Q4 2007 archive

Run No 889
Date 18th December 2007
Venue White Lion @ Cryers Hill
Hounds 24
Hare Moose

“I’d give you a kiss except my nose is dripping!”
How could I resist the persuasive Roger who was desperately trying to find a scribe for the hash we had already started!

.....what happened to the scribes? One is sunning himself somewhere hot and the other has a dinner engagement! It really isn’t good enough, couldn’t they have swapped .................

There were other compliments like wanting to exercise my literary talents ...... oh go on then.

Panic .. I hadn’t got pen and paper to make notes, as I would if it was my turn and when we got back to the pub I could only find a pencil with broken lead - so now this is a real test of my short-term or is it long-term memory.
We waited in the cold at the White Lion wonderering if and when the hare would turn up...I think someone should start an official warm up session when its cold so the few who jog up and down and do star jumps or such like don’t feel silly ... anyway eventually the hare did turn up in shorts and sparkley father christmas hat bearing flour not gifts.

So let’s get started: it’s on the right except when the path is on the left then its on the right facing traffic is that clear! as mud.

Off we trot when the on on is called from the path on the left with following traffic - no I tell a lie- it was on the right, facing traffic - I’ll get the hang of this scribing one day - but I wasn’t given a map and Roger promised one which hasn’t arrived yet ... so off down a steep hill and up a steep hill with a pause for regroup at the top and once we had ascertained that Ken could continue, pulled muscle or not, we descended another hill in the direction of the Harrow, if I’m not mistaken. Taking care on slippery steps we arrived in a residential area with the Hare crying “COME ON!” several times at the top of his voice, in case the neighbours wanted to know we were there. We passed some pretty twinkly house decorations to add to a festive run.

Down on the road, the split occurred. We are apparently ‘softies’, (not SCB’s), so us softies continued along the road to roundabout while the longies or ‘hardies’ seemed to go left, which I thought was back up Cryers Hill, but apparently they went right, across the road to Naphill ‘cause “that’s what the road sign said”. (quoth Roz)

If I had the map I could tell you where they went or maybe Roger will fill in that bit.....
(addendum: I now have the map and it was Naphill plus a few fields to the church!)

Us softies crossed the road onto a footpath which would take us to Hughenden Church. As we traversed several fields and went through several gates, the floodlit church came into view - how pretty and to add to the sense of occasion, the bells were ringing, but not a christmas carol to be heard. The path had been long but the reward worth it, however the thought of the hill to come, if we were to get back to the pub at all, spoilt the moment. running through the church in the manor grounds, Dick Stains and I were debating my claim that "heathens (we hashers) crossing holy land, when the path actually goes around, was a sacrilege". A definition of sacrilege is "/the violation or profanation of anything sacred or held sacred./" In hindsight, sacrilege may have been too strong a word unless others were thinking profane thoughts.

On climbing out of the valley on the otherside, towards Cryers Hill, Helen "rent-a-quote" Lodge admitted that the last time she had passed this way when walking her dogs, IT was all prickly and horrible. Dick Stains, on hearing this, wondered aloud whether this problem could have easily been sorted by a timely application of wax. We didn't pursue the subject of what IT was as the conversation might have become too personal.” ..............( you can tell that was Roger’s bit!)

The way was clearly marked but efforts to mark the potholes with flour failed as, in trying to avoid one, Judy fell down another - after sitting a while and apologising to Mr. Fox or Mr Badger, whoever was at home, she bravely got up and continued while Mike, who was three fields ahead, was oblivious to her pain. Once the news reached him by pigeon- post he hastily back-tracked to console his ‘sweetheart’.

I understand Roz also had a similar misfortune! Did you run back to your sweetheart Roger?

It was long and it was steep, we were slow, but soon the On Inn was found and the final jog made, just as the pounding feet of the longies was heard behind - how do they do it? shorts ‘n all!

Well done everyone - but you don’t get chips ‘cos they don’t cook in the evening! Nice try Ade.

Thanks Ade for a well marked run and crisps but try to be on time next time.

Run No 887
Date 4th December 2007
Venue Peacock @ Wheeler End
Hounds awaiting
Hare Aud & Tracey
Scribe Mike and Judy

The shareholders of Northern Rock salute you, Audrey and Ryan. With the money saved on the minimal flour and chalk used for the trail, the Rock was able to repay its loan to the Bank of England – cheap mortgages are now available to any bona fide member of HWH3.

Touch and go that we even had the minimal flour that was used. As a woman, Audrey was super-well organised, leaving maps, chalk, flour, etc, ready to scoop up by the front door. For reasons we shall never know, Audrey left the house by the downstairs lavatory window: maps, etc stayed home until mum ordered the luckless Ryan to return home on a secret recovery mission. Map superfluous really. We ran through, under, over and probably along the M40 for 80% of the run. We spent a further 15% within earshot of the M40. The balance of 5% in the pub car park listening to the noises from the nearby M40 drowning out the hare’s address.

The one clue as to where we were for the 80 and 15% portions of the run were signs to, from and in Lane End, leading to Barney’s existentialist remark that “We’ve been here before or was it somewhere else?” Very Proust (or is it Sartre?).

