Q4 2008

Venue:- Green Dragon, Flackwell Heath
Run No:- 942
Date:- 30 12 2008
Hounds:- 13
Hare:- Mick
Scribe:- Sooper

Christmas. It's all about being sociable and getting together with friends and family. So I can only assume that's what most of the hash were doing. For us unpopular types though it's all about skidding around the countryside in the freezing cold.

At first I thought Mick had started an early new year’s resolution about being more smartly dressed when hashing, but it turned out that man flu had laid him low and he was disapearing off back home for Lemsip and stale turkey sarnies rather than freezing his giblets in Flackwell Heath.

After a bit of optimistic hanging around in the vain hope we'd not have enough hounds to have to bother, we finally made it into double figures and set off towards the school (yeah that one with the crocodile, comedy bus and odd habit of showing their students the 12 plus paper the week before the actual exam).
It was then up across the Straight Bit (just by the bend) and along the top the golf course before jinking (no really, I jinked even if no one else did) back into the village. Then down towards Treadaway Hill before a left turn into Fennels Wood.

There was a strange message from the 'Neighbourhoods' on the path and then a bit of confusion when some of the flour had been covered up with leaves. Could have been mischievous squirrels I suppose. In true Hash style though we didn't let this faze us and managed to find the trail again by using the cunning trick of looking at the map.

At the end of the wood we turned left and up across the field up to Oak Wood where there was some more mysterious markings. These were from the Shorts though who had kicked out the check the wrong way and tried to correct the mistake using sticks...

At the top of the footpath we met up with the Shorts - most of who then decided to head back to the pub, using the age old excuse of having forgotten their PE kit.

The less intelligent of us headed down the fields back towards Sheepridge Lane. There was a couple of close calls where the on-backs were nearly bigger than the actual number of hashers but we just about squeaked though. At the bottom it was down the lane past the Crooked Billet (pay a visit to the Chair Museum if you don't what it means) and then a long haul up the hill back towards the village.

Back in Frackle we followed the Half Marathon route for a while before cutting down the footpath to bring us back to Chapman Lane where I once had a spectacular crash in the ice. This time though I managed to stay the right way up and we headed back to the pub pausing only marvel at the electricity consumption of some tasteful festive decorations.

Back at the pub we waited patiently for the arrival of some rumoured chips... but none appeared. Mick had obviously decided we didn't need any more calories - either that or he'd taken them all home so wouldn't miss out. Still - he probably deserved them.

Venue:- Shire Horses, Littlewick Green
Run No:- 941
Date:- 23 December 2008
Hounds:- 22
Hare:- Roz
Scribe:- Roz (The other one - as of Roz and Roger, and it's a virgin scribe)

A cheery gathering of hashers, dressed in Christmas outfits, greeted us in the car-park of The Shire Horse pub. Once again, Roz the Hare, came up trumps with her fancy dress attire.  Suitably dressed as a Toy soldier she briefed the hash.  Long (5mls) medium(4mls) and short (3¼mls) runs, with flour on the right, on-backs, checks, etc.

1st check and On-On was called (or was it a cry of Ho-Ho) as Father Christmas’, snowmen and angels danced and jingled along the found trail.  We set off in the direction of Burchetts Green, crossing the A4 and followed the path in Maidenhead Thicket.  On the merry group continued to the Lodge of Stubbing’s House and across the fields to Stubbings Farm.  Choice of long/short split was given.  Everyone, except the ‘lovebirds’, plumped to do at least the medium. So Ryan, disguised as Angel Gabriel, gallantly became Kaivey’s shining star and guided her back to the Inn. 

On, following the trail into the wood, we were waylaid by Father Matt Christmas, who had scattered chocolates.  Dogs were quickly put on leashes and torches blazed as we frantically scoured the under and over growth.  Once we had filled our pockets with our treats, we continued on through the wood up Ashley Hill, looped down through Ashley Hill Forest and headed across the fields towards Knowl Hill.

With encouragement from the Hare that we were “nearly there” we plodded on, crossed the A4 again and headed back towards Littlewick Green, where the Hare stopped us to admire the huge growth of mistletoe in a tree (many a missed opportunity was had!) The pull for beer was strong, so on the revellers continued. The route took us along the side of the A4 where we negotiated the roundabout at Woolley Grange and took the path right and then doubled back on ourselves at the T-junction and along the road towards the pub.

We were nearly at the pub when Father Christmas reappeared, this time with his helpers Hailey and her daughter and served some excellent mulled wine.

