Pilots and Tail End Charlies

Shep and dog Gnarler Hashgate Tony Amanda Tinopener Miranda and dog Emma Salome Ms. Whiplash C5 Florence Iceman Steamer Spot Hitchhiker Dutchcap Turdtreader Shitshoveller Blowjob Terrie Baldrick Stewart ShutupWally and rat Bonnie Foghorn NipponTuck Spex LoudonTasteless Itsyor Motox BGB Ladybird Lonely Rocketman Legs Caboose Spot Cheating Headboy Anorak TrainSpotter Cloggs NonStick DiscoKing

A Posh Bombing Run

When you check the runsheet to find details of the day’s Hash there are certain names in the ‘Hares’ column (Bomber being one of them) that cause a sharp intake of breath and a look of startled consternation, followed by a groan wrung from the very soul. Almost immediately the self-preservation mechanism kicks in and you rummage around the mental sock drawer of excuses looking for a pair that fit the situation. Anything from sudden ingrowing toenail ankle socks to total lunacy knee-length argylls with sock suspenders will be slid on to provide an excuse not to take part in what is expected to be a monumentally long Hash. Curiously, today’s country trot turned out to be not quite the epic we had perhaps expected. Presumably, Posh wished to return early to the mansion to upbraid the scullery maid for not black-leading the grate to obsidian perfection…

We On Outed fairly quickly since it was cold, damp and dull and I was very surprised to be overtaken by Hitchhiker in the car park who burst past me like a Bonfire Night rocket. Sadly, like all rockets she reached the zenith of her flight all too rapidly, exploded noisily and fell by the wayside, a burnt-out husk. Unlike Iceman and Caboose, who had managed to find the trail and dive off left into the undergrowth just as Steve, Reading Roadrunner and sometime BH³ Hasher appeared, going the opposite way. We ran past a number of golfers on the course near to the path, trying not to distract them from their awesomely serious task of whacking a small pellet of gutta-percha round the countryside with a number of odd-shaped mallets. Unfortunately, Cheating and Lonely had chosen to run on a path right next to the aspiring Ernies, Colins and Tigers just as they were teeing off. As the gangly pair trotted into the peripheral vision of one plus-foured pellet-whacker he had just uttered the cry of “Fore!” fully expecting a perfect shot ‘right down the middle’. However, the awful sight had caused a stiffening of the elbow at the crucial club and ball connection time resulting in a fearsome slice into the trees and the words “… f***’s sake!” to be appended to the standard golf warning. Lonely and Cheating trotted on unknowingly and joined TrainSpotter and Stewart at the top of the hill. Caboose for some reason had run entirely the wrong way from the nearby check shouting “On On” at the top of his lungs until confronted by an ‘F’ for False Trail. He slunk back apologetically but needn’t have worried since we had all run in the opposite direction and found the real trail anyway. After a typical Bomber-style very long False along a concrete track I ended up following Spot down a narrow track along the well-known scarp before dropping down the hill towards a field where we met Ladybird tacking across his very own short cut. Caboose, Spot, Ladybird, Iceman, NonStick and I reached the Regroup in Mapledurham. We stopped. We watched everyone else turn up. Then we watched Foghorn desperately searching for a quiet place to pee down the lane without realising that a lady and her dog had just entered the area. Luckily, he just managed to catch sight of them before hauling out his old boy. Finally, we watched Cheating trying to figure out the trail before anyone else… and getting it wrong. Unfortunately, so did we when Bomber arrived and pointed us roughly in the direction of the Long trail. Motox was determined to take the route that led us up that damn great hill overlooking the river and thundered off in that direction. With a lot of baaing and bleating the rest of us followed, Cloggs for some reason fascinated with the T-shirt that covered my bum. As soon as Motox found the False and we turned back I felt it only fair to mention my admiration of hers. The really worrying thing was that her beau, NonStick, also seemed fascinated and angled towards me, hand outstretched and eyeballs popping. Just the spur I needed. I ran so fast I even caught up with Anorak though she admitted she had run the 20-mile or so bike Hash the day before and was perhaps a tad fatigued. Not too fatigued though to skip nimbly up that bloody great mud and grass hill that ShitShoveller had forced us up a few Hashes ago. The thought of the effort involved obviously affected Iceman who could not figure out how to open the five-bar gate a quarter of the way up. C5 hove into view, puffing like Thomas the Tank Engine with a broken push-rod. Amanda toiled skywards like a drunk going up the down escalator. It was a fearful climb.

Eventually, we reached a rather dingy wood and stonked around finding False trails – except for Cheating who decided to run over a False to try and find the trail. Then Bomber appeared and instituted the innovatory procedure of laying the trail during the Hash! Flinging flour hither and thither he skipped through the wood, coming out the other side of a short False, and stopped, grinning. We grinned back, complimenting him on his al fresco approach to trail laying.

It all started getting a bit eyeballs out at this point. Long stretches of track or road meant the FRBs got well away from the pack so I must apologise for not reporting on events amongst the more sedate members of the Hash. However, let me tell you about Shep and his fine dog, Gnarler. Anorak and I had burst into a clear area from a forest track only to find Shep and his bitch (this brings thoughts of gangsta Shep in an L.A. street confrontation with a brother – “Yo yo mutha. Don’t dis ma bitch. I’ll fry yo’ ass! Word.” etc). So Shep is attempting to tie a long piece of string around Gnarler’s collar to ensure control over the excited, prancing creature. Gnarler treated the action as an extension of the game she had been playing on the Hash which involves running past Hashers much faster than any of them with an expression of genuine amazement that they run so slowly (this is something that I have never known her master to do). She ran past Shep at the speed of sound, then back at the speed of light. Anorak and I damn near exploded with laughter as we watched Shep performing an ungainly hopscotch cum skipping game trying vainly to get his feet out of the intricate knots that Gnarler was weaving. How he managed to stay upright I’ll never know. Thanks Shep, it made our day.

Afterwards, in the pub, Blowjob summed up our reaction to Bomber and Posh’s trail. Though smiling she was yawning her head off. We enjoyed it even though we were knackered. A fine romp through well-known country. Thanks Hares, it went down a bomb. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

In the absence of RA Glittertits, C5 presented the following :-

Terrie, DiscoKing

(A Lot Of) Up and Coming

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