Strange people in Lane End – a bit mediaeval in their public denouncements of less than virtuous neighbours. In 2 foot high lettering on the pavement outside number 24 (and using a lot more white stuff than for the entire trail) “...... is a slag: welcome to the local whore house”. Elsewhere on a fence, another 2 footer confirming that “ .... is gay” and, in front of the village pond, “Drown all old people”. Audrey says she enjoys the community spirit engendered by her neighbours but is looking to moving to a drier area on her 60th birthday.

At least our hash is pulling in new members, which Roger singularly failed to do when running alongside one such new female. Setting new standards for chat up lines with “Do you keep your diary relatively free on a Friday?”, he promptly went A over T on one of the very few blobs of flour seen that night, grabbed a passing fence to break his fall as the unimpressed receiver of the chat up line sped with relief into the moonless night.

In its favour, the run did have a long/short split but by the time the long runners started to return, the shorts had washed, changed, breakfasted and were ready for the morning commute to the city. They had also – with Mike leading the assault – polished off the tin of sweeties that Audrey thought might dispel memories of this moonless, flourless, endless ‘on inn’ run. Good on yer, Aud and Ryan – keep bringing the sweeties.

Ed’s aside. And so to the long run:- Audrey’s minimalist approach to marking the run deserted her through many of the numerous woods and byways we traversed - instead many generous helpings of flour on trees, bushes and passing animals, together with enough loo paper to satisfy an elephant with a major tummy problem (I know ‘cos I went around half the run a few days later removing it, and no there wasn’t really an elephant).

Having split from the short cutters we skirted Lane End reservoir, before plunging through Widdenton Park Wood, and eventually out onto the Marlow Road. Those of us who knew the area said, OK it has to be right as going left means at least two miles back to the pub and it was already near nine. So left it was, where, once again there were copious markings along the trail (except, naturally after any checks) so we headed somewhat blindly through "Moor" Wood than we care to mention (OK sorry about the pun on Moor Wood) (OK, not really) before looping around to Moor Farm and eventually towards Sam’s old house.

At Ditchfield Common we realised that it had to be left through the beautiful Fining Wood - as the only alternative was a mile long on-in along roads. After failing to convince ourselves that a white stone was a check mark we headed reluctantly back to the road. (Mainly as Sam had been secretly told that was the way). Upon later questioning, the reason for the detour was that Audrey hadn’t wanted to get her pumps dirty by running through the wood when she set it. Quite right - hashing and mud? Whatever next!

We tried to organise a hash dash but failed as only the fast runners wanted to have a go - so they counted 20 seconds (some of them having to remove both socks to do this) before dashing in and overtaking everyone else 45 seconds into the 10 minute on-in run.

Run No 886
Date 27th November 2007
Venue Chequers @ Amersham
Hounds Awaiting
Hare Mike and Judy,
Scribe Jo

Another cold, dark, damp Tuesday evening… and we gather shivering and chatting in the car park of The Chequers in Amersham. It was at this point, in Graeme’s absence, Gerry gave me opportunity to write this weeks run report, what an honour! I thought it may be because of my…er… witty and captivating writing style… but it was actually given as an opportunity for me to get my own back on Roger, following last weeks Hash Trash. (Ed's aside see Jo's photo below or click here for a larger version)

Mike and Judy gave their orders, while we stood chatting amongst ourselves as usual, then it was on-on over the London Road and along the slippery path next to the River Misbourne. Here was the first on-back and when the reluctant 7 reached what we thought was the back, we were told that Ade was even further back and we should continue. However, it was deemed that Ade was in fact so far back he was in the car park still, getting himself suitably attired and no doubt putting his hair in a nice up-do. Suffice to say we didn’t go back to join him and decided we had gone far enough!

A little further on we reached a bridge, and a very slippery bridge as Roger found out. I think he was just giving me something good to write about and slipped on one of the steps. But just as he was about to fall base over apex, Dickie saved him with an invisible forcefeild that stablised the unfortunate Roger and which subsequently saw to the bottom of the bridge safely. Dickie later complained that Roger hadn’t even thanked him for saving his life… my take on it is Dickie had clearly been on the sauce prior to the hash, because we all know that forcefields don’t work when the atmospheric pressure is as low as it was that evening.

We left the riverside and crossed back over the London Road, and came across a long/short split. Mike sent the longies up a hill, while the mediumies and shorties carried on up the main road. (my spell checker is having a ball at this point!) With the longies feeling perky and energetic (!) we trotted on up the hill only to find an ‘F’ at the top of it. There followed a debate as to whether it is allowed to actually send hashers on a false, rather than the hasher checking and calling ‘on-on’ before coming across and ‘F’. Either way, the Hashing Police were not present that evening, and whether it was allowed or not we had fallen for it. This didn’t stop views being aired on hashing rules though. Rules? I didn’t think there were any and any rules that may have been put in place in 1945 were only there to be broken. (Ed's aside Actually there is an international agreed set of hashing rules of which Rule 2 is "There are no rules" and Rule 3 is "Rule two must be ignored")

Anyway, about half way round I turned my mind to the run report and realised that my fellow hashers were not providing me with enough material (hence waffling about forcefields and hashing rules… are you all still awake?) So some of the detail in the rest of the report, may not be entirely truthful. Some things might be elaborated on slightly, others may be completely made up… you decide.

