Hashgate note 2011: I thought I had lost this little journal but it appeared recently, rising like a bubble of methane from the swamp of my pc. It was great fun writing it and unbelievably easy. There was so much going on.

Sadly, the second Friday notes never got written. Far too much going on. Apart from a mental and bodily lassitude after a week of non-stop hedonism that took a further week to overcome.

I thought it might be nice to reprise our last visit to Bude. I’m certainly looking forward to this year.

The BH3 Bude Diary – 2009

Friday 12th June

Coo. Off to Bude for the Hash week. Now on M5 and desperate for coffee and pee. Pulled in to service station for the disadvantaged. Fagsand bellies everywhere – and that was just the women. Weirdos, bikers, pimps and tattoos. Sat and enjoyed a latté amidst the meleé. Two whale-like objects plumped enormous bottoms on chairs opposite us. Seemed darker generally somehow. D and I exchanged a look. Time to go. Queued up in W.H. Smith with young Welsh gent in front dressed in a wig and too-short nurse’s uniform with snake hanging out of front. Snake not real but seemed frightening enough. Young Welsh gent behind dressed in Borat-style bright green, all-in-one swimming costume. Slightly more frightening than nurse. Definitely time to go. Arrived at Penstowe. Couldn’t face Hash so tanked up on couple of pints at bar. I had a couple too. Wandered vacantly over to Septic and Dumper’s for drinks and food. Had forgotten plates so staggered back to hut 32 (our chalet). Got lost on way and met Zeb who ratted on us later. Much more drink and food. D and S’s chalet stocked like Tesco’s, with many hot chickens in oven. Won ‘Wiggly Big Toe’ competition and enjoyed Down Down presented by Dribbler. By this time, was enjoying evening so much was making very little sense. D dragged me out. She was very tired. Pity really. I kept talking ‘til two in the morning.

Saturday 13th June

Like Slowsucker, woke feeling ‘bleary’. Energy level same as clapped-out Duracell bunny. But was ShitShoveller’s 65th birthday and he’s taking us on a walk. Nice. Little stroll along cliff top enjoying waves in sunshine, we thought. Aaargh! Not to be. D mis-interprets written itinerary and figures will be back for lunch. Pack only one small Mars bar each and one drink. Scoff Mars bars before start, little realising walk will be like crossing of Gobi desert. Hamlet comes to rescue when we stop in a sheltered bay, with packets of crisps and cheese things. Would have thanked him but mouths too clogged with cheese things. Nod and smile cheesily. Mr Blobby gingerly enters sea in attempt to find basking sharks. Slips arse over head while negotiating sharp rocks in shallow water. Luckily, no sharks around, basking or otherwise or Blobby would have become blob. Left beach later to enjoy ¼ mile slog up 1 in 4 hill in hot sunshine. Salome particularly voluble about her pleasure at taking part (this is irony). If you saw the 1950’S film ‘The Hill’ you’ll get the idea. Many, many miles later stumbled wearily into delightful tea emporium where generous Shitshoveller bought us all a cream tea. Later, drinks at Twigg and Rudd Towers followed by meal at Penstowe manor. Good meal, though the sea bass seemed particularly at home, swimming in a sea of lemon butter sauce. Following Down Downs with guest RA Simple, Dribbler stood on chair to perform ‘Sunshine Mountain’. D and I suddenly felt very tired and had to leave.

Sunday 14th June

Woke feeling like had been stomped on by large, bad-tempered bear wearing big boots. Looking forward to Looe and Liskeard Hash as much as trepanning session with rusty spoon but put brave face on it. Halfway up first massive hill decided trepanning preferable. Trail had been laid by Whingeing Pom with dark brown wood shavings supplied by neighbourly carpenter. Not too helpful for colour-blind Glittertits who could see none of it. Excellent beer stop with popcorn, chocs and various alcohol. Hare did impressive job of confusing the Pack, though most were dazed and confused anyway after yesterday’s massive yomp. Down Downs with Skids who appeared very demure and sweet. Must have been tired too. D and I then went to Bude, got a free parking ticket off a friendly local, a pasty, a nice cup of tea and a sweatshirt. And a starling poo’d on my arm. Back to hut 32 for sunbathe and kip. Woke feeling worse than before and only just in time for drinks at Ms whiplash, Salome and Old Dog’s chalet. They’d decided on a police theme, with a murder. Salome was the body (surprisingly walking about). Old Dog was a SOCO in boiler suit, plastic hair net, surgical mask and worrying rubber gloves. Ms Whiplash was police person with fetching cap and a big whip… Dribbler turned out to be the murderer. All thoroughly enjoyed watching Fukawe getting suckered by Glittertits into attempting to transfer a beer bubble on the top of his bottle on to her tongue. Nice technique. D and C4 slapped foreheads and rolled eyes in the background. Best comic moment came watching a completely pissed Potty trying to barbeque a single sausage on the big BBQ. Despite massive tongs and a clear field he managed to drop it twice and was then unable to find the handle of the lid to shut the thing. Only minor fly in ointment was when Baldrick recounted details of prostate examination to me. Drank  more than strictly necessary then tottered back to safety of hut 32 with D.

