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Venue
The Red Lion at Little Missenden Weather:
Cold and getting colder “Two ways” yelled Nick, and the motley crew of runners and walkers began wandering and wondering up and down the Street With No Name alongside the Red Lion (Red Lion Street, perhaps?). The first Check was soon discovered next to a stile about half-way along the road towards Mill End. Some optimistic hashers had caught site of The Crown public house beckoning from a few hundred yards further on, and thought that we were already On Inn but their pleasures were to be denied for at least another 4 miles. Oh Nick, you are a tease. On over the stile we went, briefly onto the South Bucks Way before heading up Beamond End Lane. But it was not to be. Already we had fallen for the first falsie, and instead we did an about left turn and spluttered uphill into the darkness, away from Little Missenden heading towards Toby’s Lane and Breaches Wood. I counted at least four On Backs before we reached the summit near the remote outbuildings of Finchers Farm (who said this would be only 4 miles?), and there was a mysterious and evil glint in Nick’s eye. His other eye looked fine though, perhaps it was just a momentary reflection of the crescent moon. We all shivered, what was waiting for us in the darkness ahead? Weird squelchy noises underfoot, and total loss of traction. We’d stumbled across some old workings of the Holmer Green Marmalade Mines. The FRBs struggled through, bravely seeking out a safe path for others to follow, and waited patiently at the Regroup. There was a screech overhead, a flapping of wings, and when we looked back towards The Bog all hell was breaking loose. There were hashers everywhere, arms and legs and heads and torches flailing uncontrollably. It seemed like Audrey and Kerry had decided to take each other on in a bout of mud wrestling. The baying crowd were all at funny angles, pushing and pulling at each other, grabbing and groping, yelling and laughing. Was this some kind of ancient sacrificial ritual? “The last time I saw that kind of thing I had to pay 500 quid for the privilege”, whispered Moose, secretly hoping that he would be next. A few moments later the victor emerged waving a prehistoric mud-encrusted walkie-talkie that had risen up from the depths of The Bog during the wrestling. “Roger, Roger”, it was still crackling, sounding rather spookily like one of Gerry’s Neanderthal ancestors. After comparing the prices of our various “designer” running shoes, and falling for yet another falsie (a pair of falsies? Oh Nick, you are a tease), we headed due east towards Mop End Farm. Everyone except Cassie managed to avoid the electric fence, and everyone except Roger and The Blonde ran through the wide open gate onto Mop End Lane rather than mounting the stile next to it. The shortcutters disappeared off to the left, back down the hill towards whence they had came, while the longcutters crossed the lane and headed gently downhill past the bluebells in The Rough Park and then skirted alongside Summerville’s Wood. Did you see the field of sunflowers before we regrouped next to Lower Park House? On down to Shardeloes cricket club, where those of us in the know guessed that it was probably just a long On Inn remaining now, following the South Bucks Way and the River Misbourne on our right back to Mill End. High up on the left we could see the Shardeloes Christmas tree lights twinkling in the gentle breeze. The Blonde had a wobbly moment and drifted to the back of the pack with the GM gallantly keeping her company, whilst the rest of us sped into the distance and rejoined the walkers and shortcutters at the bottom of Mop End Lane. “Allo Allo”, a demure voice drifted towards us from the fog, “I ‘ave some ‘ot meence pies wetting for you my leetle ‘ashures. Zey are ‘ere, in the back of my Howdy”. Sure enough, they were “’ot” (how on earth did they do that?) and were washed down very nicely thank-you with some sparkling wine specially imported from Nick’s father-in-law’s to-be chateau. The Red Lion didn’t know what had hit it. One moment, a sad and lonely Billy-No-Mates propping up the bar, the next minute it was teeming with hashers from The Bog and the GM had launched himself into the longest Toscar award ceremony on record. If we ever decide to award a Toscar to the most miserable sod ever encountered on hash, the barmaid at the Red Lion would win it. Merci beaucoup to Nick
and his fiancée Jasmine - Les meence pies were formidables.
