Gene Kellys, Donald O’Connors and Debbie Reynolds’

SlowSucker ScarletPimpernel Hashgate Spex LoudonTasteless Spot Hitchiker Caboose Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Uplift Dutch Donut Soreskin DunnyStumbler Simple Twanky BlowJob Terrie Honeymonster Clem Massive Dumper C5 Lucy Premature Cerberus and dogs Molly and Libby Cheating OldDog SlackBladder Foghorn Chopstix Viv Gabby Baldrick Robert Peter ShutupWally PissQuick Glittertits Weeek Lonely David Florence Motox Zebedee ShitShoveller

Hashin’ In The Rain

Why, you wonder, is it that as soon as the newspapers and authorities start issuing dire warnings of drought, hosepipe bans, compulsory water meters and parched river beds it immediately rains in monsoon proportions. The stuff rattled on the leaded roof of Finchampstead church, kissed the bare shoulders of the black-dressed ladies choir hurrying through its ancient doorway, dressed the grass sweeping down the hill towards the pub in diamond tears and dripped reluctantly down the sweaty back of SlowSucker as he splashed his way up and down the roads in a vain effort to find the On Out before most people had even arrived. Apart from a necessary waterproof top the fellow was wearing one of those beeny hats beloved of ancient American blokes who live in retirement homes and ogle nurses’ bottoms, sighing ruefully before starting the umpteenth game of peenuckle. I bet he shops at Jacksons in Reading (a wonderful old drapers and haberdashers shop staffed by the Living Dead). You can imagine the Saturday morning visit with the wife – “That’s a nice cardi dear.” He says. “Yes.” Comes the reply. “Especially with those leather elbow patches. I’ll buy it for your birthday. But we came to get those sock suspenders today if you remember.”

ScarletPimpernel splashed up, followed by Lucy. Then a damp Caboose (seen the day before by me on the Henley towpath after the Hooray Henley Hash) and Spot and Hitchiker who, rather than park properly, abandoned Spot’s car on the corner hoping perhaps for an insurance windfall. Now the main item of interest tonight was that the pub had no electricity, hence the large and small electricity company lorry/van parked nearby. “Ohm my God!” We said. “Watt’s going on?” “Wire we in the dark?” In fact, the pub by candlelight after the Hash was really rather cosy and romantic though I did find myself pressed up against OldFart at the bar which did absolutely nothing for me though he seemed to enjoy it. The throng of Hashers in the smoke-free bar where lighted candles burned enticingly on the tables also had the potential for its renaming should a drink-sodden Hasher plummet suddenly flamewards.

You know; there’s just not enough room on a Gobsheet. I’d better get on with the description of the Hash or I’ll be off the end of page 2 before you can say “A4”. This area is one of the best we run in and a number of people commented on their enjoyment after the Hash – they were the ones drooling in the bath chairs and the bright-eyed, grey-skinned ones who’ve OD’d on the gingko and Omega-3 fish oils. So that’s most of them then. The Hares had a cunning plan this evening. Lay bits of the trail as people come up to it and even better, when some of them have run past it! Poor Mr Blobby was most confused in a damp thicket when the springy path he had just stamped down suddenly sprouted a Check as he made his way back from a False. This particular bit was excellently confusing. Just about everyone took a different track (Florence pausing briefly for a comfort break) and ended up running towards each other with bemused expressions before meeting back at the original Check where a grinning Fiddler had just laid a helpful flour arrow. But to skim briefly back to the start we were entertained early on by ShitShoveller who, in a gallant attempt to impress the ladies, attempted the old 5-bar gate rollover only to lurch alarmingly/embarrassingly earthwards as it dipped treacherously on its hinges. This was just before the large mum and dad horses and small skewbald foal had frightened Donut who hid behind me saying, “I don’t like anything large… animal-wise.” You are welcome to think whatever you like about that pause in the middle of her sentence.

After a fast scurry that still kept the Pack largely together we popped out on a road by a brand new house. The curious thing was that it was thatched with a number of gables and windows peeping out a odd angles, exposed timbers and thatched roof. Very nice though a tad costly. PissQuick, Dutch and Hitchiker had walked to meet us at this point and set off using their map while we cast about looking for the trail from the Check. Gabby, somewhat aptly named, called everyone back from what turned out to be the right trail and, when she realised what she had done had the honesty to announce to all and sundry that she was a ‘stupid cow’. Various Hashers were seen nodding in agreement as they dashed back down the road again. At this point I found my self running with Glittertits who was crowing about winning the Fun Run the day before. Apparently, Iceman, who had been running neck and neck with him took a wrong turn at the end and came in a seething Hibernian second, uttering unintelligible Scottish curses and finally collapsing like a set of bagpipes having a heart attack. Glittertits spent most of this Hash and afterwards baiting the likes of SlowSucker and Zebedee who had got lost in a wood along with several others. Of course, poor Motox who laid the trail and set the handicaps was thoroughly roasted (if I may use a footballing term…) by certain frustrated Hashers who should be thankful that someone bothers to put in the work so we can have a race. Thanks must go to the Blobbys who hosted the orgy of drinking and eating that followed the event. Nice one chaps.

The Regroup saw PissQuick complaining of her painful joint to which her thoughtful husband Glittertits helpfully responded by suggesting she smoked it the non-lighted end. Lonely, Caboose and SlackBladder wandered off to the map board to try and guess where a) we were, and b) where we were going before we burst back into the forest like a bomb exploding. i.e we all shot off in different directions before Foghorn hit the trail. We slipped through an ankle-snapping head-height forest of Christmas trees(!) after Baldrick who was doing his best to break another shoulder by slipping on unseen wet logs and grinning amphibians that stuck out a webbed foot to try and trip him. Glittertits also nearly fell on exposed roots later when Spex showed him her bits (I think I heard correctly). A long, long tarmac residential road spread out the Pack. I had a run with Robert (or was it Peter – I always get ‘em mixed up) until C5 zoomed between us like a geriatric whirlwind. Fortunately, Zebedee, Spot et al had FRB’d their way past an unseen Check and hit a False far ahead so the Pack could catch up and troll off up a last hill and through a spot of dense, dripping forest. Yes, it had started to rain again.

The On Inn was placed at the head of a lovely sweeping green field of ripe barley and Florence, Donut and I thoroughly enjoyed running down it despite the squawking of ShutupWally who fled past us in an attempt to ‘win’. We didn’t mind. We had thoroughly enjoyed this Hash, so many thanks to the Hares. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-

A sad and sorry attempt

Up and Coming