Now, has anyone ever wondered what our hashers get up to in their spare time. Well, it turns out that on Wednesday nights, Dickie enjoys putting on womens clothes, then dances and sings into a hair brush to a Dionne Warwick track. I’m not actually sure why he has a hairbrush in his bedroom though… it must be for singing purposes! And Roger, well… did any of you know that he has joined a gym. I think he may be taking the training a bit too seriously though, either that or he’s been on the steroids. Funnily enough I managed to find his entry photo into the Misses World competition which I thought only fair to share with you. Nice pecs Rog!!

Clickto see the full image

So while we [I] discussed [made-up] our extra-curricular activities on-on we went, we sang Henry the VIII I am I am, we slid, we ran, we checked, we walked, and eventually passed Amersham College and down Stanley Hill. It was here that we passed a man and his motorbike. Thinking he was just making sure his satchel was securely fastened, or polishing the bodywork, we passed him by with a polite ‘good evening’… apart from Dickie who stopped to admire his bodywork, but instead discovered he had broken down. This consequently got him left behind. No one seemed to care that he was missing, but as we were now on the main road and plenty of people he could flag down, we didn’t worry too much. As it turned out he got to the pub before us anyway, so no sympathy was given.

Back in the pub we were treated to a big platter of sandwiches and chips, and of course a speach from the GM. No guitar or sweaty rugby players this week though! Tosca nominations were read out and the Tosca went to Barney for his post-hash fare and fireworks display.

Thanks to Mike and Judy for a good hash, and if they had anything to do with keeping the rain on hold during the run, thanks for that too!

Run No 885
Date 20th November 2007
Venue Marlow Rugby Club
Hounds 31
Hare Graeme,
Scribe Roger

There is one universal golden rule accepted by all Hashers and that is to not check downhill.
There is another that is peculiar to HWH3 if you are the weekly scribe and that is to stay close to Helen and Jo, hoping that a reportable gem will be heard. More about this later.

The opening strides of the HASH led across the putative playing fields of Marlow Rugby Club, visible because of the end posts. I say putative because the boundaries between Marlow Rugby, Rowing and Swimming Club had become extremely blurred due to the proximity of the River Thames and the severely sodden nature of the ground. However, what is Hashing if not the triumph of ignorance over reality? We ran/swam across to the firmer riverbank and progressed upstream to the A404 flyover.

Here, the Hare's safety warning was entirely relevant as we climbed up a bank to the dual carriageway and crossed the river pinned between crash barrier and blindly driven masses of kinetic energy. Fortunately, this hazard did not last long as we slipped down to Quarry Wood Road and safety of a pavement. End of road, 1 mile completed.

The road zigged to the right, we zagged to the left and commenced the steep slow climb through Quarry Wood towards Cookham Dean. Not only did we have to contend with the topography and slippery pathway, we had to fend off, on numerous occasions, incoming front runners caught by turnbacks, creating a contra-flow on a single track carriageway.

At last a respite. Upon reaching Quarry Wood Road again, the trail dove off to the left and followed the river in a gentle undulating manner towards Winter Hill. Where our path met a road, there is a vista point overlooking the river and Little Marlow beyond. At this time of night the view was less than spectacular, consisting of a line of streetlamps defining the A404' ascent to Handy Cross. This did not, however, deter the obligatory parked car with steamed up windows being there. We can only guess at the conversation taking place within, but it did not last long after we gathered around with our flashlights and poor imitation of squeaky springs. The car left post haste when Ade told us that he could remember when all these fields used to be covered in houses. May be they had heard it before, maybe it's the way he tells it. No one will ever know, so we left too, but in the opposite direction, up Winter Hill, then left to descend Job's Lane.

Across Dean Lane between housing to Kings Lane ending up at Kings Coppice Farm. Here there is a sign warning us to be careful of loose turkeys. Neither Ade nor I could see any turkeys to be careful of, but that may have had something to do with Christmas being only 5 weeks away.

 

This was mile 2. We carefully called the Hash to pass by the farm and on into the countryside before bearing right uphill into Quarry Wood for the second time. On the descent back to the Marlow plain my serendipity came into play. Whilst idling at a check, I overheard that until the age of 18, Jo had been a little waf (waif). My first thought was that a waf was one grade up from WAG, where the highest grade was WAA but I was wrong. It transpired that waf was waif. Not only that, but when Helen was 16 and Jo 18, Jo not only became taller than Helen but she also developed a bigger chest. As the two girls went to different schools, the studious endeavour that led to this conclusion must have be an extra curricular activity. Previously we could only conjecture at the scientific method that led to the aforesaid conclusion, but thanks to the power of YESTERVISION ( a project being developed at uni by Gerry's daughter Sophy) we are now able to show you this event. Jo was aghast when she realised that I was the Hash scribe (aghast in a “not seeking publicity” sort of way). In the final few steps before leaving the wood, screams were heard emanating from the front of the HASH, but I was never able to find out what caused this. Answers to the editor if you know.

