The Hashers

Lemming Mother Theresa Hashgate Cap’n Haystax 2Bob Puddleduck Fred Spot HitchHiker Hamlet and dog Jake Baldrick Lonely Judith and dog Beaver Foghorn DragonLady Uplift The Tremblers Iceman Dumper Septic ShutupWally Ms. Whiplash Salome Motox Honeymonster BGB Cheating Squirrel Glittertits Pissquyick Florence Zebedee HeyBabe ShaginaJag

The Hash

The fresh, morning aroma of butter-drenched, lightly toasted muffin and Earl Grey wafted up the stairs. Bomber tiptoed quietly up them, bearing the silver salver with the muffins and the tea, the carefully rolled snow-white napkin, the crisply ironed Daily Telegraph. Posh sat up against the plump swansdown pillows, each covered with a pristine Irish lawn pillowcase. A silken mob cap protected her perfect coiffure. A bed jacket covered her perfect shoulders. Bomber entered the room deferentially, lowered the side supports of the tray and placed it carefully across Posh’s knees. “Very good.” She allowed, after sweeping a glance at the breakfast things. “I expect you wish to lay the trail now?” She queried, arching one beauteous eyebrow. “Yes please.” Gushed Bomber, with all the eagerness of a puppy. “Very well.” She replied. “And don’t forget to do my things. You may go.” Bomber slipped out of the room and downstairs. Outside he carefully dusted Posh’s shoes and running trousers with flour and rubbed on a little mud – not too much – before setting off to lay the trail. He smiled a satisfied smile. He knew she would be pleased. After all, she wouldn’t want to get dirty laying a nasty horrid trail. And no-one would ever know…

As Mother, Lemming and I chatted by the cars Posh turned up, looking a little careworn and carrying a plastic bag between thumb and forefinger. We duly congratulated her on her efforts. Mother had earlier been telling me excitedly how well the back seats in her new Mini go down, without realising the implications that Lemming and I were smirking about. We were joined by a lady in a little cart that was being pulled by a delightful miniature Shetland pony named May. This Thelwell-like creature enjoyed the patting and stroking and was rather loth to ‘walk on’ until the nice lady whacked her on the bum with a stick and she hurtled off in a welter of tiny hooves and tweed checks, straight into the path of several oncoming Hashers’ cars. Fortunately, no blood was spilt even though Honeymonster drove in like a complete nutter, right up Ms. Whiplash’ backside (as it were). Foghorn also drove up with an unseen lady. Lemming very ungallantly suggested it was his mum until I pointed out it was the delightful DragonLady. We got to see Hamlet again and new lad Fred, Puddleduck’s friend. And so we were off, with 2Bob and the boys going in completely the wrong direction while everyone else went in the right direction. Glittertits, BGB and Iceman showed as early front runners. Then Lonely appeared, sporting a new haircut (ready for his new job) that had been crafted by Old Blind Jed, the epileptic, three-fingered barber from Birmingham (now resting at Her Majesty’s Pleasure for mis-representation of trade). Three blobs and a bar greeted us early on in the damp forest. We blamed Posh. But of course, it couldn’t have been her, could it? We began to go further and further out, thoughts of Bomber’s “There’s a regroup and two (two!) Long/Short splits.” Speech at the On Out ringing like a leaden church bell in our minds. A massively confusing check at the junction of four trails in the forest returned the pack to a thronging melée and it was only after everyone had gone up each false trail twice that Motox found the fifth, and correct, one. He thoroughly enjoyed his – as he said “ten yards of glory” and we gave HeyBabe an earful for walking over the false parallel to us.

There are many things that strike you during the trail. Perhaps a coy woodland animal peeping from behind a tree. Mayhap the scent of snowdrops, shaking their heads in the morning breeze. The one that struck me was the appallingly frightening banshee wail of the unseen Foghorn and Iceman as they found the trail amongst the woodland. I bet there wasn’t an animal left in the forest after that lot. Shortly after, Iceman, Motox and I popped out onto a sunlit forest road. The flour seemed to be in the trees next to it so we cantered along the tarmac until Motox shot off to the right beneath the trees and hit a track. Had it not been for Iceman’s keenness of vision in spotting firstly the ‘S’ and secondly the ‘RG’ we would have followed Motox who hurtled off down the first Short trail like a moustachio’d rat up a drain. The rest of us gathered at the regroup, chortling over his mistake. All very well to crow of course but as we started again I hurtled off in the opposite direction to everyone else and ended up trotting back somewhat crestfallen. Still, it was nice to chat to Bomber and catch up with Dumper and Septic as we jogged across lovely green fields. Brightly coloured flowers were bursting through the awakening earth and the occasional walker gave us a friendly “Hello!”. Of course, this being a Bomber trail, we had already been running for an hour or so and were beginning to wonder if we would get back before the pub closed. Spot, Lonely and I pasted down a long, long track to a check by a small sign stating this was the ‘Lemming trail break’. Of course we ended up down the next long False and had to track back, passing Uplift and Florence on the way. Up and along another long track until we arrived at ‘The Crooked Billet’ in the sunshine. We were obviously getting tired and blurred by now as Foghorn admitted missing a damn great footpath sign and blindly following BGB into an absolutely flour free recreation ground for no good reason at all. However, we managed to get a rest when we met a couple of Reading Road Runners out for a stroll and gratefully (if breathlessly) chatted with them for as long as we could decently manage. We seemed to be around Stoke Row near The Cherry Tree and Zebedee followed the ‘usual trail’ out, leading Spot and myself through forest and field. I had just remarked to him that “at least it must be too late for another Long/Short split” when we almost ran into Posh who was standing – would you believe it – by the next Long/ Short split. “Good golly gosh!” We exclaimed and foolishly carried on down the Long. This turned into a bit of a thrash for Zeb, Spot and myself although we let Zeb run on in the belief that he would ‘win’ the Hash. Either that or we were too knackered to keep up. Either way, after a bit more shiggy and forest the welcome sight of the pub appeared and we gratefully headed towards the bar.

As ever, an excellent area to lay a trail. Full marks to the Hare(s) for laying the thing in the morning and staggering round it again with us. Our thanks to Posh and Bomber for a job well done.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

Up and Coming