Monday 15th June

a) Monday b) not at work c) a lie-in. A definite result. Off to Brownsham for the Blobby walk. Slowsucker and Swallow kindly gave us lift. Navigation problems finally solved by friendly American and arrived in car park to rousing cheers. Walk led to Clovelly and its cove. Steep cobbled paths seemingly negotiated by relentless hordes of old ladies, people with game legs, and Germans. Paths actually so steep D almost snuffed it staggering back up main street trying to eat double ice cream and breathe at same time. Later in woods best snatch of overheard conversation was by Motox. “I tried to get Flash to wash it.” He boomed, during gap in general gabble, to much schoolboy guffawing. This just before Mrs Blobby told us she thought Muffin the Mule was a dog. On to another cove where Mr Blobby and I enjoyed magnificent views of ancient, upthrust rock folds on beach while rest of party enjoyed ping-pong ball duck race in small stream won by Zebedee and Florence.

Tuesday 16th June

Donut and I decided on a trip to Boscastle and Tintagel instead of the Hash bike ride. The bike ride was particularly enjoyable for Simple, who suffered a total of three punctures. The first was a, “Goodness me. I seem to have a flat tyre.” The second was a, “For frick’s sake! Not another one!” The third was a, “***ing ****ard bike!!!” and a hurling of said machine into the nearest available bush. Curiously, Boscastle was full of older people wearing beige and light green clothing, speaking in a Brummy accent.  D and I agreed that older people do wear beige and light green a lot and sealed a pact whereby, should either catch the other eyeing up a windcheater or pair of Crimplene slacks in John Lewis an immediate personal termination would be warranted on humane grounds. Sausage, mash, ale and skittles at The New Inn at night. Slowsucker won the knockout competition and was seen punching the air, running round the pub with his vest over his face and shouting, “Swivel on that, suckers!” Not too competitive a night then.

Wednesday 17th June

BH3 Hash today. Were joined by Looe and Liskeard Hashers Whingeing Pom, The Bard, Ray and Annie and a couple of others. In the hallowed tradition of Berkshire it was long and hard – our ladies particularly enjoyed it… Rain only came as we wearily neared the pub after an aggro-cultural difference of opinion with a farmer whose cows saw us and decided it must be time for milking. GT commented at the time, “Look at those udders.” Just as Flo bounced past us. It was left to Hamlet, Motox, new girl Chetney and me to attempt to placate the wild-eyed, unshaven, horny-handed son of toil. Which we did, largely by saying, “Sorry pal. We’ll be off now then.” And legging it out of the farmyard, leaving the frenzy of mooing, barking and cursing behind us. The old bugger had somehow figured out where we were staying and C5 had to further calm him later by ringing him when we later went for our coach-driven (hooray!) trip to Crooklets Inn where we ate and drank copiously then enjoyed Dribbler (dressed as a fairground barker) and Butterfly’s fiendish general knowledge quiz – won by Slowsucker (sneaky, getting on the winning team like that), Hamlet, Shitshoveller and Ray.

Thursday 18th June

Lazy morning. A no-rush breakfast in preparation for some rock-climbing with D, Fukawe and Snowballs. Turned out the group leader was a pleasant young bloke named ‘Eggy’ – no idea why. When I got talking it turned out he had taught Motormouth (my son) to kayak and climb etc during a school residential trip six years ago! Nothing coincides like coincidence. Our different approaches to the cliff climbing were interesting. We partnered up and roped up, girls and boys. A belay at the top meant that one climbed while the other provided anchor at the base. All very well when Snowballs was anchoring me on the first climb but quite fun when he reached the top and gave me the thumbs up. I tightened the rope and he laid back, ready for him to abseil slowly down in a controlled descent. Snowballs weighs a tad more than I and when I unpeeled my flattened nose from the base of the cliff he was a good six feet below the start point and wondering where he might obtain a fresh pair of trousers.  D and Fukawe had similar problems and a totally different approach to each other when it came to the climbing. D, having been a member of a mountaineering club some years ago, skittered up the rock face like a small lizard. Fukawe found that swearing like a burly stoker immediately before each herculean effort with hand or foot paid exceptionally good dividends and she scaled the rock very well. Watching below, we were quite amazed at her flexibility. Being able to get one’s foot next to one’s ear is not something most of us can do. Hamlet must be very pleased. Dinner at Life’s A Beach, Bude’s gourmet bistro – again driven by coach! Some excellent food and good conversation marred only by the lower class among us. Flash had already been drinking from a can when he entered the restaurant and, rather than waste beer by discarding it outside, he smuggled it in, then concealed it by wrapping a menu round the thing and drinking from it secretively. Saints preserve us!

Friday 19th June – oops!