Click on image to see a larger copy

Through the flood tunnel (mile 3) under the A404, fortunately not in use at the time and across the vegetable patch. One hasher picked a turnip off the ground (do you sense a Blackadder moment coming?) and tapped Helen on the shoulder with it. “Do you want to see my turnip?” She stopped, turned, looked and sneered “Call that a turnip? Your wife must be very disappointed with you.” I think Helen, being very close to big animals, the county and all, must like her turnips like her game. Jo (obviously) had stopped also. The hasher threw the turnip on the ground and said, “If I put it down there it will grow bigger”. Jo, being the can-do type of girl that she is said, “Do you want me to talk dirty to it?” (sic).

It was too much. On to Bisham Road. We scented civilisation and the end game. Over Marlow Bridge, round the Church and east towards the club through the housing estates. This stage of the HASH was characterised by some of the longest on-backs I have ever done (over a quarter of a mile, three times). Last but not least, the final and most numerous on-back (10) was ignored on the pretext that a) didn't see it, or b) didn't apply because the bar could be seen. (mile 4.6).

On In. But wait, that wasn't the end of the evening. Inside, there was a veritable cornucopia of food awaiting us. And yet more. A man in tights, with guitar on knee and the discarded turnip kept warm, regaled us with news about his friend Dinah (or was that Katie Price?). Even Des surprised us with this knowledge of song lyrics. Bushel comes to mind.

Overall, a very good turnout considering the weather, and many thanks to the Hare, Graeme, for the very generous fare and marking so clearly on such a damp evening.

Run No 884
Date 13th November 2007
Venue Boot and Slipper at Amersham
Hounds 29
Hare Roger
Scribe Barney

Well Roger, full marks for the swiftest start to an HWH3 hash I can recall. No sooner assembled and with rapid welcome to our three new hashers it was rules “as usual” and straight into a choice of long or short trails leaving moose and other latecomers hopping about to get their trainers on a bit pronto.

On this occasion I choose the long route crossing the road along a tree lined avenue. The shorties headed along the busy road towards the Amersham shops. Our first check sent us along a dark alley to another road at the entrance to Hervines Park where I recall a summer evening cricket match against Raffety Buckland some years ago. I was out 1st ball and spent their innings bored on the boundary until my big moment arrived and yes I dropped the catch and we lost the match.

Along another tree lined avenue to form the third side of a rectangle we emerged at a check some 500 metres from the pub. The trail eluded all of us and Roger had to lead us through a passage like a private alley onto the High Street.

Surprise, surprise we had caught up with the short cutters with MC David Benchbreaker Griffith complaining, as usual, about the lack of flour on the trail. Uh! Just cos he couldn’t find the passage to the High Street either!

The trail was called down the link road to the library and on past the council offices. With all of us checking it out, much confusion revealed more lack of flour and with political intervention by the hare we proceeded over the railway to the next check and a more defined route along yet another tree lined avenue, clearly a feature of many residential byways around Amersham.

Emerging at the top of Stanley Hill the trail picked up pace through new residences to a footpath link to a commercial road leading us back to the main Little Chalfont Road opposite the expensive Audi dealer.

After a couple of flour-less checks the hash had finally developed an impetus and knowing they had to re-cross the railway headed straight for the obvious bridge and most had reached it before being called back. The visual glitz and glamour of Audi World had detracted us all from seeing an almost insignificant footpath sign pointing straight through the open air showroom towards a minuscule tunnel in the railway embankment. The other side of the railway we encountered a road and the trail immediately was called right to another check, this time a long or short trail choice.

Well I decided one shortcut would do me no harm and hoped it would put us sooner in the bar. So a small band of the thirstier hashers headed along the road to a series of checks along a residential road but always it was called straight on until we were thoroughly caught out by two footpaths each side of a private drive. Another check as the back alley footpath to the local residents’ gardens crossed a road giving us a chance to re-group. A further two checks in this labyrinth before emerging at a crossroads.

At this point I knew we were in Chesham Bois and not far from the pub, but could we find the trail…..No! or not without the aid of a map. Eventually found another check by a pond on the common but again couldn’t find the trail. As we all wandered in different directions MC David called us all through the woods to another footpath that led to the edge of the woods where Mad Micky Jones asked at the posh Guildo’s restaurant the direction back to the pub.

All this confusion ended with our return to the pub just 5 minutes before the long trail hashers.

Anyway thanks Roger for a good urban hash in Amersham, maybe a bit more flour next time! Very good dark beer in the pub this week (Old Peculiar and Hyde’s Atomic) and we soon secured our own little corner amongst the diners to receive another address from our very own MC David Benchbreaker Griffiths.

Run No :883
Date: 6th November 2007
Venue: Mount Car Park in Princes Risborough
Hare: Barney
Hounds: 28
Scribes: Rob

Well its Tuesday night again and as we meet in the Mount Car Park in Princes Risborough. We are joined by our hare who wants money up front for the run, what a cheek - it better be good! The usual rules were given out, instructions given with hashers giving many interruptions. We set off, unusually for Barney we didn’t go up the high street, then new road hill, and on for his usual half marathon. We went down Manor Park Ave, past the station just in time to see a train. There’s a long history of Barney and trains or railway tracks!

