Confused (and some nosy) Parkers

Robert Hashgate Spot Mr & Mrs Blobby Uplift Utopia C5 Dumper SlackBladder OldDog Chris Foghorn ShutupWally TinOpener Lilo and dog Emma SillyCow Baldrick TT2 Centaur Dwight TurdTreader OldFart ShitShoveller Flash Simple DunnyStumbler LoudonTasteless Florence Steamer Twanky Motox SlowSucker Butterfly Dribbler Iceman Cheating Barry Vanessa Nicki Mark Nicola Dutch Incider HeadBoy Andrew

Potty Training

I had arrived at the delightful village of Echinswell early. But not as early as Robert who sat silently in his car by the side of the deserted road looking as patient (and bored) as Job awaiting an onslaught of boils. I pulled in next to him and he explained he was here rather than the village hall car park where we were supposed to be because there was a confusing flour sign at its entrance pointing this way. There was. I drove up and checked. Potty told us later that it was a Bar and a flour arrow with ‘BH3’ pointing in the direction of the pub since the landlady was happy for us to park there. So how the stuff were Hashers (mentally challenged at the best of times) supposed to work that one out? I parked in the huge and empty car park and waited, like Job etc. etc. After a pleasant and reflective interlude I was joined by Robert and new boy, Chris, who had a half-completed tattoo running aggressively from ankle to probably his hip – luckily he didn’t offer to show me (unlike Foghorn who gave me an eyeful of his woolly sheep posing pouch which caused my earlier Marmite sandwich to think seriously about a bid for freedom). I know we have a couple of BH³ people with a fine set of tats (no, ‘tats’ Motox) but I believe certain others have secret ones too. Dumper, apparently, has a huge set of dark wings on his back inscribed with ‘Hell’s Angels – Mortimer Chapter’. Lilo has a shoulder picture of her faithful hound Emma beneath which are the words ‘I like dogging’. This was an unfortunate mistake by the tattoo artist who misheard the word ‘doggies’. Lilo is thinking of cold laser treatment. TinOpener is thinking wistfully of something else.

We eventually all got into the pub car park although Dutch arrived and very nearly remodelled the front of Zebedee’s car behind her by braking with the knee-jerk speed of a Government minister. To complete the simile she also backed up with inordinate haste before almost U-turning into the car park entrance and leaving Zebedee wishing he’d brought a small shovel, a couple of bin bags and an air freshener.

In GM Spex’s absence LoudonTasteless took over the Gather Round with all the aplomb of John Prescott after a couple of stiff ones (brandies, that is) before handing over to Hare Potty who told us to be quiet going past Andrew Lloyd-Webber’s polo ponies – thus letting those with local knowledge know exactly where we were going! We On Outed and I was very pleased to see Incider who hasn’t run with us for ages. I remember the Fairy Hash she organised in Hungerford – what a sight that was! She was sporting a short haircut and two eager dogs, both of which helped her run faster.

Now the majority of the trail consisted of eye-popping running which suits Centaur to a T. So early on we let him get on with it until we reached a Check in a field where we watched with overwhelming enjoyment as, followed by SlowSucker, he went entirely the wrong way and had to backtrack for some distance. We entered a bramble and stinging nettle alley where I followed Baldrick, who was leaping over the worst of the brambles behind DunnyStumbler, who was doing the same. Noticing her gazelle-like technique, the ever-hopeful Baldrick commented urbanely to her, “Feeling a little frisky are we?”, little realising that the rather meaty form of her husband, Simple, was bearing down from behind like an eighteen-wheel juggernaut on a Fiat Panda. Luckily, he was too busy caring for the BH³ sheep glove puppet which he later managed to fill with so much sweat that its ability to bleat ‘Baa Baa Black Sheep’ electronically was severely curtailed. A case of being lamb-fisted?

Zebedee, Mr Blobby and I decided to follow a sign that pointed into someone’s garden despite ShutupWally’s vociferous insistence that we shouldn’t. Unusually, he was right and we tiptoed out before anyone appeared wielding a baseball bat. I must say ShutupWally was at his most irritating tonight and several Hashers indicated a desire to have brought either an AK47, several rolls of packing tape or a one-way teleport station. Having totally misread a Back Check, Motox, OldFart, Zeb, Andrew and I cast about hopefully in a harvested field full of those stubby corn stalks that threaten to tear the skin off your ankles while Florence, for reasons best known to herself, mentioned that she would like to tear off Centaur’s yellow T-shirt. My daughter’s horse occasionally has to have hormone suppressants; perhaps I should bring some for Flo.

The first Regroup appeared, hosted by a relaxed Snowballs and featuring a scarcely glowing Incider whose dogs looked more than ready to drag her off at speed. I could have used the fellows as we hurtled along a long track that led past a herd of square, black cows that regarded us curiously as we gasped past. I caught up with Motox as we sped through a farm. Noticing a rustic character leaning against a gate we bid him a cheery “Hello” only to be met with a silence as stony as a granite cliff. We agreed that we would like to push the miserable sod off one and carried on with a long, fast, chest-heaving uphill drag through some leg-sapping fields following Spot and OldFart before hitting tarmac on the way to the second Regroup. The walkers began to appear as the runners (almost literally) trickled in and then Dwight arrived on his mountain bike! Highly unusual for the fellow but apparently a minor injury – possibly connected to leg waxing – precluded him from running. Unlike DunnyStumbler and C5 who raced in like Paula Radcliffe and Dame Kelly Holmes (C5 was in touch with his feminine side), nostrils flaring, steam rising, legs going like mighty pistons. One had to wonder why. As soon as they stopped they slumped to the ground in a mouth-foaming, leg-twitching, eyeball-rolling frenzy. Not very attractive and certainly, for someone as advanced in years as C5, highly medically challenging.

Potty announced that the Long trail was about ¾ of a mile further than the Short and the majority of the Hash set off on it: a long track on the side of a hill looking down on the polo field and stables below. Very few of us had no idea where we were going so when we eventually hairpinned back to run through the polo field and stables no-one was very surprised. This was quite a hack but it gave me a chance to chat to Andrew, who is Soreskin’s other half. Interesting that he only runs with us when she buggers off on holiday. Still, at least he a) remembered his running shoes and b) didn’t try to hang himself with a vine like his good lady.

It was a very nice area to have a race Hash Potty and Snowballs. Our thanks for your efforts.

If you notice a slight lack of flow in this Gobsheet I have to say in mitigation that four teenagers whooping, giggling, texting, phoning, arguing and pillow-fighting and constantly fidgeting to get on the pc do not make an ideal atmosphere for concentration. School holidays – great…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Dumper presented the following :-

A rather sad over-the-head effort so Dumper had to douse him in water, also soaking his half-munched burger

Simple presented the BH³ Sheep to Dutch for demonstrating her car reversing skills to us.

Up and Coming