The Hashers

Foghorn, Wally, Dutch Cap, Motox, Dumper, Septic, Spot, Cheating, Puppy, Hashgate, Baldrick, Honeymonster, John, Potty, Old Fart, Lonely, Arnie, Karen, C5, Tin Opener, Miss Whiplash, Spex, Bob (Sorry if I’ve forgotten anyone – the Dictaphone isn’t co-operating, so this is all from memory!)

The Hash

After runs 1350 and 1351 Motox complained that they were too short. Run 1352, the Hashathon, might just have been the odd half marathon too long, so for this run we were looking to get it just right. And it was just about right! Mind you, it was more by luck than judgement.

As Party Animal explained at the start of the run, in the midst of a rambling explanation of what we were supposed to be doing, they had met a farmer whilst laying part of the trail. They had a Frank and E(a)rnest (both nice boys) discussion with him about what they were doing, so he said, ‘Go forth and do it elsewhere.’ So they had to rub that section of the trail out and abandon it. So all those people who thought the trail was about the right length should send their thank you letters to: The Farmer, Binfield Heath, Berkshire.

It was a bright, crisp morning as we on outed down the road to a check that took us into the woods. In these early stages there was an awful lot of milling about, which was surprising because there was an urgent need to run about and keep warm, I thought. Arnie’s dogs were certainly doing a lot of running about, but greyhounds tend to do that. If the rest of us had shown even a tenth the amount of energy, the run would have been over in half the time – mind you, Motox would have moaned again so it’s just as well that we were a lazy load of hashers.

Eventually we got our act together and got running – except for the walkers who got walking. There were two or three occasions at which the walkers went one way and the runners another; what was remarkable was that we kept meeting up at roughly the places we were supposed to do. Was this good planning by the hares, divine intervention, the farmer’s intervention or just pure chance? Answers on a postcard to the GM, please.

We sped (?) on through the woods and at this stage Heybabe was overheard to say, ‘I couldn’t go 24 hours without a shave.’ The mind boggles – there’s no doubt that she always looks clean-shaven without even the merest hint of designer stubble. But the thought of her standing in front of the mirror every morning with a cut-throat in her hand is a touch disconcerting.

After a long drag across some fields, Foghorn called an impromptu regroup. He denied strenuously that it had anything to do with the fact that he was knackered, ‘It’s purely to keep the pack together after a long stretch,’ he assured us in all sincerity. Oh yes!!

He finally let us go again and off we surged down the road and then down a narrow path into some more woods. Wally checked out a trail that proved to be false, and Foghorn was all for letting him jog off into the wild blue yonder. Most unkind, I thought. After all, what’s Wally ever done to annoy, enrage, drive mad or infuriate any other human being?

We eventually emerged into a field at which point Arnie’s dogs really showed us how to run. They scented some deer in Somerset and off they took like the wind from Lemming’s bottom after 10 pints and a vindaloo. They disappeared over the horizon and into the distance. Arnie ran after them and, as her father, I thought I should help out (parenthood is truly a life sentence!). Lonely and Beaver also joined in the chase and off we went towards the woods about 10 miles away, whilst everyone else looked on in complete amusement and cooking up a new name for Arnie (see below). The dogs eventually took pity on us and returned so the story had a happy ending. What was even happier was that Party Animal decided we’d done our long trail so showed us a short cut in order to catch up with the pack. He’s as kind as a kindly Mary Poppins who’s just won the ‘Miss Kind 2003’ contest.

On we went and eventually came out onto the road leading back to the pub. The hares had tried to break the record for the longest On Inn in history so there was a long haul after that initial surge of hope, joy and optimism that you get when you see those lovely two words, On Inn They’re nearly as good as those other two words,’ Wally’s absent’, or ‘What’s yours?’

Having frozen during down-downs we eventually made it inside the pub where Squirrel and Anorak appeared having missed the run by some distance. However, and here’s a salutary thought, Anorak was there because she was running the West London bash laid by Bomber and Posh. The Bottle and Glass was the beer stop and Anorak had beaten the cyclists to it. Eat your heart out Paula Radcliffe!

A lovely day, some wonderful countryside and a trail that worked thanks to that kind, co-operative farmer (the hares might have had something to do with it as well). What more could you want on a Sunday morning?

On On. C5.

Down Downs

Spot presented the following.

Up and Coming

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