Venue
The Royal Standard of England @ Knotty Green Its
on a Sunday morning that we find Noddy ( back by popular demand, well
somebody asked about him, so here he is.) Legging down thru toy. Town
golf course on his way home, near the end of his Sunday morning run.
Noddy is taking his running seriously at the moment, as the Toy Town
10 K is just on the horizon and he doesn't want any cock ups like
last year, when he was over taken by Golly. Its just at the bottom
of the long hill that he bumps into Moterhome Mick the jolly gypsy
who lives near the marmalade mines.
Moose’s Birthday Run The Birthday Boy arrived in the rear car park with locks flowing, shoes gleaming and his newly powered searchlight at the high port. What were we in for tonight? Was it to be another vertical mud slide up to the Motorway? How many times would we go up and down the dry ski slope? Did we need another lung searing grind up to the redundant Ercol Factory on the north of the valley? How many times would we visit those woods south of the Hospital where Comfort regularly amputates runner’s limbs without the use of anaesthetic? It was all the more surprising really, as all portents of a miserable night before us proved to be positively negative. Ade was in a gentle mood. Ade was kind. Ade was benevolent. I’m sure the reader will agree these are 3 adjectives not normally associated with Ade. ‘Flat and easy’ he told us at the briefing. ‘2 hills’. ‘Only one wood’. ‘Easy’. Perhaps it was that he was 28 years old today. Perhaps a new softer, calmer, never-ever-to-moose again loveable Ade was emerging? And so it proved to be. He was loveable. It was flat, it was as he said it would be. However, trouble was brewing not far away. We might have seen it coming whilst being briefed, - had we been more astute. Gerry was already fidgeting in the Car park behind the pub mouthing obscenities for the GM ‘still being in carrier pigeon mode’ for his failure to spot that the Walkie Talkies were on different wave bands. His frustration with his own inability to master his new toy was then compounded for the first mile of the run as for much of the evening Gerry was heard shouting in never ending crescendo’s to someone called ‘Roger Over and Out’, (whoever he is, - a new Hasher perhaps?) It was ironic that the real Roger, who arrived at the pub a bit late, got lost and for the first time in living memory, failed to find the trail. Actually, it proved that the Walkie Talkies weren’t needed at all. Gerry’s screams to ‘Roger over and Out’ could have been easily heard by the tardy Roger had he bothered to stop running up and down the road out side the pub, open his ears, and listen. Certainly Gerry could be heard by all of the High Wycombe valley residents in their comfortable lounges over the top of Coronation Street, - and I’m told that the Thursday headlines of The Buckinghamshire Advertiser reported that on, hearing the racket, several Barn Owls, 4 squirrels, - as well as 2 long standing residents in the local hospice lost their will to live that evening. We ignored Gerry and moved on to the Wycombe Rugby Club. It hadn’t escaped your scribe’s notice that 30 hairy arsed rugby players with split lips and cauliflower ears immediately stopped punching the lights out of each other whilst honing their training disciplines, - to stand and gawp at the motley crew that Ade shepherded around the sides of their pitch. It proved a wise move for them, and certainly they should climb one or two places in the League later in the season after learning multiple new side stepping techniques by their determination to copy the deft footwork and perfect balance shown by Whipping Boy whilst handling 2 frisky dogs on his lead. Then it was onwards to the toxic waste area masquerading as a stream. Then Yep, up to the ‘G’ Plan and Ercol Factory sites. A quick zip around a housing estate and down again to rejoin Chernobyl Channel. (Ed's note - this might be poetic licence on teh GMs part as actually it is one of the cleanest rivers in the Chilterns) We ran quicker than usual past the Poofter’s Pub on the A40 with everyone’s sphincter and rectum as tight as a drum lest harm should become us in the bushes near the pub. Having escaped the possibility of putting up with the ignominy of bending over a bush we ran on around the park to find the short cutters, plus Roger and Gerry, skulking behind a Car Park booth. Then, as Ade said, it was up through the woods to the newly burnt out Dry Ski Slope and then down to Gilly and Ade’s hospitality. What Ade failed to tell us at the briefing was that he lived alongside England’s largest mountain bike production line, - laid out in a manner that would have pleased Capability Brown himself, - carefully and lovingly set in the middle of Buckinghamshire’s finest Mini Cooper Showroom and Monte Carlo Rally mechanics centre. The GM tried out Moose’s carbon fibre, all singing, Sturmey Archered, £3million beast and nearly split his tights on the upturned axe pretending to be a saddle before exhorting the Hash to return to the pub, in falsetto Full of Carlsberg
export and cake, we gasped our way back to the General Havelock where
we had yet more cake, courtesy of Phil. It was here that we witnessed
the demise of Moose’s cardio vascular system. Watched by his
two sons and the rest of the Hash, his breath was so pathetically
short that he failed, several times, to blow out the two candles on
his cake. Pity about that really, - poor old Sod.
