Not In Italy

Posh Bomber Yankit Cerberus Premature with dogs Libby and Molly Simple Peter Robert Nina Spot Hitchiker Hamlet Iceman Mother Theresa Lemming and Lemming’s dad TinOpener Shandyman Twanky OldDog SlackBladder PissQuick Glittertits LadyShave RedCock Baldrick Mrs Blobby Uplift Helen Tim Geoff Dutch Ms Whiplash Steamer Donut

Autumnal Bliss

Many of BH³ had wandered off to Cheating’s no doubt extremely well-organized Italian trip. The minor problem with this was that two of the Hares for today: C5 and Dumper, had gone with them and the third, Mr Blobby decided that watching The Royals (Reading FC) was infinitely preferable to running about Hampshire covering parts of it in flour. Which meant that substitute Hares/saviours Nutcracker, Potty and Snowballs stepped in at the last minute and saved the event from disaster. In fact, I’m sure that the trail was far better than the one the original slackers would have laid, and the weather was superb, and nobody got lost, and the pub didn’t run out of beer etc etc. Well they have to be slagged off a bit don’t they? Mr Blobby was no doubt pleased that Reading won their game and improved their second place in their division. Hope all the Italian visitors enjoyed themselves.

Like I said, the weather was superb; warm, sunny and bright and an extra plus when I opened the car door after parking was the ineffable smell of fried eggs and bacon that beckoned invisibly yet seductively; an olfactory siren to lure the nasally mesmerised Hasher to cholesterol doom. But what a way to go! Bomber (jokingly I hope!) intimated that he might be the source of the aroma although looking at the tremulous state of the hungover Yankit as he staggered from the car and hung greenly over the wing I rather fancied him as the likely miscreant. It certainly wasn’t the cool, sylphlike and eternally fragrant Posh.

More and indeed different Hashers began to appear – RedCock and LadyShave for instance – and we watched with interest as Shandyman drove along the road first one way and then the other, trying to make his mind up where to park. On the last pass the task was obviously taking up a considerable part of his mental capacity. He suddenly lurched on to the verge without signalling which caused the red Ford Escort that was following far to close behind to stand up on its front wheels, issuing a couple of puffs of rubber smoke from the tyres and a squeal of protest from the driver. This gentleman was thinking about stopping and giving Shandyman a knuckle breakfast bagel when he noticed both the muscular solidity of said Shandyman and the number of similarly attired people viewing his actions. He decided to retire in a cloud of exhaust fumes, righteous indignation and frantic finger signals.

We started the Hash with a fearfully long run up a grass track that left everyone apart from Premature and his red setter looking like the remains of the Light Brigade after their hack out in the valley of death. Steamer steamed, PissQuick looked like she needed one and RedCock… I’ll leave it there. Setting the pattern for the day I hurtled off the wrong way along a two-way Check in a bald field followed by Cerberus and the other red setter, while everyone else, led by her husband Premature and his red setter, burst off in the right direction. (Rather a lot of commas in that last sentence. The pauses seem to be ok but if you’d like to take issue over it I’ll be happy to discuss with any sad git who complains). One of the main problems with being the FRB who chooses incorrectly is that you then have to run like the very devil to catch up with the Pack as they gleefully pull away from you in the opposite direction. Mind you, it does give you the chance to chat to people like Uplift, PissQuick and Mrs Blobby – always a pleasant experience. These three easy-going (note: that’s ‘easy-going’ not ‘easy’) ladies were the target of a farmer’s snorting-nostrilled indignation today since they committed the sin of cutting across his field of winter vegetables. Very naughty, girls. Uplift also managed to almost swallow a fly during this Hash. Sadly, I missed the actual event. Perhaps it was at the top of the hill I describe a little later. Uplift crawls on all fours to the top, head down and wheezing pitifully. She staggers to her feet with a magnificent effort, bending over, hands on her wobbly supporting knees. As she rises to her full height she opens her mouth wide to suck in all available oxygen from the surrounding area. Unfortunately for a passing bluebottle it gets sucked in too! The resultant legs and wings tracheal blockage causes Uplift to explode like a volcano, sneezing and coughing, eyeballs on stalks and tongue unfurling rapidly like one of those noisy things you blow at parties with a feather on the end. Luckily for both it and Uplift the bluebottle emerges as a cork from a bottle of champagne. Uplift falls backwards gasping and wriggling like a landed fish and the bluebottle untangles its’ legs and dries off in the sun, deciding to stick to dog poo in the future – it’s safer than humans.

The pattern continued as we entered a forest and dallied ‘neath the leaf-dropping trees. RedCock and I hit a bifurcation (one for you, Motox) with me taking the right-hand and he taking the left. I thought at the time (weird I know) it was like one of those metaphysical life-choices. Choose correctly and the shining escalator to riches and happiness awaits. Choose wrongly, the black pit of despair opens up and some sod pushes you in. Well maybe not the black pit of despair but certainly a minor depression descended as I hit the ‘F’ and heard RedCock calling ‘On’ down the other leg. However, as in life you never know what’s round the corner. In my case it was a track leading towards the Pack and imagine my joy when I found a couple of flour blobs! The trail came up my way, along with a becapped, hugely black-shorted and white-kneed Baldrick who might possibly have been a tad miffed at finding he was not leading the Hash when he saw me. It was around here that the Hares (possibly Snowballs) put their joke bar Check over a tiny footbridge that spanned an even tinier stream in order that we should splash through. In fact, a one-legged penguin with vertigo would have been hard put to dampen his flipper and we all soared across like Spring Heeled Jack (anyone know who he was - without using a search engine?)

Despite the Hares’ assertion that the trail was ‘flat’ a couple of massive uphills sorted the men from the boys. Not sure where the men were but there were plenty of gasping boys as we hit the top and staggered off over the field that won this year’s Farmer’s Weekly competition for “Best Field Wherein To Break An Ankle”. Nina almost managed this and I’m surprised that no-one else came a cropper. Even the flying Spot and Iceman lurched drunkenly at times. At the foot of the field was a Check and new boy Geoff decided he knew all about Hashing, crying ‘On On’ joyfully at the first, second and third flour blob. Us old hands stood by the Check waiting for the inevitable embarrassment as he fetched up at the ‘F’. He didn’t disappoint us and backtracked sheepishly. We smiled at him and carried on to the welcome Regroup.

There was, of course, a Long and Short from here and those of us daft enough took the Long. This included Posh, Bomber and Lemming I’m glad to say, since the four of us walked quite a lot of the last bit through warm green fields and splashes of yellow and amber leaf falls, meeting the occasional friendly dog on the way. Far nicer than sweating like a pig (not that Posh ever would), gasping for breath and missing all the sights and sounds on a beautiful autumn day.

Damn fine Hash, enjoyed it immensely, thanks Hares. (Surely semi-colons or full stops rather than commas? Let’s talk about it...) On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

A very sad pint of lager. Even I could have beaten that!

Up and Coming