Fortunately the pub was close, so we all tumbled in and continued in Christmas spirit.

A prize, for best costume was given to Aud who dressed as the Virgin Mary! Matt and the girls gave Roz a birthday cake, which of course we all shared.

Happy birthday Roz and many thanks to Matt and you, for a great run.

It was however much longer than 5 miles, but hey-ho, no complaints, it’s Christmas!
Merry Xmas and a Happy New Year to all.

Venue:- Horse and Jockey, Tylers Green
Run No:- 940
Date:- 13 Dec 2008
Hounds:- 25
Hare:- Maggie and Roz
Scribe:- Dan

As I journey to the hash this fine, crisp evening - images of sugarplums dance through my head (or at least a long list of Christmas tasks before departing for the states on Thursday).  Distracting myself, I miss the turn to Tylers Green and have my first on back for the night.  When I arrive at the Horse and Jockey, the hashers are assembling and there are no car spaces to be found - On Back #2 to the Queens Head.  By the time I have reached the group, the introductions have concluded and the trail has been spotted on left, up the hill.

After a few hundred yards we turn right onto the footpath and into the fog.  Although I am accustomed to fog from my time growing up in Nebraska, this fog seems altogether more disorienting as my details from here oscillate between confusion and clarity - bare with me (as if you have a choice anyway).  We make our way through Tylers Green and pass over the 474.  As we enter Common Wood the hounds lose the trail and then find it again in several locations.  Some of the longs appear to have found their trail a bit sooner than intended down to the right.  While the pack heads left, I feel confident keeping near Roz in the middle of the two groups as clearly she must now the way being one of the hares.  Several minutes into the confusion, Roz clarifies for me that the other Roz is the hare for the evening.  Now things are making more sense.  The two of us catch up with the early trail finders at an impromptu regroup where Simon is investigating some form of fungus and, soon thereafter, Sam and Ade catch up leading the contingent of the remaining Longs.

Continuing through the wood, we make our way down a fairly long straight stretch of wide path (the Chalk Track) with numerous checks along the way.  During this time I was learning the downside of Helen's (who couldn't be bothered to join us this evening) advice on using the washing machine to clean the shoes after each run - my shoes shrink in the process.  My toes, cramped in shoes that feel two sizes too small, are crying out for some relief.  Maggie to the rescue!  We reach a check where we can the Shorts ahead at the end of pathway that appears to be for amphibians.  Time for a swim is Maggie's direction.   Into the freezing water up to our calves we go with calls for mercy from all directions.  As we reach the other side and prepare to cross over the 474 I am pleasantly surprised by a side effect from the freezing water - numb feet! :) 

From this point on we made our way through a residential section twice joining up briefly with the shorts.   Finally, with the smell of some delicious ales and a mysteriously reappearing David, we find our way on inn to the pub!  Given that the GM, Gerry, Roger and Phil had all bagged us for the evening,  Ade called us to order and Mike seemed to relish the opportunity to run us through the announcements and to bid farewell to Tom (from Denmark?).

All in all an enjoyable run!  Thanks Maggie and Roz for laying out the route and for the delicious chips at the end.

Venue:- The Donkey @ Marlow
Run No:- 938
Date:- 2nd December 2008
Hounds:- 28
Hare:- Sooper Cooper
Scribe:- Helen & Jo

To say it was cold would be like saying that Dolly Parton sleeps on her back… stating the obvious!  But still we gathered at the Marlow Donkey dressed in an array of yellow, fluorescent attire; bibs, hats, coats, gloves, leggings, shorts… we looked like we came from Chenoble, still glowing from the fallout, and brains mushed up enough to bring ourselves out running on such a cold, foggy and slippery night when we should be tucked up on the sofa writing Christmas cards with It's a Wonderful Life on in the background.

No virgins tonight, but lovely to see Kerry back (some might think she just turned up to make sure she got an invite to the Hash Bash, but we’re not that cynical!).

So……Sooper Cooper gave the orders and told us that it was a very civilised and fairly short hash!  Short maybe, but civilised? Hashers?  Nah!!!

The on-on right out the pub took us towards the train station, through a business park and then, er…...  At this point, it has dawned on us that we didn’t pick up the lovely, colourful and detailed map that the hare caringly printed out for us so we could write an accurate report.  So, in usual hash form we'll have to make it up! 

Fairly early on we encountered several very slippery bridges.  Thanks to the GM's warning we were all careful to "WALK, DON'T RUN" (H - which made me strangely reminiscent of my school days!), which made a welcome change to "OPEN YOUR LEGS".  Down to the river path and was surprised to find the shiggy had yet to succumb to the -40o temperatures and was still wet and squelchy!  Gwen nearly found this out the hard way but after slipping and appearing to actually walk on water, before she righted herself and carrying on.