Run
: 778 Click here for photos Woof Woof. My master calls me Cassie but I call him woof Woof drool slobber. He never sent me to school so all the words I use I learnt from him. This means I am well qualified in all aspects of hashing verbs and adjectives. As the fastest member of the hash ( known as ‘jumping rabbit’ ) I get to do all the back arrows, the falsies, and down hill checks ( don’t they know you can run faster downhill? ) basically I FRB at the pace of Billy Whizz. Mind, I do miss my old rival Sam who could try and give me a run for my money. Suddenly the birthday gun went off like a rocket high into the sky, even louder than the familiar cries of the GM shouting ‘Woof woof (which translates into human as) “lets be having you!’ About time we got a move on but why does he insist on strangling me? I hate this b***** leash that tightens around my throat so that I have to pull!! Once off the road the cursed thing is removed ( get this everyone I do know my green cross code ) we proceed onto the golf course where FRB’s Yob and Peter sprinted like Jack Bull terriers at the check backs and then were caught (with others ) by two really truly mega mean falsies before we all disappeared into the wood. Now at a more sedate pace ( lets face it pathetically feeble ) I could hear Helen enlighten a group on the ‘ups’ and ‘downs’ of Judy Garlands (ie her own) trousers which, this week, Jo was wearing for reasons we won’t go into. No need to have kept surreptitiously sniffing Jo, you did go commando just like me! ( Cassie’s aside note : does that mean she has a hairy backside? ) We left the wood back to road and track where the geometrical shape of the HWH3 head touches took on the shape of a triangle which eventually led across a field where my friend Woof bark – who other people call Defer seemed to be in a million place all at the same time. He knew that the GM was taking us through his home patch and in via the side gate. Nice of you hare to provide the inspiration for your own ‘gottcha’ , then fall hook line and sinker so that the evil members ( GERRY ) ( ALAN & SANDRA ) ( well OK & the Blonde ) could devise an outrageous and humiliating prank to mark such an auspicious occasion. ‘You little b*gg***,’ ‘I’ll get you for this,’ ‘how do you girls wear such contraptions?’ were some of the utterings heard from the now glossy rouged lips of the transformed blushing female GM. If my ‘master’ expects me to run along side a drag queen he’s got another think coming so it’s time to bail out with my short cut buddies. The parade left via the back gate into the hedgerow, headed by the buxom wench with the million curls bobbing violently, she could be heard moaning furiously all the way down Green Lane. We (that’s us walkies/doggies ) spotted her again at the Dog and Pot ( a place of low life & notoriety ) which would explain the wolf whistles and sordid comments as the GM passed very visibly by. Special mention here to Mick who navigated a lonesome run through Parson’s Wood without being caught by the very very tricky falsies ( which the entire pack fell for ) and On On Inn well before the main group. Special mention also to Bernie for marking her territory in the same way as us dogs do, and with as little concern that half the pack was trotting by her performance. Then back at the 778 ‘Little Close’ PH the landlady, ‘Mrs Benchbreaker,’ served up some very special home ‘broccoli’ brew that everyone was raving for. Copious side orders of pizza meant the everyone was in 7th heaven. The local gossip focused on the now eligible bus pass that our GM was entitled to (well done for a neat set up at the bus stop by the local district council) and the giggling whoops of Joy as Kelly and Molly realised that their father wasn’t quite the man they thought he was! Needless to say the evening finished with a SPEECH from the recipient of a very well thought out t shirt to mark his birthday.
