Shiggy Lovers

Honeymonster ShutupWally Hashgate Iceman Shitshoveller Itsyor OldFart James and new dog Moffy ScarletPimpernel Judy Lucy Simon Baldrick TurdTreader Potty Nutcracker Twanky Dwight Simple Soreskin DunnyStumbler SlowSucker Foghorn Quack Blowjob Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Uplift PartyAnimal Florence Cloggs HeyBabe Kayak Zebedee PissQuick Glittertits Motox Jon Lonely HitchHiker Butterfly Posh Viv Gabby Dumper Septic HeadBoy… and much later Dutch Flash

Mud, Mud and More Mud

It had rained. And rained. And rained. I was half expecting a large wooden ark to float by, all battened down. You can imagine the stuffy inside. Noah is clearing up the (aptly named) poop deck with a shovel and broom when he is accosted by a dove. She coughs politely. “Ahem. Do you think I might have a little flight? We can’t be far from land now.” She asks him. Noah gives an exasperated sigh and dumps another steaming shovel load into a nearby bin. “Bloody zebras! What are they eatin’?” He turns to the dove who has her head cocked inquiringly to one side. It’s bleedin’ soakin’ aht there mate. Last time I went on deck me ‘at blew off. I ‘ad to wring aht me robes an’ ‘ang me sandals up to dry. If you want to do something useful go and ‘ave a word with the rabbits. They’re breedin’ faster than bacteria. I turn my back for one minute and they’re at it like knives. And the bloody ‘amsters are worse! I found fourteen of ‘em in my bunk the other night ‘avin’ an orgy. An’ they’re not like us ‘umans, two minutes and get yer ‘ead dahn for a kip. They’re goin’ at it all bleedin’ day.” Noah rolls his eyes upwards. “So that would be a no, then?” Asks the dove brightly. “Too soddin’ right.” Replies Noah. “Coo.” Says the dove.

Fortunately, by the time our large group Gathered Round the rain had stopped but the forest lowered and dripped behind us. It was going to be a wet one. And a confusing one. There were a number of times when the FRBs returned from a fruitless forage to the Pack, milling like a huge flock of flamingos up to their calves in mud and water (it has to be said that certain legs and noses were more flamingo-like than others – common courtesy prevents me from naming names). This obviously endorses the skilful trail laying by the Hares. I must mention HitchHiker here, partly for returning after an absence but mainly for her elevation(?) to Hash Chav. Her tracksuit with large writing on and baseball cap shows clearly she has been spending far too much time down Oxford Road in Reading for her own good (and what she has been doing there I don’t propose to speculate).

The On Out went the usual way although Mr Blobby had a problem recognising this despite the fact that Donut was laying a flour arrow. He squelched off in the opposite direction for a bit thereby almost missing the amusing sign that Spot had painted up for us. ‘Wallingford 7½ miles” it said, in reference to the last trail he laid from here that did indeed take us all the way to that place. How we laughed. Underfoot the ground was wet, dirty and disgusting; a bit like Foghorn after too many beers. This being the fellow who called the entire pack back (despite the fact that we had found at least four blobs), then called it back On so we had to retrace our steps. The ground was slipperier than ShutupWally trying to get out of buying a round and I nearly found myself on top of Posh when she almost came a purler – I could think of worse places to be… oops, sorry Bomber. Amazingly, no-one I saw actually fell over although I saw various near misses: Itsyor sliding rapidly sideways with a whirl of the arms, Butterfly daintily slipping downhill, SlowSucker windmilling through ankle-deep shiggy, Soreskin marginally out of control on wet, moss-covered sticks littering the forest floor. The most amusing I saw involved Glittertits and me on the final downhill shiggy-track back to the pub when both of us were refusing to slow down. First he would slide sideways with a startled “Whoa!” Then my heel would shoot forward after landing on deep shiggy hidden under a puddle. How the hell we didn’t pull each other over I don’t know. It was fast and frightening, but great fun.

Much earlier we had finally reached the Regroup after a good old lurch and stumble and we stood about steaming gently in the cooling air and chatting, like you do. Talking to Soreskin and DunnyStumbler we suddenly realised to our horror that there was something about Simple that the two ladies and I had not realised before. Now Simple is quite a beefy chap and not the kind of bloke you would expect to wear women’s clothing. Yet there he was, bold as brass (an appropriate term) parading about in fishnet tights! Unbelievable! He tried to make out that they were actually running tights with lots of little holes in them but we knew better. I shall have to introduce him to Zebedee (a well known afficionado of transvestism, so they can arrange an Ann Summers shopping expedition together.

From here we embarked on a long, fast and very muddy trail that saw us hurtling spatteringly towards oblivion. At least, Dwight and I did, followed fairly closely by OldFart and SlowSucker. We managed to miss a right turn and had to spatter our way back up the mud chute – never as easy as going down – then run like demons to try and catch the Pack. I caught up with Hare Donut who explained breezily (while I attempted stop snorting and coughing like a warthog that’s attempted to swallow a whole turnip at one go) that “Quite a lot of the flour has just disappeared. Har. Har.” I could do no more than raise a sardonic eyebrow and wheeze off after Dwight who was still running like he’d just had twelve hours sleep, two shots of EPO and a new pair of bionic legs for his birthday – the fit b*stard! I must just mention that during our ‘flight of fancy’ we passed by what appeared to be a pair of clones standing gingerly to one side as we splashed past. From the rear all we could see were muddy trainers, dark trousers, light hair, the same height and they both wore exactly the same light blue waterproof jackets with white piping. Until I got close I wondered if they had escaped from some genetic research facility. Perhaps ‘Brave New World’ style Gammas? Actually they were Mrs Blobby and Utopia. So my last guess was not entirely wrong then…

After a fairly fast scoot through the woods behind Checkendon church and across a very wet field we found ourselves in a dusky, dripping forest where we had a nice downhill bit to reach a very slippery uphill track by a Check. And this is where Zebedee bogged it up. Soreskin, Simple, OldFart, Glittertits, SlowSucker, Dwight and I skidded off after him as he shot off ahead. We puffed and staggered up the slippery hill. Zeb slithered back down. “Four blobs and then nothing.” He informed us in a puzzled manner. We all skittered back down to where the Pack had stopped by the Check. “It’d be funny if we had to go back up again.” I remarked to Glittertits. Spot appeared. “It’s up the track.” He exclaimed. A collective mental “Cobblers!” was issued by group that had just been up and down the damn thing. We did it again, slightly slower. Sure enough, much further on was a fifth blob (apparently Spot and Donut had been chatting so much they’d forgotten to lay it – so not really Zeb’s fault) followed closely by the On Inn, although I now managed not to see this right in front of RA Glittertits. Not my best move – but I got away with it. He figured everyone would all be asleep by the time I’d finished my Down Down.

Excellent trail, Hares, with plenty of shiggy. So glad Lemming wasn’t there… On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-

Nicely downed by both

Up and Coming