We hashed on into open countryside past the remains of a roman villa (farmstead), and on to Saunderton church and through the graveyard - no hangings here, but the house next door to the church used to be an inn and sometimes the sound of horses hooves can be heard on dark wintery nights - but not tonight as the pack was too beeping noisey!!

We hashed on to Bledlow, past a historic collection of farm implements or scrap depending on your view. Simon asked the scribe, (resident skip hunter, pikey and general “Can I make money out of it? environmentalist”) if there was anything worth having, I drooled but said no as I haven’t recovered from selling my cast iron seat collection to a man in Yorkshire. Cast iron seats were where the farmer would sit on his implement (make up your own jokes) when being towed behind the horse circa 100 years ago. And before you snigger - some seats exchange for thousands of pounds!

We hashed to Horsenden past, as Ade informed us, JK’s place- with Lenore thinking he meant Rowling, not the singer.

Then we hashed to Barney’s house where he had laid on beer and jacket potatoes. (Ed’s aside, laying on beer and potatoes sounds a both soggy and lumpy). After nourishment (Ed’s aside, jolly yummie it was as well!) the Tosca was awarded but the GM had forgot his glasses so couldn’t read his script – and is a definate nominee for next time! 'specially as he missed out most of the funnies!

One nominee missed was Roger who asked his wife Roz to wait outside the gents while he had a wee, but then had to be reminded by her to wash his hands before they left! It begs the question -was Roz just being hygienic or did she want clean hands for something else??!

Fireworks next - great display that in the spirit of hashing went on and on, I turned round to find Mike inside Barneys kitchen playing with himself whilst in the company of Kerry and Tracey. Fireworks zoomed into the night sky, next door’s fence hashers ducking for cover and Barney’s shed. Well deserved thanks must go to Barney and Elaine for their hard work, and to the GM for actually completing a run!

 

Run No :882
Date: 30 October 2007
Venue: 3 Horshoes @ Towersey
Hare: Rob
Hounds: 24
Scribes: Super Cooper

 

Darn - I always get to write up the hashes where nothing ever happens. Never mind, I'll just make it up as usual. In fact there was a bit of a storytelling theme to the evening anyway.

We congregated in the car park of the Three Horseshoes looking, if possible, slightly less glamorous then usual. About the only way we could have looked more creepy was if the GM had turned up (fancy dress or not).

There was a fine selection of costumes - some of which were making their third or fourth outings, putting to rest once and for all any suggestion that Wycombe's premier costumiers and balloon emporium only sells rubbish. I'd describe them for you - but hey, you can go and see them on the website.

So off we set - out of the car park, left and up towards... the Phoenix Trail... I know that's probably a bit of a shock for some of you but it was Halloween after all. We headed up the trail towards Thame for half a mile before hitting a false and then promptly heading all the way back again. At this point we had the first of Rob's ghastly ghostly stories. This one was about a reverend who got relieved of the collection money in a rather violent manner which probably shook his faith somewhat.

After this brief pause we set off again down ..... the Phoenix Trail.... half a mile along which we were called round again for another of Uncle Rob's stories. This one concerned a ghostly farmer or something I wasn't paying attention. Then he pitched in with his own personal ghostly experience. Apparently he was working up in Stokenchurch once hard at work cutting a hedge... he heard a cough behind him and something went through him (for some reason the image I'm calling to mind is someone being slimed in Ghostbusters - I'm terribly cultured like that) and then another cough on the other side of him.

Of course those of you of a sceptical disposition are going to point out that any story from Rob beginning 'I was working hard...' probably needs to be taken with a pinch of salt.

Anyway, back to the run - left off of the Phoenix Trail and back into the village, a right, a brief detour up a false trail and then another right (remember kids - two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do) back up towards... the Phoenix Trail...

Back down the Phoenix Trail to where we were before and then back into the village heading inexorably towards the Churchyard.
At this point Rob sent off an advance guard to tell the pub to put the chips on which was a relief to those of us who still had a few doubts that we were all going to make it back alive.

We filtered into the churchyard - all lights off, either to create an atmosphere or so as not to disturb the teenagers, I'm not sure. And here, Rob told us his scariest story. It was about a man sleeping with a horse which whinnied at just the wrong time. This inopportune neighing resulted in him being picked up by a man in a Cavalier or something like that at least. Anyway - the upshot of this story was that Barney had to climb on to a rope swing and dangle above the river for a bit. He didn't fall in though which was a shame.

Then it was on-on to where Lesley, in her self-appointed role as hash vamp, would have been ritualistically dunked witch-like into the village pond, if only she had actually turned up that evening. Suggestions that Jo looked a little like Lesley and so she could substitute were turned down ‘cos everyone was scared of the Halloween look on Jo’s face.

Then it was on in back to the pub where we discovered that the clientele seemed to be dressed in even more outlandish outfits than we were. That's country pubs for you.

