Tired And Thirsty (even before the Hash)

Spot Hitchiker Hashgate Iceman Vlad Drac Trembler TC Whinge ShutupWally and dog Bonnie Simple DunnyStumbler Hamlet LittleStiffy BallsUp Dumper Septic Krystyna BlouseBlazer Uplift Donut TT2 ShandyMan Chopstix Motox Glittertits PissQuick Nicola Lonely Bootsie ShitShoveller Clive CIAC HeyBabe SlackBladder OldDog Trainspotter Anorak SlowSucker Flash HeadBoy TurdTreader ScarletPimpernel Barry (I think) and dog Fido(!)

Not The Shortest Trail Ever…

Crikey, it was frosty. The sun might have been shining but the air was as sharp as scalpels and the frost nipped the toes, especially Cheating’s since his ancient, torn running shoes were more like sandals and his surprisingly clean socks showed through. His foot furnishing contrasted strongly with that of SlowSucker aprés Hash. He wore pristine, gleaming Asics road shoes – and got away with it too! It was so cold that at the On Out Donut attempted to sneak back into her car to thaw her frozen parts with a blast of the heater, though she insisted she was ‘only checking it was locked’. Yeah right.

After last week’s Posh/Bomber odyssey we had rather hoped for a gentler trot through the AONB that is Upper Basildon. Silly to hope really. This trail was probably even longer. Which must have been a real joy for DunnyStumbler and Simple who had rashly cycled the 10 miles to the Hash and must have really been looking forward to cycling the 10 miles back afterwards. The route had been laid by two of our Hares who revel in complexity and obfuscation and they proved their qualities time and again with, for example, Roman numeral Bar Checks and simply not going on the time-worn paths expected by long-time Hashers such as ‘it always goes this way’ Motox, now showing ever-improving speed due to the lessening of his drag coefficent following moustache removal.

OldDog officiated as stand-in GM since Spex couldn’t be a*sed to turn up. Also as Hash Tick since Florence couldn’t be a*sed either. She has a very commanding manner – as I’ve no doubt SlackBladder enjoys on Thursday nights during their ‘training’ sessions. OldDog orders him to don nothing but a sheep’s fleece, then run off out into the garden on all fours so she can round him up, sheepdog style, into a little pen. I understand the neighbours aren’t too happy about all the whistling, barking and baa’ing that goes on. However, this is confidential information so I would appreciate it if you will keep it to yourself.

The picture shows a somewhat confused OldDog. SlackBladder had played a little joke by wearing a two-headed fleece. This only added three seconds to her best roundup time.

The fact that neither Spex nor Florence appeared rather mucked up RA Simple’s carefully prepared birthday presentations for both ladies. No doubt he will keep them in reserve for a future date.

The excellent Hash confusion generated by the Hares was amply demonstrated when Lonely and Iceman were unable to recognise an arrow pointing across a paddock and also when we bumped into ScarletPimpernel and his friend Barry (with eager little dog Fido) only some yards from the pub, even though we had run about a mile or so. Shortly after, a Bar-IV screwed up SlowSucker and a little further on he, Lonely and I hurtled down a steep track on flour while the cry from above exhorted everyone to ‘On Back’! Not sure why but Lonely and I carried on down, following one possible way from a two-way Check, and hit the right trail. Hoorah! We thought. Ah, you see. Pride before a fall and all that. We led the way up a damn great tarmac hill, puffing and wheezing and straining to get to the top first. Well we did. And there was the Bar X. i.e. 10 blobs back. Ooer. I detected the hand of Cheating in this and so it proved to be. Now certain people, like SlowSucker, TrainSpotter, BlouseBlazer led the way over the thing and disappeared. Only the stupid – myself, Nicola, DunnyStumbler and BallsUp – dragged all the way back down, then along the muddy path (overtaking Whinge and Dumper on the way) to the Long/Short split. Where did the Long go? Back up to the Bar X and followed the route taken by our earlier (and much more sensible) companions. It took a while to catch up and we probably only did so because the Pack was lost in a Christmas tree plantation, desperately casting about for signs of flour and finding only an ‘F’ from a Check somewhere in amongst the greenery. We eventually backtracked and found the trail though the uneven ground and tree stumps gave us some trouble with Simple nearly causing the first Berkshire earthquake as he tripped and plunged earthwards – luckily he just managed to regain his balance. Damn funny it was though. But not quite as funny as Shandyman a little later, whose trip, earthward plunge and (so he said) parachutist roll in the forest carpet of mud and wet leaves afforded much merriment to the assembled throng.

Our headlong rush through the trees was brought to an abrupt halt as a Muntjack deer took one look at TrainSpotter, SlowSucker and me and decided that (s)he’d show us just exactly what running fast really meant. It whipped across in front of us and disappeared into the trees with hardly a sound, making our crashing, stumbling progress look utterly ridiculous. What a fine little chap, and rather tasty with a glass or two of Chateâu Neuf du Pape. We ran through a patch of that stuff that sticks little balls of hooks on anything that brushes past it. Suddenly, everyone had a few. Dunny, Shandyman and particularly Drac (or possibly Vlad – always have trouble with those two) who thought if he got enough together they might stick wiglike on his hair-free head.

Finally, thank the Lord, we slapped leadenly down the hill and fetched up at the Beer Stop where a grinning Cheating and Spot stood by the French lager. Not surprisingly we fell upon them (the bottles, that is) eagerly sucking in the refreshing liquid. Apart from Nicola, who sipped the white wine. Much more of this and we’ll have to name her Posh II. Even while we relaxed and chatted Whinge and OldDog literally skipped off on the trail, disappearing into the woods with all the eagerness of a couple out for a spot of illicit nookie. I had rather expected to find them locked in snorting, kicking, biting, leg-thrashing, screaming carnal embrace to one side of the path after we had restarted but they were nowhere to be seen so I assumed Whinge’s knee problem had flared up and contented myself with following Iceman through the slippery mud even though on legs of lead. Hope other people felt the same. Weirdly, Trainspotter and I came upon Flash who was sitting on the slope of a sunny field. Gotta wonder why. It put Trainspotter off so much he slid sideways on the mud. The rest of the trail was an unremitting slog (albeit through fine country). So much so that Glittertits and I were all for short cutting to the pub when the trail went cold. Unfortunately, the FRBs found it again. Luckily, we had only another ten minutes of running before staggering exhausted and cold back to the warmth of the pub.

I can only hope the Hares were as knackered as we were after this one. But thanks are due for laying this never-ending trail through some great country. This is a lovely area. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Harry Potter finally turned up half way through, citing difficulties in obtaining a Sunday pass. RA Simple, wearing an apron bearing the logo of a sheep with bulging eyes, steam coming from it’s ears and a tongue stud, who was being rear-ended by a naked bloke (presented to him by OldDog – where does she go shopping?) awarded the following :-

Dived into it and rolled it down his throat

Up and Coming