The Bunch

Foghorn Chopstix Hashgate Spot HitchHiker C5 Dumper Septic TinOpener Miranda and dog Emma Dwight Julia and baby Sam Baldrick GoldenBalls Florence Jenny Zebedee BGB Robert Andrew OldFart Itsyor Fiddler Simon Lou Potty Nutcracker Iceman SlowSucker WetDreamLonely and dog Beaver Judith Drexel PearlAndDean Flash (on his bike!). There were others from the deep South but I’m afraid I did not get their names.

The Cheating Trail

Things started rather well. After a pleasant drive down the M4 from Reading and a tool through Hungerford on the A338 it seemed like I’d got it cracked. Although Cheating’s latest venture was a roadside stop somewhere near Southampton (or so it seemed) the map seemed pretty clear and I found a sign that pointed to Buttermere. I also spotted the tail of Foghorn’s car beetling up it with the alacrity of a GM who is slightly late but very sure of the route. I followed him in two-car convoy through narrow roads that narrowed even further, threw Saharan clouds of dust at us and eventually led to a dead-end where another gentleman of the Hash (name unknown) stood astride a splendid motorbike looking perplexed. And let me tell you, that’s not an easy task when you have a large helmet on your head. We had a bit of a conflab and eventually figured it out, arriving at the parking site just in the nick of time.

We welcomed a couple of virgins and a returnee, WetDream, who has spent ten months or so out in The Philippines Hashing and doing stuff. He was telling me that the driving conditions are so bad that the Hashes are held in the city exclusively on tarmac. Everyone walks round and finishes with a meal and a massage. Sounds good to me. Perhaps we should have a Philippine Hash?

The first tranche of this Hash rather followed the Philippine precedent (for some of us) with a casual stroll among HitchHiker, Septic, NutCracker and Judith to the first off-road bit (for us) where there were two rather fine armchairs which Drexel tried out and pronounced very comfy. This being a Cheating and Centaur trail there were, of course, the obligatory back-checks, bars, bars with blobs, circles with a blob in, circles with a cross in. Cheating had tried to explain it all but the sound of snoring had drowned him out at the Circle. However, since I was mainly walking it was noticeable that the pack kept fairly well together, especially on that long, uphill tramp through the dim woods. Even the mighty Motox was disappointed not to be able to run. Itsyor, Fiddler and SlowSucker seemed to do most of the front running. But what do I know; I was at the back – until it turned into the front. A word about SlowSucker; his son Matt has broken his ankle arsing about in some woods on a bike. BH³ wish him a speedy recovery. Funnily enough, he’s the second person I know who has done this recently. The other did it falling off a climbing wall while well and truly ratted. I shall be asking him if he wants to become a Hasher when he recovers. It seems to me he has the qualifications.

While trotting down an extremely rough, long-grass track I was privileged to view one of the funniest sights I have ever seen on a Hash. OldFart had decided that he had had enough of the rough terrain and viewed the semi-flat field next to it with the eagerness a sheep regarding a particularly succulent turnip. No hand signals were given as he blundered left towards it. Sadly for him and happily for me he had failed to notice the thigh-high electric wire that bounded the field. I suppose if he had thought about it he would have wondered why all those woolly creatures in the field had not escaped by now. But he didn’t. He still had not figured it out as he began to feel resistance. Not electric, luckily for him and sadly for me, since the current was switched off. The wire bent further as he pressed against it, legs pumping like steamhammers. There came a point when the wire had had enough. It let him go so far; then, just as he gasped, “There’s a wi…”, ‘TWAAANNNGGG’. It catapulted him back into the rough grass in a whirling knot of arms and legs. Many thanks, OldFart. It was almost as good as the time two years ago when Tacky and I enjoyed him executing a fine pratfall a little way down the track. The deep sympathy felt by the onlookers was voiced by Tacky as we watched him stagger to his feet and stumble/jog off sideways . "Oh, look." She exclaimed. "He's doing dressage."

I must mention Florence’s friend and virgin Hasher Jenny. She told me she had decided to come to the Hash to ‘get fit’. Interesting thought when looking around at the ancient, wizened, obese, stick-thin and downright lazy sods we get in BH³. But she does have Hash credibility. Apart from her rapid Down Down technique she very kindly offered to get her kit off and go ‘skinny dipping’ in a pond full of the foullest mud, dead warthogs and things I’d rather not describe. Even our canine waterbaby Beaver declined its liquid caress.The girl’s either got a mud fetish or is just plain bonkers. Either way, she’ll make a good Hasher.

The regroup finally took place on a fine, soft-grassed hillside where we sat and toped bottles of lager that Cheating had kindly wheeled up the hill on his old pram base. It was actually quite windy and hazy, despite the oven-like heatwave of the past week and was pleasantly cool. We started off again for what Cheating described as a ‘fifteen minute jog to the cars’, although we were nearly shot by an apoplectic ranger who urged us in suitably bucolic terms to “keep to the ******* path you ****** ********s”. Perhaps not quite that forceful but we caught his drift. Due to the fading light Centaur trecked to the front and began to lay flour arrows. I found myself with TinOpener as we passed a farmer who was none too impressed with us tripping lioghtly through his farmyard. But we bade him a pleasant evening and he scowled one back. I guess he thought we were ‘right to roam/gay pride/namby pamby/townie poncy/hoity toity/arty farty/wishy washy gits who frighten his sheep and put litter in the horse troughs.

The last gasp of this enjoyable Hash was a stumbling trot across the middle of a semi-ploughed field to the cars. What everyone did not know was that the ON2 pub was about six miles down the road! Thanks to Cheating and Centaur (again; only two weeks after his last). This is possibly the best countryside we have run in for some time (apart from two weeks ago) – even if it is miles from anywhere.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

Up and Coming

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