(Greenham) Common People

Rather unfortunately the goddam tape machine refused to record so if I’ve missed your name out, my apologies - Spot Centaur Hashgate Pinky Lonely and dog Beaver Judith Jake Incider with dogs BGB Kundun & Baldrick(!) Brian C5 Charlie Motox Zebedee Florence Iceman Dorthe Lemming Mother Theresa Chopstix Foghorn Terry Cheating Smurf TinOpener Miranda and dog Emma Hitchiker Bomber Posh Effin Dumper Septic Baldrick ShutupWally Uplift Flash

Hash of the Year?

This could be the very best Hash we have ever attended. Not because the last part of it, as Potty put it, was “crap”. Not because the Hares, rather naively believing the fine weather forecast, had laid the trail on Saturday then listened to the deluge of rain overnight as it washed most of the flour away. And not because we all stood around at the Down Downs for half an hour in our wet, muddy clothes freezing our cobblers off. No. It was because of the… showers! An absolute first for me. Hot, splendid cascades of water bouncing merrily off the scalp and snaking transparently down over the rapidly thawing skin. What joy! What absolute rapture! Spoiled only partially by the sight of Potty’s bare a**e as he bent to pick up a skittish bar of soap. Hashing from sports centres – yes please!

Lemming (or Gollom as Tolkein enthusiasts may wish to call him) and Mother Theresa turned up in a fine new Mini and parked it carefully away from any possible flour abuse. This enabled us to see the twee number plate: T4 LEM. As in Theresa and Lemming. Apparently, she had bought it for the little fellow as a present. Aaah. How sweet. Several people turned away to wipe away a tear. Several others rushed for the nearest wastepaper bin to barf and heave seismically, then collapse in an empty but satisfied shell on the floor. Judith had brought her son, Jake, along and he sported a Superman T shirt and a hairstyle that looked spookily like Effin’s corkscrew curls.

Foghorn’s early grab and puddle douse of ShutupWally’s cap was quickly followed by C5’s soaking of Foghorn’s shirt in the same puddle. Rather than hang around getting colder than we already were we On Outed in the directio indicated by Potty and promptly got lost at the first check. We knew we had to end up on Greenham Common but how should we get there? In the end it was Dorthe, who’s persistence despite the lack of flour, finally found the trail and the grateful pack traipsed forwards through the mud. Terry (a friend of the Hares) was totally bemused by the whole procedure, this being his first Hash. I explained the trail marks to him as we shuffled on, then left him looking more bemused than ever.

It wasn’t very long before we slipped (literally) down into a soaking, moss-covered valley with a little stream running through it. The ground was spongy, determined to suck our shoes off and stank worse than one of Cheating’s running shoes after a warm night in a plastic bag. Phew it was rancid! Centaur, Zebedee, C5 and Iceman raced up the hill to get out of the goo, closely following the flying Motox. Motox obviously had a plan for this Hash. Just before we started he had exhorted us to tell him of any sinners for the Down Downs since he would be at the back nursing his injury. In the event, the bugger hurtled up hill and down dale and back up hill again with all the aplomb of a Spring lamb. And so we came to the first regroup where people like Incider, Pinky and Hitchiker lounged at the gate trying to look out of breath. We were quickly on our way and into the tarmac part of the course. Centaur recognized the area immediately when he Zebedee and I trotted past his workplace. It was a fair old haul round the industrial area, lightened only by the sight of a fat bloke in a red shirt standing in front of an Indian restaurant gorging himself on onion bhajees. The trail went fairly cold (in more ways than one) when we got on to the airfield and it took a bit of looking to find the washed-out flour in the force nine gale. We eventually found it and fetched up at the second regroup where a large puddle proved highly attractive to Foghorn (no surprise there), Beaver, Kundun and Baldrick, who all jumped in for a swim. I refer of course to the muscly, chunky Baldrick with the big nose and the lolling tongue. No! Not him you fools; Incider’s dog. Bomber and Posh finally turned up with the rest after being totally knackered by a moving experience. Posh, as ever, was the epitome of English reserve and delicate manners. What on earth she is doing with Bomber I cannot think. Fancied a bit of rough I suppose.

Zeb and Centaur led us off over the scrubby, sandy, stony blasted heath. The wind blew ferociously as we toiled up the slope to a 2-way check. Guess who took the right-hand trail when everyone else turned left. You got it. I think that just blew me away and even Potty’s heartfelt “Thankyou for doing that, Hashgate.” failed to raise my energy levels. We slogged onwards, desperately searching for flour. Motox, BGB and I formed our own splinter group which sadly went the wrong way and it was largely left to Centaur, Iceman, C5 and Zeb to find the trail. I found myself tagging along with Bomber and musing how appropriate that he was flying across Greenham Common. Funny how your mind goes when you’re totally exhausted. We battled against the headwind, the rest of the Hash strung out behind like the tail of a kite whipping in a gale. The flour blobs were small, brown, rain-sodden lumps amongst the light-coloured rocks and pebbles and we missed most of them. Even the fairly large but rather washed-out arrow that pointed us back to the road where we first started. A final tarmac drag saw us to the sports centre and the thought that those lovely hot showers were but a Down Down away.

A trail of three parts – the good, the reasonable and the ‘crap’ (see Potty, above). Although I actually enjoyed it all despite severe exhaustion. Thanks Hares for your hard work.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following (apologies again if I missed you out) :-

Up and Coming