to the light? No way. Onward once more into the dark and to Cope’s Farm. There Helen revealed an insight into her personality previously unknown. Her predilection while driving around is to admire fences. Its seems that if it has the curves in the right places, upright when needed and it tingles along the edge, then it hits her spot. This illuminating facet was not enough, however, to show the way. We resorted to older beliefs, dark shadow bad, light shadow good. That got us to Grubbins Plantation where we had split from the shorts earlier in the evening and allowed us to retrace our earlier route home. However, that lingering memory didn’t help either, so we had to rely on our sole torch (being Ade’s). This worked well except when he turned to talk to you. Back past the
coil of barbed wire that had snared, and bloodied, Simon at the beginning
of the run and out into open field. From here it was a doddle, except
when it wasn’t, to get to the Mandarin Duck, light, civilisation
and the GMs oratory. Nine started. Nine finished. There is a moral
there somewhere.
Run
No 817
The Hare called us to order and we listened, in rapt contemplation, as he told us what horrors were in store, including “You’d have to be barmy to do the long run - it goes on forever”, which was followed closely by “I wouldn’t touch the long run with a barge pole if I was you”. This scintillating encouragement would normally have been enough to depress us, but Mike went on to introduce a new way of starting the hash that ensured maximum tired and worn-out-ed-ness. Gentlemen had to join hands and carry the ladies in a chairlift all the way to the first check! Fortunately Alan and I carried Hash Virgin Jane, who was nice and light. By the end of the hundred yards however, we felt that we had got to know her much more intimatly than we normally would have done after only 3 minutes on a hash. Sadly, I fear that the imprint of my watch may have become a permanent feature of her left buttock. As I realised I was due to do the write up, I asked the hare if he had a map. Well the result was not what I had expected, but gives us a valuable insight into the way Mike’s mind operates. Let me explain – and all that follows is exactly true. First of all the map was highlit by a complex of intertwining routes in Yellow, Pink, Blue, Green and Orange. He told me that the run he had planned and had marked on the map was not the run we actually ran, especially towards the end (and, as it turned out when I checked, at the beginning). Then he told me that the long route was in purple (and although there were myriad colours, purple was most noticeable by its complete and utter absence). The short route was in pink, except, I was told, where it wasn’t pink, but was a different colour or it didn’t follow the route marked on the map. The long route, I eventually worked out, started from the pub in orange, quickly followed by pink, then blue, orange again, green, blue, yellow and green before returning to a delicate and pastel orangey-pink for the last hundred yards! Or at least it would have been if we had actually followed the route marked on the map. Sadly we didn’t. The originally planned long route was 9070 metres (according to Magic.gov.uk) (ie 5.6 miles), though the route he marked with flour was 7,846 metres (ie 4.9 miles). However, due to the entire pack going the wrong way (courageously lead, as I remember, by Helen), who then got lost in a wood and had to back track, the actual route was around 8450 metres (5.3 miles). The short route was 4583 metres (2.9 miles). Unfortunately, all of Mike’s “good” planning was wasted as, at the first of the long short splits half of the pack ignored the check and zoomed straight by – and so ended up on the long route anyway. The second long short split was enlivened by two truly beautiful foals backing playfully away from the outstretched hand of resident jockey and horse fancier Helen. Half the hash stopped to watch and saw her totally oblivious to the horse dung she was walking through. “She looks like the mother” said Jo pointing – but nobody was quite sure if it was the horse or Helen she was pointing at. Eventually the short cutters re-grouped to wait for the rest of the pack and, once spied just a field away, the short cutters pushed on. Sadly, despite the fact that there was only one path, the long cutters managed to go wrong, and I had to be despatched back by the hare to go and find them. Numerous bonus points go to Beverley for actually going the correct way, and hundreds of bonus points are to taken away from Ade who knew the right way, told everyone it was the right way, but went the wrong way anyway. With much “on-on-ing” the pack eventually re-grouped (lead by Ewan who seemed to be going like a rocket up the hill. Admittedly, after all the trials and errors it was a very small and malfunctioning rocket, but it was a rocket none-the-less.) A quick on-in to the pub and another hash was over for another week. In the pub we met Maggie and Dave - Dave hadn't walked as he had recently returned from hospital after being attacked by a chisel wielding maniac who had stabbed him in the knee. Even sadder was the fact that the chisel wielding maniac was none other than Dave himself who was attempting to do some woodwork in his back garden!