Run:
777 Click here for the props, the actors and the "Banned" (by Lesley) photo that shows how the photos were taken Billed as “777 – it’s Murder” the hash started early – one week early to be precise, when Gerry (OK Me) generously laid down his life for the entertainment of the Hash. Gerry Oilman was dead and it was up to the sleuths of the hash to solve his murder! Each member of the hash had a character, clues and a picture of the items that the police found on them at the murder scene. This, plus a little help from the clues on the 777 hash was enough to solve the crime. People came dressed in character – with extra special mention going to Barney as Hendrix, Peter as Ben Hur and Beverley as Claude Rains playing the invisible man (And you may have thought she just wasn’t there!) To be honest the rain did not help. To be brutally honest (a good word to use with a murder) it did not help at all. It was too wet to give the props out (without which solving the crime became much harder). It was too wet to take a photograph and it was too wet for the Hare to wear her Marilyn Monroe dress (she thought it might get “splashed”). However it wasn’t too wet for her to get totally and utterly lost within a hundred yards of the pub (well she is blonde, and it isn’t the record which is still held by Kerry and Aud who, as hares, once got lost within 10 yards of the pub and took the hash the wrong way around their entire trail). Not only did Lesley get lost but when the GM suggested they return and turn right, she insisted on going left and got lost again. Talking of lost, she also lost 9 hashers which is, I believe, a record. By now the pack was “running” very late. My part in the evening was to appear as a ghost in the ruins of the church and announce the first clue. I was meant to do this at 8.10, which I did. It was just a shame that the pack wasn’t there to hear it! So did it again at 8.15. 20, 25, 30 and 35 before the pack actually arrived. And by then it was a cold, wet and somewhat deflated ghost who announced the first clue. The clue was the medical report which said Gerry Oilman was killed by a blow from a heavy flat object. Because of the lateness of the hour we decided to cut 3+ miles off the hash – reducing the run to under 2 miles if you exclude the extra bits – another record. We also totally neglected the huge mega rocket I had ready in the field (so I had to go back across the muddy, after the pub closed, without a torch, in the pouring rain, to retrieve it). Next the lighter for the sparklers had drowned and so we couldn’t light them to make jo do her “berk” act for the third time. (see previous trashes!) The next clue was the will – then it was on-on down the road and into the wood for a Champagne stop to celebrate 777 runs. Half way through the bubbles Lesley jumped up, as is her way, and suddenly announced that she had worked it out! She knew who the killer was! She was just about to announce the name when a shot rang out through the night and Marilyn Monroe collapsed dead on the ground - with blood from a bullet wound pouring from her temple, ANOTHER MURDER! Fortunately, although technically dead she wasn’t at all hurt and she sportingly joined in toasting her own death. With no hares left it was on-in back to the pub where prizes for the magnificent costumes the week before were given to Matthew and Roz – and a special prize to Aud for being the first nun ever to flash while actually on an HWH3 hash. There was also a T shirt for Lenore’s 200th run as well as the 777 sweatshirt for all those that had ordered them. The pub was crowded, buzzing and full of chips. It was great to see hashers from other hashes who had come to join in, Lastly it was
time for the solution. Aud won the bubbles with the correct solution
of Jimi Hendrix smashing Gerry over the head with his guitar. We knew
from the medical report that a heavy flat instrument was used –
and there was only the Tray, Mirror and Jimi’s guitar. And Jimi
had a motive as Gerry was trying to stop him form a band with his
son Lorne. The people with the other possible murder weapons were
in the minority as they both liked Gerry and had no motive. Marilyn
was shot purely as she was about to unmask the murderer. Steve also
won a prize for getting Jimi right – but his reason “Why
else would Barney have shaved off his moustache” makes one wonder
if he was perhaps not really on the right track?
