Park Life

Dumper C5 Hashgate Zebedee Florence Vlad Drac Foghorn CallGirl Mother Theresa Lemming Donut Dutch Cerberus KnackerCatcher Premature SlowSucker Quack Baldrick Itsyor Teapot Hatman TA TinOpener Chopstix Shandyman ShitShoveller ShutupWally and dog Bonnie Glittertits PissQuick Lonely BlouseBlazer Motox

A (Damp) Royal Progress

“Bloody hell, H.M.. There are some damned strange looking buggers in our garden!” Prince Philip stared through the castle window with a pair of large binoculars. Her Majesty perched regally on the Chesterfield. sipping lapsang from the Spode with pursed lips, enjoying her morning tiffin. “They must be ebsolutely med to be ayt in this rain Philip. One was unable to take the blessed corgis ayt for their morning pee. What are they doing?” She enquired, stressing the ‘are’. “Bloody fools are kicking mud at each other.” Replied the Duke. “And there’s a chap built like a brick sh*thouse holding a midg…” The Queen arched an admonitory eyebrow. “Sorry old girl, vertically challenged female person in front of him as a human shield while another midg.. er, ditto but male, is hurling chunks of the stuff at ‘em. Manners gone out the window these days. Country’s goin’ to the dogs.” “The Queen placed her cup and saucer delicately on the occasional table. “Commoners.” She mused nasally. “Such a shame one cennot employ the methods one’s predecessor employed on thet awful Guy Fawkes fellow.” The Duke turned, a gleam in his eye. “Er, hanging?” He queried hopefully. “Ebsolutely”. “Drawing?” “Certainly.” “Cutting off the goolies? Quartering? That sort of thing?” “Her Majesty sighed wistfully. “Heppy days, Philip. Heppy days.”

The (un)gentleman in question was Dumper and his attempts to dodge the flying shiggy by placing the diminutive Donut in front of him were, of course, doomed to failure. The elfin creature performing the flinging was (not surprisingly) Lemming who should really have been chucking the stuff at Foghorn and CallGirl since they opened today’s proceedings by filling Lemming’s shoes with puddle water while he was changing in front of the pub. I almost felt sorry for him. Though not later when he suggested we ‘get’ poor Mother Theresa while we ran past some extremely large puddles.

The rain lashed down in varying degrees during the trail, pattering on the river and the fallen leaves and on the large umbrella of the angler who was casually walking along the towpath thinking of Sunday lunch and warm feet when I issued a fairly loud ‘On On’ behind him which caused the umbrella to twitch mightily and occasion me a shameful snigger. It was probably just as well that the chap was wearing waders…

We had been joined today by Hatman (he was indeed sporting head furniture) and Teapot (from the Ankara Hash), the latter leading an enthusiastic group rendition of ‘Father Abraham’ at the second, or was it third, Regroup. Lemming was particularly happy to see Teapot since he is the only Hasher in living memory shorter than he. Since this regroup was right next to the river in the Royal Borough Glittertits and I discussed the practicalities of ensuring ShutupWally’s little dog, Bonnie, was safe while we slid him (Wally, not the dog) down the bank in an effort to recreate the launch of the Mary Rose. You may recall it sank without trace. We figured that if the good ship Wally bobbed to the surface a well placed foot would ensure the re-creation was historically accurate. Surprisingly, the fellow declined the offer of becoming history.

Prior to the Hash the Hares had told us we should look out for a Dobby (the Harry Potter house-elf?), a place the name of which I have quite forgotten, sorry, and something to talk about. I assume the last was the conference centre we passed but God knows what/where the others were. However, we did get to see the Kennedy Memorial and the Magna Carta monument, both of which were fascinating in their own ways. The former if only for the fact that Teapot and Mother Theresa lay on top of the large concrete object to have their photograph taken. It was here that PissQuick asked me for my email address so that she can send me photographs of unusual happenings on the Hash to perhaps include in the Gobsheet. “Great.” I said enthusiastically. “It’ll be interesting to see some of today.” “Er…” She replied. “I forgot to bring my camera.” Luckily, there was a wet tree nearby so I went and banged my head on it for a minute to ease things. Aah. Much better. We carried on up the steep, slippery hill. And on up. And up a bit more. C5 decided he was too old to be doing this kind of heart-attack inducing stuff and fell to walking. Florence, Cerberus and I decided to keep the old chap company out of the goodness of our hearts. Not that we needed to, of course. Florence has the stamina and finely toned calves of a long-distance lady greyhound and, as Cerberus pointed out, she was recently first woman in a race. C5 and I queried politely if the race had been organised by her good self and whether she had invited anyone else to participate. Luckily, she was in a good mood.

OldDog appeared at the third Regroup at the top of the dizzying hill and waited politely while the fusillade of coughing subsided, group wheezing eased a tad and various flopped-on-their-back Hashers eased their chest-heaving selves up on to elbows. “It’s just up that little hill there.” She indicated in clipped Scottish tones. The tarmac rose ever further upwards. “Oh goody.” We thought, although Premature and KnackerCatcher slipped lightly up it easily enough. Must remember to find out where they get that stuff… A Check by a triangular patch of grass between roads at the top slowed things down dramatically with people running blindly all over the place until Lonely, Glittertits and I spied a partially hidden footpath sign and entered the dripping wood. “Hang on.” Said Glittertits. “It can’t be this way.” We stopped, wondering why. “Oops, no. I’ve got it wrong.” He said suddenly. “I thought the river was just over there.” We didn’t embarrass him by pointing out that we were several hundred feet above sea-level. Shame when they get like that isn’t it? We put it down to lack of beer and hurtled on over the soggy, leaf-strewn trail until we popped out on a main road where the Hares sat comfortably awaiting our arrival. Miles down the long, long hill I could just make out the rear views of Motox and Donut – one immensely more attractive than the other – and hurtled headlong towards them. Yep. It was the right way and only another three miles or so of soaked urban pathway to the On Inn. Let joy be unconfined…

Surreal Or What?

• SlowSucker was not only wearing a mini Santa robe after we finished but then presented me with a small can of baked beans. Very kind, but very strange

• During the trail we spotted a shoe cleaner/foot scraper just outside a Royal Park entrance. Presumably one cleans one’s shoes before entry?

A very enjoyable trail, OldDog and SlackBladder. Educational, muddy, wet and geographically challenging.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Standin RA Glittertits presented the following inside the pub out of the rain:-

ShitShoveller by a good two lengths

Up and Coming