It was very eerie and misty down by the river, the boat-houses and mansions looking haunting in the fog.  It was along the straight, single-track path that runs alongside the river that some of us managed to get lost!  Realising that there hadn't been any flour for some distance, we dawdled for about 10 minutes randomly shouting "are you?" or "are we?" or "help" to see if we got any response from those far behind us, which must have included the hare.  We ran on only to we found several more keen bods under a bridge, enjoying the amazing and scientific phenomenon commonly known as an echo!  So, being decisive (after 15 minutes of faffing) we trotted on regardless of whether we were on the right trail or not (it was not), only to come across the hare and his faithful and sensible followers running towards us!  There were several comments from the lost hashers along the lines of 'what a c0ck up' and 'bit of a balls up', but we maintain that we deliberately got lost to prove the theory that hashers have a 6th sense and will always find their way back to the hare/pub when needed.  

As we came back towards Marlow town centre the hare told us there was an optional view stop but that it was off the beaten trail.  In true hasher form there wasn’t much take up as this meant coming back on yourself which meant running further than absolutely needed to get to the pub. 
H - Dick, Matt and I can vouch that it was a very pretty view of the weir and it was worth dicing with death on the icy bridge to view it J. 
J - I actually thought they were trying to get a look at Ade's house from there, but I’ve seen that before so decided to run on.

The trail took us through Marlow graveyard and across the High Street and back down to the river, where the swans looked mildly peeved at having their peaceful evening disturbed by a loud runners and conversations of The Queen eating roast swan and mash every Sunday, the Queen being the only person allowed to eat swans, apparently, as she owns them all.
 
The final stages took us back over the High Street and on the roads back to the pub.  Only at this point did Ade, Gerry and Sam re-join the hash from somewhere.  Of course we had realised they were missing and had been terribly concerned, but no one wanted to say anything that would cause worry.  Luckily they re-joined us before we got to the pub and raised the alarm.  Close one! 

The hare was right, it was a civilised hash, no hills, not too much mud and some picturesque scenery.  Thanks Sooper, and thanks for the lovely chips!  :o)

Venue:- Old Oak, Holmer Green
Run No:- 937
Date:- 25th November 2008
Hounds:- Some & More
Hare:- Helen & Jo
Scribe:- Dick

Over the hills & far too muddy.

Experienced hashers as we are, it makes a pretty poor start to the evening when one’s chauffeur doesn't even know the name of the pub we are going to & after a little prodding (Gerry don't even go there this is a family show afterall) admits to not being too sure about the location either. After a hasty little detour we were late and missed the massed start of suitably chilled hashers, mind you not half as late as that daft bugger Matt who concluded that hashing wasn't half hard enough & arrived by bike so chilled to the bone that he had to get Ros to help help him change – a thinly veiled plot if ever I saw one…

Hot to trot, we followed the seven tonnes of flour liberally spread about the mean streets of Holmer Green and soon caught up with the howling pack, some of which were gentlemanly enough to include us in an early on back & bring us under their wings sooner than we thought humanly possible. The hares were a little put out by us not knowing what we were doing and so dished out a good tongue lashing to Whipping Boy & I at the first regroup, after which the shorts headed off in disgust & the longs headed off into something so hideous I'm not sure if I have the gramatical ability to paint a picture to describe the horrors of what confronted us. For simplicity let's just call it the “Beamond End Project”…. to those that were there I salute you & hope that you are able to live long enough with such painful memories of icy water filled troughs of half rotting horse manure and pus. In short it was the shiggy from hell and after a few well attempted avoidance tactics (sidling along the edge of the path, whining for piggy backs etc) the bulk of the pack realised there was no hope & “went over the top”, remarkably we all came through alive although definitely not unscathed.