Run
No 816 The Right Honourable Paul Goodman MP (two rottweilers and star) for High Wycombe has been called before a Parliamentary Committee today to answer questions about immigration policy for the Booker area of High Wycombe. In a separate incident, it has been reported that a Mr P Galmer, also of Booker, High Wycombe, has been detained overnight under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. According to numerous local residents, up to 35 suspects of Middle Eastern extract were seen running through the alleyways, woods, and local parks surrounding Booker between the hours of 20:00 and 21:30 on the evening of Tue 1 Aug 2006, carrying one or more suspicious packages hidden inside Tesco grocery bags, and shouting out “Bomb-Bomb” every few hundred yards or so. Mrs Doris Bonkers is also claiming that she saw Pyjama in discussions with a small group of Tommy Coopers at the end of Willow Avenue, though police have initially dismissed this as Tommy Cooper was last seen alive over 22 years ago and Mrs Bonkers is known in the local community as, well, completely bonkers. Bent Brown, our Middle Eastern correspondent, takes up the story. Bent is an expert lip reader and is fluent in Middle Eastern languages, and has provided accurate (*) translations of the conversations going on between the group members. (*) Not usually very accurate at all, according to our readers. oOo After leaving Pyjama’s property, I followed the group along New Road, before they turned west into Fernie Fields and along Ash Road onto Booker Recreation Ground. “Your wife’s face reminds me of a camel’s arse”, said one of the suspects, turning to his companion. His colleague grinned, “I prefer to eat treacle pudding on Wednesdays”. Just as most of the group had disappeared into the trees at the edge of Booker Common, the lady with the large golden bosom stopped running and stood motionless in the middle of a football pitch, holding one of the grocery bags. Her brief, wispy attire was being gently caressed by the cool wind, revealing mysterious shapes and shadows. “This is a real crack”, said her colleague, the simultaneously bald and hairy Hashim known as Yob’ Abd-Al Dalal’Butrus im Dave. All of the suspects re-appeared from the trees and ran back to the one known as Berni’ Abd-Hamid La’rge Bazaar Abu im Hana’Hana, gathering around and then pawing at the mysterious package, like a herd of camels sniffing the evening breeze, like a pack of hunting dogs dribbling after a hunt, like a nest of vipers hissing (That’s enough collective nouns. Ed.) The one known as Tommy “Peter’ Bin Lager Bin Larder Bin Liner al’ Mitchell im Nasib” Cooper was the first lucky winner, a giant pair of ears and a mysterious forfeit involving goats and camels. “You look like a chimpanzee”, was one of the cleaner quips. “I prefer to have my coffee camel-style”, was another, “a slow, smooth beginning, followed by a big hump”. Bomb-bomb into Booker Common woods, Bin Liner now carrying the package of novelty explosives, heading north towards Barbers Wood Dunes and the first of many long/short splits. The shorts turned due west whilst the longs picked their way along a narrow, rutted track in the undergrowth, looping around and rejoining the shorts at Dune End Road. Across into Spring Coppice, and time for another explosion. Ade’ Adil Afif-Zulfaqar im Moose pulled out an edible brassiere and quickly applied it about his manly chest, salivating like a gobbing camel. “Like a pair of spaniel’s ears, swaying beneath my armpits” commented the Habib Gibbon. “My wife keeps hers on the mantelpiece”, agreed Tommy Cooper. Another long/short split, the longs heading deeper into the menacing wild undergrowth known locally as High Barber’s Dunes, rejoining the shorts at the far side of Spring Coppice. The Blonde Hashim known as Lesley’ ab Lawahiz’ Luft-Hans imab Turk’ish Delight jingled her way back to the pack of explosives, and pulled out a pair of cucumbers. After reading the accompanying forfeit, she paused for while before smiling “Well I suppose I could always eat the other one”. The one known as Phil’ Lubna im Leyla al Rizla Pap’er Mahfuz Mahfuz asked why she was carrying so much change, looped so invitingly around her comely figure. “My customers always give me 50,000 shekel notes” she replied, with a knowing wink. Roughly south again to Dune End Road, back into Booker Common. It was getting dark now, but fortunately Yob’ Abd-Al Dalal’Butrus had his mobile phone with him, constantly replaying 10 seconds of footage of that cheeky Berni’ Abu Hana’Hana, and so there was just enough light to see the regroup before crossing Horns Lane, heading back towards Booker Recreation Ground before “Bomb-Ing”. oOo I discreetly followed the suspects across Oak Crescent into Ash Road, where they all disappeared once more into Pyjama’s property. Just after I had tipped off my contact in Special Branch, a lady disguised as Luciano Pavarotti burst into song, accompanied by lots of flashes as the remaining explosives were let off. The suspects’ clapping and cries of “Muna, Muna” drowned out the sounds of the police sirens in the street outside, only Doris Bonkers peering briefly from behind her curtains eying up the bobbing bobbies. The photofits published the following morning were a little unusual. There was a strange, yellow wash across the suspects’ faces, and everyone had bright red eyes and seemed blurred around the edges. Surely this couldn’t have been a dream? Nonetheless, police are especially keen to talk to Jo’ Lina Abd-Annie Kurshid Lennox and Hel’ Alen im Ena Sharples Rizwan al Wigwam (wearing the white hairnet). Thank-you Mr and Mrs Pyjama for a wonderfully generous supper to end the evening, Cassie especially enjoyed the roasted cheese, jacket potatoes, f-f-f-f-f-f-falafel, and the bean salad. I enjoyed these too after I had got myself a clean plate. May your camels and goats multiply uncontrollably and bring you continuing facial lushness and a neatly manicured lawn. Bomb-bomb