Run:
776 MUD
and BLOOD We set off. I thought we might run through Lane End, so the residents could have a look at the costumes, but instead we ran down the hill. We passed Sam's old house, and not far from there Rob was able to deal with his Christmas shopping at a very reduced price. Only a little bit on the road before we followed trail on pedestrian unfriendly foot paths. Although it was only November 1, Gerry managed to find plenty of muddy paths, in fact, he managed to keep us going through mud the whole way round. Whenever there was a check (British spell checker goes for cheque) the rule of thumb was, head for the mud. We slogged round, slipping and getting in ankle-deep mud, trying to avoid landing in the deep, crocodile infested waters. There were a few close calls, but no one actually landed completely in the mud and water. (Ed's note: Actually Bernie the Pumpkingdid take a tumble) Of course, after another week of heavy rain, nest week's run from Frieth may take us on the same paths.....
Plenty of hash humor on the way round, from Phil and Mick. "It's
a grave situation." "She's horny." (Referring to a
costume). "Roz is coming undone." etc.
We headed on back towards the pub. I wondered how the pumpkin managed
to maked it through some of the narrower footpaths.
Before leaving the pub there was the " Who Looks Best in Gilly's
Wig?" contest, which was won by Kevin.
Run
No 775 Lenore launched into her preamble with great enthusiasm by saying she hadn’t written a poem (there were cheers from the art-lovers). After that there was a good bit of heckling and about as much attention paid to the rules as normal. As a result virtually nobody knew what a flag check was and so most people got it wrong. But by the time we had got back to the pub they realised that F didn’t mean” false” but “flag” which meant that everyone had to tear to the back of the pack behind the flag carrier. But by the time we got back to the pub it was too late, so we had to drown our sorrows in drink (at least that was my excuse). We started off down the hill (good so far) then, sadly, we climbed up what felt like the biggest, steepest, meanest hill I can remember (Even the Abominable Aud with her false trail down the hill from the same pub had baulked at taking us up this particular monster). There was lots of moaning (perhaps getting in practice for the Halloween run the next week?). Having got to the top what did we do? Yup, you got it, we ran back down again, coming out just a few hundred yards from where we had been all those hours ago when we still had energy at the beginning of the run. After that there was a long flat fast bit along Colliers Lane at the bottom of the valley, with checks off to each side. It was a little sad for the experienced hashers as we realised that the only way out of the valley was up another monster. We also had a bit of a run in with a car that wouldn’t lower it’s headlights and shouted at us that we were on private land (true, but we were also on a public footpath). After a while we caught up with the shortcutters who were sensibly resting (sorry, regrouping) before attempting their particular climb. Lenore said there was a mean landlord who had a go at her earlier for going off-path earlier in the day (actually I am a bit on his side here, I don’t think we should go off-path through private land). So I ran back to let the walkers know to be careful. I didn’t find them – but I did find Nick and Jasmine who had arrived late and managed to catch up despite the fact that the trail wasn’t kicked through or arrowed (note to the GM, we should ask hares to leave markings so that late comers or lost hashers can catch up). Having got back to the pack we started the long, long, uphill through Crowell Wood to somewhere in the region of Sprig’s Alley and the Charles Napier. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realised that a medium size trot down the road would take us back to the pub in good time. So naturally Lenore took us in another direction and added another long loop and another mean hill up through Venus Wood and Sunley Wood. By now the moaning was getting a little thicker on the ground (You can always tell a quality hash by the volume of the moaning). Off we headed on the long drag (about a mile) down past the house where Aud had a pit-stop on her hash. Peter decided to twist the same ankle not once but twice so, for the first time in living memory, he wasn’t at the front of the hash but helped the rest of us mere mortals “support” the pack from behind. Finally we were