To warm our much cooled lower limbs, the hares then quite unwittingly directed us downhill for a good stretch and pace towards Little Missenden, where the second mud test saw us raised in stature and weight as the sticky stuff stuck to our runners like glue to such an extent that I'm sure a second lap of the field would have allowed even the shortest of our members (sorry too much Roger’s Profanisaurus I know) to see over the hedge where Ken's world came to an abrupt end and Lenore threw herself at Roger's feet, let me explain. Ken being the knowledgeable hasher that he is and desperate to add another couple of verses to his acclaimed hit song, thought that he could see “Ade's house through there” so attempted to force his way through the centre of a hedge, perhaps he thought he now had super human powers after surviving the Beamond End Project? Anyway suffice to say he hadn't & the resultant score was Hedge 1 Ken 0, although it could see him hanging onto the Tosca for yet another month. Meanwhile, just t'other side of said impenetrable hedge, Lenore had realised that the sands of time were running thin (with her deportation back to the colonies being imminent an all that) so with the torch she held for Roger getting ever dimmer, she took her destiny into her own hands and launched herself at his feet, only to land sideways up and add a huge chunk of South Bucks to her buxom backside. Never mind love it'll all come out in the wash.

Heading up into Little Boys Heath, the hare’s best laid plans, were in fact laid completely bare by Ade's no show (blinking heck, he even gets a mention for not turning up). So a rousing chorus of “you can see my horse from here” turned out to be a little subdued, but hay, full marks for effort I say and I'm sure it cheered Charlie up no end. On from here we were again hastily directed by the hares to follow a certain path as all willingness to adhere to the usual hashing routine of actually checking it out had vapourised. Down a wee dip and then up an ankle wrecking flinty path towards Holmer Green we headed. Once in the fore mention conurbation Roger, basking in the glory of his earlier pulling success, waltzed off to show Sarah his etchings… and there was me thinking she had some sense, what with her bringing both a torch and a change of shoes on only her second hash. Ne'r mind she seemed relatively unscathed at the bar later, although I did think that ordering a pint with two double vodka chasers might have been excessive for a Tuesday night.

So hares there is a question for you to consider: Did the quantity & quality of the chips out weigh the depth and stench of the shiggy, or should you be expecting some harsh treatment for some time to come?

Run No: 936
Venue: The General Havalock @ Loudwater
Date: 18th November 2008
Hounds: 32
Hare: Ade
Scribe: Roger

In the beginning was the thought and the thought was void and without form.

So what year was it?  And who had the thought?

It was 1953.  Rationing was still in force and I was foetally imprisoned against my will.  So many wrongs to right in the world and I could do nothing about them.  So I did what many a person has done before me.  I sucked my thumb, thought void thoughts and waited for the waters to part.

Big Ears creator, on the other hand, peered out of the window at the bleak November landscape.  The North Sea had just retreated back whence it came and bodgers were to be seen again, returning from the high ground around Hammersley. 

Bu**er this for lark, I fancy putting my feet up at Christmas, for a change.  So she opened the front door, went to the local vegetarian patch and picked a suitable Big Ears from underneath a cabbage.  “You’ll do”, she said and went back home to put her feet up.

Big Ears grew up to be a fine runner whose only weakness is a tendency to rupture his coolant pipes and leak bright red liquid onto the ground.

All of the above is really a long winded way to introduce the inevitable.

November.  Rain.  Cold.  General Havelock pub.  It must be Ade’s birthday Hash.  And so it was.
Some years we head straight uphill and go along Spring Lane.  But not this year.  The hare was kind and gave us a trot along the level towards High Wycombe.  An opportunity to warm up reluctant muscles, stiff after the exertions of Herbert’s Hole at the weekend.

If this was the zig, then the zag was the dash back through King’s Mead playing fields.  The place was heaving with people, most playing netball, some playing rugby and some youngsters hanging around.  Some other youngsters dashed up on their bikes, eager to know what these idiots were doing running in the dark.  I don’t think we enlightened them much.

That was the gentle introduction over with and the hare reverted to form.  The trail led up the hill, under the motorway and into Fennells Wood.  It never ceases to amaze me how the highest paths around are usually the muddiest and this wood was no exception.

However, nothing lasts for ever, even if it seems so at the time.  Wood gave way to tarmac and a dash down Treadaway Hill.  An opportunity to discard the accumulation of mud on our trainers.

A meander through the quiet back streets of Loudwater brought us out onto the A40.  Here there was an involuntary split in the pack when the cream of the FRBs headed into Wycombe while the remainder went the other way (the whey?) towards the golf course.  Did we miss them?  Of course we did.  Well, some of them.

Squeezing between houses along an unloved road brought us to Hammersley Lane.  Still no sign of the FRBs.  Feeling guilty, we sent out a search party.  By that I mean Gerry.  Lo, no sooner had he disappeared from sight than the lost souls ran down from above.  So we had to then start searching for our search party.  No matter.  All ended well and we crossed over the road into a nature reserve and slid anxiously down to Gomm Road.