Run
No 815 Wow- what a turnout – at least 66 runners, walkers, and kids came to Peter and Neil’s Kid’s Hash, on a lovely summer’s evening with the prospect of some great countryside and a bucketful of chips when we got back. But, being a Hash there was the bad news as well – a short hash that was 5.3 miles (Though when I measured it was 5.6) and a long hash that must have gone via Slough, Bedford and the Urals as it was billed at 6.3 miles. So off we went with the kids far outstripping the more experienced hashers – either ‘cos the hashers were being canny and reserving their strengths, or perhaps because they were, well lets face it –old. There was also a walker’s route, two hash trails and (I think) two kid’s routes (where it was down to Beverley to guide the little monsters – err sorry angels - around their course). I understand that there were also sweets for the kids that were hanging up – so naturally Wayne got there first and had a minor munch before graciously giving his hard-found sweet pack to one of the more than numerous kids. We started off back towards the Amersham Road before taking the first left down a long and tiring road, before getting to the long and tiring field up to Blairavon Farm. Sadly the on-on was called before the hare got to the regroup - and so most of the pack steamed on down a ¼ mile road and a good way across the next field before we were called back – we had found the walkers route! So back we had to go. The Guilty Party shall not be named – so Simon, AKA Whipping Boy, Cope, has got away with a down-downable offence for two weeks in a row! A quick trot took us into Penn Wood where we ran for what seemed like ages around the western edge, before passing through the Gravelly Way Plantation and arriving at Peter’s fiendish new torture for hashers – otherwise known as the malicious mile. The long straight path on the south side of Penn wood was already well known to hashers – especially since we ran along it just a few weeks ago, but now it is ingrained on our souls, (or do I mean soles?). The idea was a simple one – there was a straight measured mile and we set off at 10 second intervals with the slowest first and the fastest last (with some 30 sets of 10 seconds between them. The idea was that we should all arrive at roughly the same time. The down-side was that we had to go far faster than our usual shuffle and there was to be no rest, regroup, check or break until we got to the finishing post. Phew! Talk about a sweat! GM David, who is NOT the slowest runner set off first! – and thus got in first – but he looked absolutely cream crackered, very red in the face and still ready to sweat on anyone by the time I got there. He must have been really tired as he didn’t even try to make a speech! Fortunately the water stop gave us time to regain our will to live and on we went. Down to Penn Bottom Road and then up the long drag past Penn House to Pennstreet Farm. Soon, the long and the (large number of short) runners split, one set to go back through Penn Woods and back along the footpath we had started on, the other set “went the extra mile” and took in Beamond End and half of Holmer Green before making it back to the pub where vast quantities of chips and a speech by the GM awaited us. The Tosca went to Matthew and young gentlemen who had run particularly well and was a “friend” of Lesley’s. Many Thanks to the numerous Hares, who have possibly earned the prize of having to do it all again next year!
Run
No. 814 Miss Dolly
Cloning Mr Gerry Palmer,
Please allow me to explain. I understand that your group was undertaking a hash from the Dew Drop Inn a pub only a short distance from my home. I'm reliably told that your group was after a short speech of instruction by some chap called nick, and his partner Jasmine, to speed of into the countryside shouting laughing and screaming in an unseemly manner, and generally to spoil the peace and quiet. It was only a short time before you come upon the Grassland research institute. A fine body of people dedicated to improving grass, a noble thing indeed as I should know I eat enough of it, but I would have to say that I would have expected more of you rather then, " wots that posh looking gaff over there on that hill", accompanied by a lot of pointing. Well Mr Palmer, I ask you, show some respect. From here apparently, your group made its way, along footpaths stiles and woodland trails, shouting and bawling as you went , eventually to enter the field where I live, and in a rowdy manner proceeded to make your way across it. It was as you progressed across my field that the incident happened.
I have been seen by the vet, and he informs me that my ear will heal and will not spoil my good looks, and I will still be attractive to people from Wales.
Run
No. 813 It was a beautiful July
evening, time for Ade’s yearly set from the Bourne End train
station with an on-in at the Bounty. Plenty of hashers were at the
start, including Clive and Alex, who enjoyed last week enough to have
another go, and first timers Emma A. and Marcus. “Any other differences?”
we wondered. We set off, doing a lot
of town running, especially considering Bourne End is not a very big
town. Then out into some fields, and up a big hill. At the top of
hill regroup David told a joke. Next we ran down the side of the hill.