within spitting distance of the pub, albeit a quarter of an hour after we should have been in the pub making eyes at the barmaid, barman or beer, depending on personal preference. So naturally Lenore added in another loop and hill. This had the desired effect of creating even more moaning – especially from the GM (who had been too tired to listen to nearly-co-hare Ken at the regroup when he said there was a long and a short way back). So the GM ended up going the long way by accident (grin). Back in the pub we recovered quickly from the hellish hilly hash from hell and the GM slotted seamlessly into speech mode with a fine oration on this month’s Tosca’s. Jo’s virgin hare hash just beat Helen (with her commentary about the joys of putrid oozing pus) into second place. I don’t
honestly know why we go knocking ourselves out running up mean hills
in the dark – and, what’s worse, I don’t know why
I keep coming back for more! Many Thanks Lenore.
Run
No 774 Oh Gawd, you are all thinking. Here we go again. Another week, another novella from Roger. I don't even have Kerry around for inspiration, as she is nursing Kevin back to health. Rumour has it that she was not able to use chicken entrails for a certain prediction due to the current concerns about poultry, so she had to improvise with Kevin's body. He is, however, recovering well. I had forgotten that I was to be this weeks' scribe, until we were part way around the course, so the report may be a little patchy. As I was talking instead of memorising for too much of the time, I will have to resort to gossip to fill some of this page. Our hare was Bob Neighbour, running from the Boot and Slipper in Amersham (Xmas lunch, £55 a head!). Yes, the very same pub that “Calledaway” had chosen two weeks earlier. That should you “end of the world” doomsayers something to chew on. The HWH3 universe has shrunk to a black hole located near Chesham Bois. And where was “Calledaway”? You guessed it. Bob's variation on HASH setting rules was to allow the flour markers to be anywhere, left or right of the trail. Of course, that makes for a lot more work for the FRBs (Ade. Where were you when we needed you most?). I shall have to remember this technique for my next hash. If I combine it with nano-dots (replacing my current, outmoded micro-dots) of flour, I should ensure that no one can find the trail and possibly end up with more flour than when I started. We got lost as soon as we left the pub, following the on-in trail when we should have gone down Lexham Gardens. However, the hare soon put as right. The first of many occasions, I might add. Going down South
Road, Jo mentioned that she had gone on a crash diet, and could we
see the difference? It being dark, we defaulted to “Yes, I think
I can see some change”. It transpired that the diet consisted
of having two instead of the usual three Rich Tea biscuits that afternoon.
Never mind. It is the thought that counts. At last! A place that I recognized. Raans Road, the Metropolitan line, Stanley Road, criss-crossing and back-tracking as we continually missed the trail. Gerry said that a re-calculation of the motion of stars within a galaxy invoking Einsteinian instead of Newtonian principles removed the necessity to postulate the existence of heaps of dark matter between the stars (or something to this effect). This was deeply worrying for Astronomers and physicists alike. (As one of the reasons to get funding for a PhD was now removed???). Will the universe keep expanding or eventually contract? President Bush as not available for comment. Along London Road W, David (Yob) showed us the house that he and Bernadette had to stay in a few weeks back, as there were no rooms at the Inn. All the internal doors had external padlocks on them and all showed signs of forced entry. Such was Bernie's fear of kidnap by the other occupants of the house that she handcuffed herself to the bed (Hmmm). There was a quick regroup at Tesco's then back up
the hill we went, along lots of roads having “acre” in
the name. Nearly done. Back across the Met line at Hyron's Lane and on-in through the high street. Leslie sprinted when she saw me, in order to be first back to the pub. However the only reason she won, bad loser that I am, is that she took a mega short. Thanks from all of us to Bob. That could well be the last dry run before the spring. A question for Gerry. How much matter has been lost producing light and other radiation since the big bang? (Answer from Gerry - don’t be silly Roger, none of it’s lost - we know exactly where it is!)
