Treppaners And Lobotomists

OldDog SlackBladder Lonely and old dog Beaver Bootsie C5 Hashgate Baldrick Amanda and Barney the dog Tony Pinky Nina Simple Cerberus The Tremblers Mrs Blobby Uplift Trail(BlouseBlazer) Iceman LoudonTasteless Spex Lilo and dog Emma TinOpener Motox Glittertits PissQuick Whinge TC Shandyman SlowSucker Quack ShitShoveller Nina Zebedee Florence Donut Dutch Steamer… and later, Dumper and Septic with grandchildren

A Hash Through Wally’s Brain

The inner workings of (Shutup)Wally’s brain have been an unfathomable mystery to everyone who knows him. Psychiatrists and psychologists are stumped by the labrynthine processes that pass for consciousness in that particular cranium. Even phrenologists can only conclude that the lumps are just, well, lumps with no discernible pointers to intellect in the seething morass that lies beneath. Today, we were privileged (?) to take part in a meander through a Hash that mirrored the complexity of the aforementioned processes and gave us perhaps just a few answers to the questions.

The cerebral circuit began with Wally duly confusing the issue by stating that we would have to walk the first part since the organisers of the gymkhana next to Tweseldown had omitted to inform him that Zara Phillips would be taking part in the competition and were worried that a group of largely middle-aged Hashers might suddenly reveal their true terrorist ideals by kidnapping her horse or some such. Also, that there would be ‘W’s and ‘F’s on the trail that some people could cross and others couldn’t. We actually found a ‘W1’ and an ‘M’ at one point and none of us really understood that either! We On Outed behind the pub at a leisurely pace to the play centre of Wally’s brain. It was all balls. Footballs to be exact. Lots of people wearing bright clothing running about apparently aimlessly. We did the same, just to make ‘em feel at home (or away, I guess). SlackBladder, Simple and I wandered round them when suddenly something zipped by. It was either Glittertits feeling that first flush of enthusiasm or a passing thought. Since we were in Wally’s brain I figured it must be the former. We managed to negotiate the equine event without incurring the wrath of Special Branch and nipped over a synapse (road) on to the point-to-point racecourse. A series of nodules (obstacles) imagined by Wally as horse jumps were leapt over with abandon, things being made easier by Wally leading the Pack. A small water splash and log wall were eschewed by Iceman and SlackBladder who figured, probably rightly, that to dip ones feet in anything wet inside the grey matter was risking all though it was Motox who risked most by peering in a conceptual single ladies loo (i.e.one loo, not one just for single ladies) and reeling backwards with a “Whoa!” as he glimpsed the overflow therein. What that was doing in the cerebral cortex is anybody’s guess. We went a little more carefully after this, concerned that inspection of any strange items could open virtual doors to areas no-one would ever want to go.

We took a trot through a confusing pine(al) forest where Wally kept popping up trying to confuse people. He needn’t have bothered. Neither Tony nor I at the front had the faintest idea where to go and new girl, Nina, though totally ignorant of Hashing, ploughed gamely on, probably wishing she were back in the safety of Sandhurst Joggers though telling me she thought it all great fun… whatever it was. Glittertits, Motox and I gasped our way up a narrow track in the sunshine when a wolf (possibly a large, hairy dog) sprang out of the undergrowth towards us and hurtled off down the hill. This meeting with something from Wally’s id was unnerving to say the least and not only Motox furrowed his brow and thought wistfully of the loo seen earlier.

We carried on up the dry, flinty path passing Bootsie, Uplift and PissQuick until we reached halfway where Iceman and I decided to go off down a False alongside a slim waterway that followed the contour of the hill. Though we agreed it (and its fellows further up) appeared like Madeiran levadas I’m sure they were part of Wally’s neural network, otherwise known as wetware. Where it came from and where it was going nobody knew but we assumed it fulfilled a purpose – bit like Wally really. We finally reached the top and stopped to rest. This area is known as Ceasar’s (hippo)Camp(us) and gave us a superb view of the surrounding brain. Miles and miles of scrubby emptiness greeted our eyes. Not a wit. Witless, in fact. Nothing seemed to be going on, apart from latecomers SlowSucker, ShitShoveller and Quack toiling up the grey slope towards us. Cerberus clutched tightly to the Sheep like a child with a comfort blanket. Not surprising considering we were lost deep in the brain and no-one could find the trail. CreamPuff even tried using her mobile to call for help. Even the Hares were arguing discussing the route animatedly. The one who found the right way was OldDog who presumably got the faraway scent of earwax and made for that orifice. Sadly, the only lobe we were near was the one we were in. Unknowingly, we were making for the very reservoir of Wally’s intelligence!

We began to go down steeply behind Amanda, SlowSucker et al until we reached a wire fence round the lake. A sign proclaimed that bathing and drinking were not allowed. We stood and marvelled at the site. It was large. It was deep. It was… empty. No real surprise I suppose. Simple, Glittertits and I followed Lonely, Shandyman and SlowSucker into the soggy, spongy mess towards the useless tower in the centre. Glittertits made the mistake of treading just a little too heavily on to the mere of mentality and went up to his knee in the stinking mass. Just as we thought, the place was full of crap. Fortunately, there was a Bar Check further on so we backtracked rapidly, only too glad to leave the awful place.

We fairly flew round the rest of the mind maze, passing BlouseBlazer and Baldrick on our way to the ‘lake of the lost’. This extremely wet, middle area between the two hemispheres of the brain met us with that ‘W1’ sign I mentioned earlier. Zebedee and I pondered its’ meaning but could not come up with an answer so we shot off in opposite directions to look for the trail, pi**ing off a number of fishermen who were angling for temporal lobe tench and pituitary perch. Although the walkers drifted across the corpus callosum bridge joining the left and right hemispheres we came up against not one but two ‘F’s. We steamed about all over the limbic lobes not finding anything and more than one of us got somewhat affected by the rage, fear and emotive functions contained therein. Fortunately, Wally knows his own brain and set us on the right neural pathway. Thank goodness we were almost at the end of our cerebral stint. Iceman, ShitShoveller and SlowSucker picked their way across yet another vast, empty space until the On Inn came into sight and we ran hell-for-leather back towards the real world and grandma Septic playing with her delightful grandchildren in the pub garden.

I don’t think any of us on this Hash can now admit to knowing how Wally’s brain works, even Foghorn who laid the trail with him. However, as a fascinating journey into the unknown it has no equal. I think we can all agree that, though medically frowned upon these days, trepanning and full frontal lobotomies can certainly improve the lot of certain individuals.

Oh yes – great Hash. We all thoroughly enjoyed it.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

OldDog finished by dousing C5 with her pint

Cerberus passed on the Sheep to Steamer who wants to wear it on his head. Why?!

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