We were banished to the barn out the back where were we stuffed out faces with chips and award the prizes for the best costumes. Ros won (with another of her mega-impressive costumes) for her Frank Spencer outfit, with Ryan coming in second for his excellent depiction of a clumsy pizza delivery boy.

Cheers Rob.

Run No :881
Date: 23rd October 2007
Venue: Stag & Hounds, Pinkneys Green
Hare: Super Cooper
Hounds: 28
Scribes: Jane, Noddy & Maggie

When I joined HWH3, I hadn’t realised the pressure I would face. One week a virgin hare, the next a virgin scribe. And how do I respond to being called thaumaturgeian? (Answer – look it up. But then I can’t find it) (Ed's aside: Oh God!). An insult or compliment? The worry…. the stress! ) But to continue with the story with Maggie and Roz as co scribes……

The sky was clear, the moon bright, the ground dry (well mostly). A perfect October night. Perfect for frolicking dogs. Lexie knew this and wanted to play. But Cassie wasn’t having any of it and we set off across the common land to the sound of yelps and squeals.

We were adeptly guided by humungous blobs of flour across the common land and a road into some woods. The short cutters complained bitterly when the same road was crossed some minutes later and a short cut opportunity had been missed. The hare was immediately notified (or was it reprimanded?) and they were reassured that there were two short cuts to come. On! On!

Meanwhile the walkers headed for Maidenhead Thicket because Dave said you might hear a nightingale. But sadly not – all they heard was the A404 traffic!

The hashers continued to run on, enjoying the night air. Conversations abounded from sinking sand to red thongs! Maybe this lack of focus, led to several ‘near-miss’ mooses and a virgin moose for Jen, aided and abetted by dogs who shall be nameless. (And sorry Jen, we’ve only rated it a 3.)

Some time later after passing the Lemon Tree where Dez availed himself of the facilities, the short cutters were presented with a map. They set off down the lane, past a nature reserve in an old brick/tile quarry works and Mick reminisced about a previous hash he had set there and what a wonderful place it was – too dark to see Mick- they were delighted to find big blobs in the lane but when a long/short split was found they became confused – had super coop really set this or was it a previous hash? After much deliberation and talking to the horses in the field (they were a bit big for Tracey and they didn’t know the way) the scb’s chose to follow the sign and cross the horses field – don’t worry Tracey they’re fine as long as you don’t run…but Tracey was already across the field and through the kissing gate.

The SCB’s strolled up the hill (who said it was flat) and along a long straight path, chatting away as they do, when suddenly a great voice yelled out “Come on open those legs!” Two apparitions emerged from the darkness with one small dog and scared them witless so the advanced SCB’s started running and didn’t stop until they were safely back at the pub. Meanwhile Maggie and Aud continued in a nonchalant fashion to prove they hadn’t really been scared by the two LCB’s who’d taken a second short option and turned off their torches.

The remaining LCB’s continued on their way, muttering over a bit of shiggy (the computer wants to change that to shaggy…) but enjoying lots of moonlit bridlepaths. Helen and Jen, our horsey pair, were very excited a finding a new hack location, but be warned - We think were on the road to Cookham, passing Hangman’s Corner, once the site of a gibbet. It is said a young girl once returned home to tell how the pony she had been riding had been ‘awful’ at the turning to Dean. She had no knowledge of the junction’s name, else she might have guessed the place’s reputation. All horses react this way when they pass Hangman’s Corner and wise riders make a detour which saves them much time in the end.

On, on we ran. The beer was calling, time was pressing and the hashers were thirsty (as usual). Etc etc etc. We were back.

Just as we started to relax with refreshment (thanks for the chips, Sooop) we realised we were in for a bol***king. Apparently we are not noisy enough. The on on must be shouted by all! Point taken - but GM – some of us can’t even begin to compete with you!!!!!!

So to finish – thanks for a SOOPER hash, SOOPER Cooper.

Run No. 879
Date : 16th October 2007
Venue : The Squirrel @ Penn Street
Hare : Jane, Roz & Maggie
Hounds : 29
Scribe : Gerry

I hadn’t realized that Jane was a rain god, but so it turned out to be. The precipitation trailed around after her all evening and worshipped her. Its purifying drops washed, bathed, saturated, deluged and drenched us. From drizzle to downpour and from showered to soaked, all “hail” to Jane, the latest addition to the thaumaturgeian pantheon.

Oh, and I am not sure if the new mud goddess was Roz or Maggie but the last mile of hash alone nearly made up for an entire gloop-free summer. But I get ahead of myself.

As we huddled wistfully in the shelter of the pub doorway, Jane gave us the good news that the run, though long at 4 and 5.9 miles respectively, was going to be a flat one. So we set off in the rain happy in the knowledge of a hill-free time. Doubts began to assail the more experienced hashers when we started the long decline past Penn House. Would Jane be using her new godhead to create a run that was entirely downhill? We would find out later. Down through Charcoal wood we heard the cry of “Re-group at the gate”. At the first stile we saw what could have been a gate on the other side of the small enclosure, so over we went to find what was yet another stile, but at least it had a regroup sign.

So we waited – only to be yelled at by a hare that we were regrouping in the wrong place. Our protestations that there wasn’t a gate, and at least we were by the regroup sign were sternly overruled – such is the fickle way of the gods.