Run
No 773 The car park of the Hit or Miss resonated with the sounds of slamming car doors and whispered conversations - while flashlights lit the Stygian blackness. The sonorous tones of hare Roger rang out with the elegant phrase “Oi, you ‘orrible lot, shut yer traps and yer might learn somefin”. Sadly we will never know what we might have learnt as nobody did shut up. “It’s at times like this”, said one hasher “that I really wish I had listened to the advice my father gave me when I was young”, “What advice was that” said hasher two, “I don’t know, I never listened” came the reply. We set off right - for a whole 30 yards - before we found the first check. After that things became a little harder. This was partly due to the hubbub and excitement, but mainly due to what Helen called Roger’s “Precision blobbing” – by which she meant that the average blob contained less than half a teaspoon of flour - with a great big dark field around it to hide it in! It was agreed that Jo with her “Mega Blobs” could teach him a thing or two. You never know, they might even have got around to hashing eventually …. However, though there was much muttering about his technique, you can’t deny that they were easy enough to see once you were close – and the money he saved on flour is probably going to a worthy cause (hopefully lessons from Jo). Those of you with a good memory will remember previous comments about Roger’s precision engineering approach to flour…… But I digress - rather like the pack did on numerous occasions throughout the rest of the evening, including one particularly neat false trail through a bed of stinging nettles that were in peak stinging condition (Ed’s aside Owwwwwww!) then we had to come back through exactly the same bed (Ed’s second aside: Owwwwwch again!). Turning right towards Charcoal Grove we looped through several fields and woods right around Penn House until we came to Marrod’s Bottom road, before doubling back (and yes I was caught checking the wrong way) through Pennhouse Grove towards Winchmore Hill. At Hogsmore Lane ,Moose and I (again) checked the wrong way before we (again) doubled back on ourselves – but I learned the interesting fact that Jilly’s parents, according to Ade “Lived in the house on the other side of the field next to the thing you could see if you could see it”. Back to Pennhouse Grove we trotted on, before doubling back - yet again! virtually to where we were before. Fortunately, I was at the back - as the rest of the pack went the wrong way down the road. Howard later told me that he thought someone had called it that way because they hadn’t seen any flour. (Hmm, yes I wondered about that as well). At Winchmore Hill we learnt that Helen hates the Plough. She also doesn’t like chrome, but I didn’t ask why. I guess the pub hasn’t been the same since Barbara Windsor used to appear behind the bar. While we were running down “The Hill” Howard mentioned that he couldn’t see the flour that wasn’t there, even if it was. But, to be fair to him I think that was a reference to the fact his torch was off at the time. Yes, I know that doesn’t actually help, but I like to be fair. On-On past the edge of Tragoe’s Plantation, through Priestlands Wood and soon we said adieu to the shortcutters, who promptly short cut back to the pub. Ade must have been confused as he seemed to be going with them and had to “Haloo” a lot in the next wood to catch up with the pack again. The 1.5 mile extra loop through Penn Woods was enlivened both by the deep and muddy puddles that came upon us very suddenly and by Helen telling me all about the puss that was oozing out of her knee. She also spoke eloquently about the properties of tight skin that grew over festering wounds only to be ripped apart while she was running so that it was re-oozing a disgusting and possibly foul smelling slimy gunk once more. Apparently this had slowed her down earlier in the evening – even so she was still so far ahead of me I hadn’t noticed it. By luck and a little local knowledge I fluked a whole series of correct checks and was actually in danger of being back first to the pub car park – when Roger (a fiend in human form if ever I saw one) added a mean and venomous 10 back!!! So, from being first to get within a couple of hundred yards of the pub I had to toil back through the woods and ended up at my usual and rightful place supporting the pack (OK. I mean last, but supporting sounds sooooo much better). I will draw a graceful veil over the incident with
me and two separate cars in the car park – and will only mention
that if your key / beeper doesn’t work, even after you reset
it several times, then perhaps you ought to check to see if you are
trying to open the right car!