Here the hare seized the initiative, having looked at his watch, and pulled us along with haste into the marsh (or had been, once upon a time) and along the riverside walk.  We would have called in on Natasha but she lived on the wrong side of the tracks, so we didn’t.  The highlight of this section was the outfall of the Little Marlow sewage works pumped 3 miles underground all the way from, you guessed, Little Marlow.  So romantic.  Ade brings Jilly all the time.

Then a final left turn along a memorial to Dr Beeching before hitting Gibbon Manor.  For those of you with a long memory, you will recall that at the beginning of this piece I said that this was the hare’s birthday celebration.  Through the trademan’s entrance and into the garden for some well received fare, that Hashers’ staple, beer and do-nut mix (do they?).

After too short a stay, on-on to the pub.  Even though it was not far, it was far enough that the beer tried to escape the way it had entered our bodies, powered by compressed gas.

At the pub we were regaled by a dapper chappie in a suit, come down from Larndon, special-like, to present a Tosca to our very own singer/song writer, Ken (I can see my ‘ouse from ‘ere) Smith.  Very well deserved.

The end.

PS.  Happy Birthday Moose and many thanks for the nosh.

Run No: 935
Venue: The Red Lion, Great Kingshill
Date: 11th November 2008
Hounds: 28
Hare: Roger
Scribe: Jane

A dark and damp car park was the meeting place for the ‘normal’ bunch of hashers. They were joined by one brave and naïve virgin hasher, who had no idea what faced her clean and presentable trainers…. Roger informed us that the hash followed all the now traditional markers but while he would describe it as flat, he could not be held liable if this description was not agreed by all parties. We were also warned that the shiggy had something to do with being “glissè”, which may as well be French to most of us hashers and suggested to me that the mud was a mere trifle (huh!)

We set off along Hatches Lane, quickly turning along a short footpath and then back onto tarmac. Having crossed the main road, the hashers soon found the long short split and the long hashers set off at a brisk pace over the field. Despite a couple of on-backs and plenty of mud, the on-on’s were swiftly called. The trail was clear, if slippy so just when I was congratulating myself on keeping up with the frb’s, the sight of the short cutters miraculously appearing in front of us reminded me there is a much easier way of doing so. All back together we continued on our way to find ourselves back on hard ground and heading for Little Kingshill on Heath End Road.

On the road surface, the hashers didn’t have to concentrate on preventing too much slipping and sliding, so dropped into a steady running pace while the usual chattering took over. Lenore distracted many with the news that the hash must live on without her when she returns to the US of A next month and so on and on we ran, and on and on…. Finally, the rhythm was broken by the cries of “on back”. Whoever said we should have known we wouldn’t run along an unlit road so far was right, but do hashers ever learn? And what will the hash do without Lenore?

The hash continued, stretching out across yet another muddy field.  A couple of ‘on-backs’ had been cunningly placed by Roger to try and keep the rabble together but he was not to get thanks for these, as he casually referred to the lady hashers caught out by the second on-back  as “ not the usual victims”.  Lady hashers are apparently not weak and defenceless victims!  Maybe some aren’t but at that point I was – I avoid those damn things like the plague!!

We then arrived at Peterley Farm Garden Centre, highly recommended for Christmas trees, which it was already advertising. A regroup allowed us to get our bearings before we headed straight under some trees where the puddles and shiggy reached their peak for the night and trainers were in danger of disappearing for ever. However, luck prevailed (I think) and the fear of a false trail was unfounded and no mooses were to be had either.

The last short/long split was reached and it seemed we must almost be heading for home. Flour was hard to spot among the masses of mud, as we followed the contour of the field but it was easy to hear the horses galloping towards us.  This is a great way to get hashers moving over the last half a mile, while for the short cutters in the form of Roz and Maggie cows worked just as well. A sigh of relief was heard at the safety of the road and an on in sign.

Thanks to Roger for the hash and the glissè! And well done to our Clarendon Relay Runners for their 3rd place.

Run No               934
Date               4th November2008
From              Jane's House
Hounds          Awaiting
Hare               Jane, with a little help from Dan
Scribe            Whipping Boy

A grim, ghastly and gormless gathering of ghoulish gargoyles and goons greeted my gaze on arriving in 40 Green (Which as Dick pointed out as handy signs all down the main road to tell you you've arrived).  Having gurned for the obligatory retina-scorching photography session with Gerry (mostly to be Photoshopped into choice images from his extensive collection obtained from www.phwoarhaveaganderatthose.com, for use on future t-shirts) we staggered, flapped, stomped & clumped off into a dark and gloomy night.

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