The first of several hills was climbed amidst much grumbling about “Flat hills”. We were told it didn’t count – but any steep incline that crosses 8 contours on the map given to you by the hare, counts as a hill in my book! (and yes Jane, there were exactly eight). To make things worse I got caught by my second back check of the evening and had to run up the hill twice! If I had known that I was to be caught by five further back checks – most on “flat hills”, I may well have gone back then!

Over the road and up the hill through Common Wood we ran, arriving at the infamous “Chalk Track” – the site of the Hash’s first ever “Hash Dash” along its entire mile-long length. This time the god-hares took us on two extra little detours through the woods, presumably to give us longer to worship the precipitation’s perfection.

In one of the by-ways I fell into conversation with Moose, though when he told me about Sam’s favourite sandwich of a four bar Kit-Kat in hard bread I wished I hadn’t, Uggg! Still, worse was to come when Helen gave me a lurid account of the contents of Jo’s stomach earlier that day and a particularly graphic end-to-end account of the passage of the soup she consumed at lunchtime. I entirely understand why Jo wasn’t there that evening and can only wish her a speedy recovery.

A while later I mentioned to Helen that the pigtail through her cap style had forcibly reminded me of Beryl the Peril. To be fair I quickly realised the error of my ways – perhaps when Helen said, in high dudgeon – that I could at least have said Lara Croft. Then came my second mistake – I foolishly confess that I hadn’t realised that Lara had a pigtail. I can't think why…? OK Lets do a test, any boy in the hash that had noticed Lara had a pigtail put your hand up now. No? I thought not.

Let me try to repair my now battered relationship with Helen, by quoting a few lines from Dr Faustus which could have been written about her, but were actually used to describe another Helen from another time and place, “Was this the face that launched a thousand Ships? And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. Her lips suck forth my soul; see where it flies!”
And then, all too quickly, we were back in the pub – but then good hashes always end too quickly.

In the pub I heard the delights of the beautiful Rhododendron walk that was transversed by the short-cutters. It was just a shame that it was too dark to see the flowers that weren’t out ‘cos it was the wrong time of year. We also heard of the mega-impressive Moose by Rob Green, a previous winner of the Moose of the year award – I hear his forward-flying moose starting while running through a deep rut full of water was, err, well “Splashing”.

And then we come to the chips that kept on coming in waves – at the third tranch of chips the publican brought out, even the hares started exclaiming – “What more chips?”. In all there were five waves, plus a huge plate of cheesey chips – each enough to feed a small African country. And when it got to paying the £15 the hares had arranged, the publican only took ten and said put the other 5 in the kitty! We officially LIKED this hash and this pub!

Run No. 878
Date : 9th October 2007
Venue : The Chequers, Wheeler End
Hare : Gerry & Aud
Hounds : 23
Walkers : Several
Scribe : Mick Jones

Now over the years there have been many reasons for not setting a hash. We have had a variety of malaise, loose shoelaces, the incapacity of loved ones (or unloved ones), and busted measuring string or localised battery shortages amongst other reasons but I have to say that nobody , up to now beats Mike & Judy’s “piggy learning weekend”.

The obvious question is “what are the pigs learning” but, this coupled with total confusion over whether they were setting on 9th or 16th meant ……….. aargh!! NO HARE.

Thankfully Gerry stepped into the breach at the last moment, ably assisted by Aud and so we were able to indulge in our usual Tuesday evening eccentricities.

Now on the minus side, we were without a number of regulars, including Moose who was probably sulking after coming in behind Matthew in the Ooch Aye The Noo Marathon, and also our GM who declared himself well and truly knackered after pushing a small ball around until it eventually fell down a hole.

On the plus side, we were joined by three (yes the other 9 wimped out) hashers from Hertford and Somewhere Else Hash. They declared themselves “The Parasitic Hash” and went on to relate how they attach themselves to other hashes for an evening here and there. Apparently they do not usually run in the dark (girlies !!) and recently ran with a hash which only run once a month but for 10 miles with a curry stop. Nowt so weird as folks eh ?

Anyhow, we set off up the road and across Wheeler End common onto the road that nosedives down to Piddington at about 1 in 2. Deep joy then when we turned right into a field to be met by some horsey jumpy things with an H in front. Gerry had already stated that there were certain obstacles which had to be overcome by those whose name began with the relevant letter. Up steps Aud, or should say Haud, and executes a very fetching forward roll over the woody thingy. Only slight snag, if one were picky, is she ends up where she started. Next up is Hells Belles who zips over with no problem.

Apparently we are on a polo field - Oh Ya. From here the trail went back across Piddington Lane and then, just as deep depression was setting in about the loss of altitude, right along a tried and trusted footpath then down into Jane’s Wood. Now there’s slippy and there’s downright suicidal and the path down and through this wood was nearer the latter. Halfway down Jo felt the need to go down on bended knee and kiss the shiggy. Fortunately, although she looked a bit wonky for a while afterwards, no lasting damage was done.