Run
No 772 Just as I breathed a sigh of relief after my virgin Hare experience, I remembered (after pulling into the car park of the Boot and Slipper) that I am still a virgin Run Report ‘scribe’! I was given some advice from the ‘old hats’ - embellish the report, make stuff up, think up a story line… so, here goes… As Noddy pulled into the Boot and Slipper (Big Ears in the passenger side) I knew this wasn’t going to be any normal hash… Er... this is where I got stuck, think I should try to tell it how it was or at least how I remember it (maybe with the odd area of embellishment!) So… where was I, the Boot and Slipper (without Noddy and Big Ears) as we gathered and waited for the usual ‘faffers’ we got our explanation from our Hare, Jeff. After a brief check, we turned right out the pub and along the busy Amersham Road, this is where we heard the first of many ‘petrol’ cries of the evening. Off we trotted towards Chesham Bois struggling at one point to find a check, all aimlessly wandering around the green searching for flour. Maurice found the check which was conveniently located next to a big log, where he promptly sat down and told everyone to ‘check it out’! So we did! (Well, the FRB’s did which doesn’t include me!) Now, this is where my memory goes a bit hazy and the order of events is a little muddled – there was a Glebe Road (more petrol), and some more running, checking, chatting. There were several alleyways, at the end of one Ken found some kids sat by the side of the road who, after hearing from Ken what we were doing, threatened to go and steal their Mum’s flour and sabotage our hash. So Ken quickly ran off before they could follow him! There was a long / short split where we gathered and debated Wayne’s t-shirt – “Flora Light Challenge for Women” – did Wayne don a skirt and boob tube and pretend to be a woman challenged, or was it a challenge for the women in the race to keep up with him! Who knows, but he and his t-shirt soon sped off down New Road, being heckled along the way by some bored teenagers hanging out of a Ford Cortina! There was another road, and some more petrol, and a field with cows in, one of which was very close to the path which was particularly scary as Bernie was in the middle of telling a true story of a cyclist that had been charged and trampled by a cow recently, and was now in a serious condition in hospital. Hmmm! Past that cow, was the fastest I ran all night!! After the cow experience, the flour led us down what can only be described as a jungle path, even Indiana Jones would have struggled. I think Santa Clause would have liked it though, as half way down was a chimney!! ‘Roots’ ‘Heads’ ‘Chimney’… hadn’t heard that one before. We eventually came out onto Latimer Road, only slightly less magical than the Land of Narnia - which is where I thought that path was leading!! Along Latimer Road, lots more petrol, then off over to Chess Valley, over the Chess River and looping back round to Latimer Road. Several footpaths, roads, woods (where Ade nearly carried out the moose manoeuvre of his life, but unfortunately recovering and therefore not providing me with more material to write about, apart from writing that there was nothing to write about)… ahem… more woods, cricket grounds (Roz, thanks for guiding Neil, Annie and myself out of the Cricket Ground!) and then a welcome ‘On Inn’ back to the Boot and Slipper. While sitting and supping our beverage of choice, Roger produced a two-foot-long map of the relay marathon that 3 teams of HWH took part in on Sunday, of which one team won the hash relay and the other two came in shortly afterwards. Well done to all of them (and well done to the ‘support’ team!) And while everyone was relaxing in the bar afterwards
I realised we had been speechless that evening, what with no GM, I’m
sure he will make up for it next week though!! Thanks to Jeff for
a great hash, apart from the cow… still having nightmares!
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