By that time, I think some of the short-cutters decided to take action
into their own hands, and led by local boy Mick, split from the offical
run. However, most of the usual shortcutters were unaware, and braved
on with the larger pack. It was mentioned that most of the checkbacks had been erased, with a small debate about if it was front runners or oiks who had erased them. We knew we shouldn’t hang around too long at a regroup, or there might be worse to come from David. We continued through more countryside with a few checkbacks, and a few gnats, and collecting Sharon, who appeared out of nowhere. I passed and greeted a friend from work who was walking on a footpath with her husband. She commented the next day that, “Some of them looked like they were really struggling!” It was 8:50 at that time, and the large group was admittedly getting rather strung out. The next hasher to show up somewhere on trail was Mike Swan, who having followed trail backwards, of course knew the way. By this time, even though a few of our regulars were absent, we reached a record number of hashers. Was this some sort of practice for the Ridgeway Relay? -- except instead of running just a section of the run, we collected runners on the way. We got a quick scenic view down the Thames as we crossed a bridge in Cookham, and soon were running alongside the river. Another regroup, and a Long/Short choice, rather late in the game. By then Dexter was obviously famished from running, and couldn’t resist eating another dog’s diarrhoea…and just when I had sort of been making friends with him (Ed’s note, I set a hash with Lenore on Saturday an she said with real sincerity in her voice – and I quote “I would love to be licked on the face by Dexter” when telling me about this) . Who couldn’t love such a sweet, helpless face? Plenty of hashers commenting, “If this is a short run, what is Ade’s long run like?” (Of course we all know he runs 12 miles on a Sunday morning.) Since it was well after 9:00, an unusual majority of 80% decided to take the short along the river to the bridge back to the cars. A small group of us braved the long, including our two youngest runners, Alex, and Ryan – well done Ryan for graduating to running and doing the longs no less. (He admit to overtaking his Mum now.) The long leg took us on a little loop away from the river, and through a pasture. There was a very steep hill to our left, down which cattle were running towards us, and I was wondering if they could stop if they wanted to. We all made it back without incident, only for Roger to find Ros by the river searching for their dog, which was at the carpark. Thanks Ade, enjoyable run. On In (add another .5 km
to the pub) Some chips, thanks to Ade and Gilly. *Congratulations to all you fast people who ran so well on Sunday! Amazing.
Run
No. 812 This must have been the record turn out of the year, on what must have been the warmest Tuesday of the year, for Lenore’s 4th July red, white, and blue hash. With every one eagerly anticipating one of Lenore’s poems, you can only imagine the disappointment when we learnt there wasn’t one. The groans must have been heard, for a 10 mile radius. Well at least Bryon, Keats, and Shelly could rest easy, no spinning for them tonight. In consultation we did have the longest and most complicated rule explanation of the year, so far, but the G.M. did point out that they didn’t apply to any one born in November, with Sagittarius in the ascendant, so that was Adi and me off the hook. The hash slowly dispersed to check out the route, no one going to fast on such a sultry evening, after all there is only really one way to go from Skirmett and that is UP. This time though, Adams Wood, and another record for Horse Flies. The first flag check, caught a flag check virgin, whom like the rest of us had nodded off during the mammoth rule explanation. So Yob convinced him, he had to sprint to the front of the pack and stay waving the flag, like some sort of demented windmill. This cunning plan worked brilliantly, as by the next flag check, only 4 hashers had managed to get in front of the flag. I must admit, it was such a lovely evening, I was just plodding along, enjoying the scenery and weather, swotting horse flies and not taking much notice of where we were or what was happening. Until, that is , some where around Little Frieth, Helen who’s training programme, for the Wycombe half marathon, must have peaked and with bags loads of energy to spare or suffering from heat stroke and thought she was on her horse, vaulted a five bar gate. Gerry and I opted for the style, but the gauntlet, had been thrown down and was swiftly snatched up by Gerry, who by now was already sizing up the next gate. This could go one of two ways, either horribly wrong, the mouse (ed's note - squeak? Moose?) of the century and possible broken bone or a spectacular triumph. Unfortunately for Gerry, only Helen and I, witnessed his perfect 10 gymnastic display. Lenore thoughtful, as ever, had provided a water/ice stop at St. Katherine’s Convent Parmoor, before the decent back down into the valley through Danger Grove, where the longs eventually caught up with the shorts. There was just the small matter of the mile and a half long, flat straight run in, back to the Frog, to deal with, past, the aptly named Arizona Farm, with plenty of flag checks and back arrows, to keep the pack together. Once the hash was assembled in the Frog beer garden, on a perfect beer garden evening, we were treated to some classic American culinary fare, Choc-Chip cookies and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, plus copies of last years 4th July poem. Many thanks Lenore – y’all did a good’un. |
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