From Jane’s Wood, we ran down past Bullocks Farm (they didn’t seem to have any though – bullocks that is) and on into Upper Dorrels Wood. Ah bisto !! --- the short long split. Us shorties, complemented by Matthew who looked a broken man after the Scottish Jaunt, sailed off with Aud at the helm whilst Gerry took the longs on a pretty long loop to Towerage.

Now, as the actress said to the bishop, it all looks different in the dark. And so, it was not long before we were all huddled round Aud trying to decide where the right hander was. Tracey then found the crossing track from wence the longs would be emerging and we joyfully, or thankfully anyway, went right into Great Wood.

This was similarly confusing, not helped by the rain which had oh so helpfully washed out most of the flour. At least a couple of re-routes were undertaken with a rather large degree of uncertainty as to our exact location prevailing. Not to be daunted, our tour guide eventually finds the track and we storm on. Now every silver lining has a dark cloud so we inadvertently find ourselves in Denham Wood – that of bluebells fame.

Aud raises our spirits by telling us that this cunning short cut avoids the long, steep pull up past Rickett’s Farm and so, with a spring (OK I’m exaggerating) we head on to the lane where a left turn takes us up a short sharp hill and back to the pub.

Apparently the longs are set a challenge to race up from the aforementioned bottom by Gerry, the prize being either sweeties or a bed in A. & E.

Back in the pub Mike reaffirms his growing reputation as the Hash Gannet by shovelling down most of Auds choccy in double quick time after a lengthy discussion about a chocolate cake the size of Bubbles De Vere. Great fellow but where does he put it ??

Thanks to Gerry and Aud for another incident packed Tuesday.

Mick

Run No: 878
Venue: Three Horshoes @ Seer Green
Hare: Mick
Hounds: 28
Date: 2 October 2007
Scribe: Graeme

Weather forecast: Fog
Conditions: Damp Ground, dry air, not too cold – but first time this year I was able to see exhaled air

Seer Green, named after the “arid place” with a communal well some 130’ deep – a few years ago now though. Just as well we were starting from a pub then! Also known as the Cherry Pie village because Mr Lofty cooked them, and I have a recipe at the bottom.

People started congregating at 1930 (time not year), and by 1950 the first briefing was about to start. Hare was flourless – he disappeared to make good. Briefing restarts, until more late arrivals noted. Finally gets underway – just as well it wasn’t cold. Two runs, short at 3.2 and long at 4.7 - more of which later.

Start called, but not much reaction. Minutes later we are on our way, through the village and out into the country, passing Hall Place (a hunting lodge of the Black Prince), veering through Woods and Blimey - we are headed for Quaker Country. Has the Hare arranged a special spiritual meeting as a first stop? There certainly won’t be a drink stop as the Quakers didn’t want pubs in their village. However we bypassed the old Quaker conference centre (hived off to an investment company a year ago) and the old Quaker meeting house (gutted by fire two years ago) Coincidence? Usually reliable sources state that meetings held by the Quakers over the last 300 years have included such luminaries as I Penington, J Nayler, Noddy and William Penn. The latter who created and owned Pennsylvania was even buried there, with wife and only 10 of his 16 children.

Moving on, we travel through fields with horse and horse jumps. Helen proves to be fluent in Swahili (well definitely one word) but choosing not to leap the jumps; and Ade is, well, Ade is just fluent! We get to a check and mill about. OK I know we are close to chez Oz Osbourne, and they make a lot of noise but is it them? It transpires the answer is no. Hashers are clearly not checking but talking and not just talking but talking loud. Will the on-on be heard? Maybe the hare helped out because I didn’t hear it?

Somewhere the shorts leave the longs. The longs then find themselves running by a fence on one side and foliage everywhere else. Who said that nettle poison was only virulent in June/July? (ok – it was me). Obviously the hare had chosen long trousers because he knew, but pity the poor short trousered hashers – heheI! More short long choices, but people seemed to prefer the longs.

Anyway we reached the southern outskirts of Farmer Piles (a cockney expression), turned west, kept running and running and running with the normal checks, endless stiles and gates, buses on back roads, Ade winding up Travellers, etc and eventually back to the pub. Time had marched on so much the chips and onion rings were already cooked and ready and tasted wonderful. Such sustenance was clearly necessary as the Hare made clear that he did not want the distance checked and thus presumably tried to distract any attention from such details. My legs said 6 miles, but Google Map says 4.85 – so even on a flat run the legs can lie……

In the pub the GM was on form doling out shirts like he had just arrived back from China, and some hashers were getting their carbo loading in early thanks to the impending Inverness Marathon – must be a flat course to go that far to race 26 miles?

Thanks Mick for a wonderful evening.

"For pastrie, use flour saved from the cleanings, and lard from the fresh killed pig. Roll out verie thickly so as to contain the cherry juice, and give boddie to the turnover. Gather a hatful of black cherries by moonlight. Those high up are better in taste. Let them be ripe enough to contain the juice when gentlie prest. Put a double layer in the pastrie with flour atop, and seal with fresh drawn water from the well. Cook gently on a fire of faggots. Gather round, and when the pastrie is cool enough not to scorch the fingers, break off one end and drink the juice. Repeat... and yet again....then again. Ah, life is sweet"