National Trust Visitors

Margaret Dave Hashgate Iceman Baldrick Spot Cerberus Premature Cheating Twanky Bl*wJob Glittert*ts P*ssQuick Motox Foghorn CabinBuoy HoneyMonster B*llsUp Mother Theresa Lemming Grommet Shandyman Chopstix Spex LoudonTasteless Dutch WhiteFang FuzzyFlamingo Cheating SlackBl*dder OldDog Centaur SlowSucker Flash BlouseBlazer Quack HeadBoy Tony Amanda and dog Barney Caboose Florence Zebedee and much, much later ShutupWally with oddly shaped cat Bonnie

A Real Hash For A Change (only 5½ miles!)

Quite why, at a recent BH³ Committee meeting, LoudonTasteless asked me to supply a count of the number of Hashers at each event I really can’t remember. I think it was about twenty minutes into his rambling circumlocution that my eyes (glazed and sightless after the first five minutes) finally succumbed to sleep’s coercive caress by closing and I joined the rest of the gently slumbering Committee. To save any unnecessary brain activity by Loudon (counting has never been a strong point) I will supply the numbers for today. Of course, statistics are never simple are they? Today we have 43 people though ShutupWally turned up so late I may have to discount him, making 42. Except am I counting only historically regular BH³ people? That’ll be 38 then. Unless I take out irregular attendees from the historically regular number and total number. Making 34 and 38. Though should I add the dogs? Making a full total of 44. Should I count OldDog twice? 45 then? And since ShutupWally brought a cat shaped like his dog do we count that – 45, 44 or 43? Subtract those irregulars who don’t come in summer (Mother and Lemming) – 43, 42 or 41 then. Should I count myself since I am actually doing the count of everyone? Bit metaphysical that one. I’ll leave it well alone. Don’t know if I should count Cheating since he never actually runs with us anyway. Oh crikey, I just realised I left out the two Hares. Sorry Loudon, it’s all too much. I don’t think you an count on me. If you see what I mean…

A line of cars had pulled up in their slots at right angles to the fence. A car’s length away a row of double parking slots ran parallel to the fence. The first two sets of slots were taken as Baldrick drove through the third set and stopped his car in the gap prior to reversing into the front slot – why, I don’t know. Neither, I’m sure, did the mischevious Spot who was in his car directly behind Baldrick and who drove right into the front slot, effectively trapping Balders in no-man’s land and causing Foghorn and Hamlet to erupt into guffaws of laughter. Poor Baldrick. He was only trying to park sensibly. We, meanwhile, were trying to keep warm. Though the sun shone the wind nipped and pinched at exposed bits and I shuddered as I saw Cerberus disappearing through the hedge by an exposed field for a comfort break. Luckily, GM Spex (bereft this week of her Ukranian headscarf) didn’t take too long over the Circle and we were On Outing in no time past the hurriedly changing latecomers – Caboose, Amanda and Tony – to try and warm up our muscles. B*allsUp had obviously pre-warmed up since, at the first five-bar gate he performed a Parkour Kong. This involves jumping an object with the feet brought through between the hands that are placed on top of the gate (according to my source and Parkour exponent Motormouth). The last time we saw anyone attempt this was when Kn*ckerCatcher tried it some time ago, caught a foot on the top, landed face down in the shiggy and damn nearly got arrested for causing grievous bodily laughter to the rest of us. P*ssQuick, Bl*wJob and the rest of the arthritically challenged sensibly went round the side.

Now this was the first time StinkingBishop (aka Mark, Grommet’s husband) had laid a Hash and Hamlet had obviously made the most of his amateur eagerness. The False trails were horrendously long affairs. One can imagine the scene in the middle of a cold, windswept field by a Check during the trail laying. “Righty ho Mark.” Says Hamlet, busily laying the flour circle with the insouciant manner of the experienced cognoscenti. “We need a good old False in the opposite direction to the real trail. You go off to do that and I’ll carry on into the sheltered… I mean, forest area.” So off goes Mark. Quarter of a mile out. Quarter of a mile back. Then a further half a mile to where Hamlet is sitting on a comfy log out of the biting wind having rolled, smoked and just extinguished a fat one. He rises to his feet somewhat unsteadily and grins a wide grin at the gasping Mark. “Wow! This flour is so white.” He exclaims. “I can run like the free wind.” He continues with an expansive gesture. “Let’s go!” And he scuttles off leaving poor Mark to catch up. It carried on in this vein for some time. Not surprising that the fellow was stuffing bananas and coffee down his neck before the run in a desperate attempt to re-energise.

It was Iceman who got lucky with the Checks early on in the open fields and we could see him much less clearly than we could hear his yodelling calls of ‘On On’. Especially when he disappeared into the first forest – where the yodelling stopped. For some reason no-one could find the trail and this was not helped when Tony came back down the real trail telling us it must be a False. This meant that Spex, Cerberus, BlowJob etc were forced along one of those ¼ mile Falses. Though, of course, this is all good stuff for Spex who is in serious training for the Reading ½ Marathon. The confusion and soft ground obviously got to Quack who crashed heavily into the shiggy in front of Chopstix who blushed coyly at the thought of a gentleman throwing himself at her feet. Luckily, the next bit turned out to be a meandering loop through some drier, crunchy-leaved forest heading towards The Vyne, a National Trust property and a very fine one at that. Spot, SlowSucker and Premature were amongst the leaders. As was Glittert*ts, now fully recovered from his nail-through-the-foot problem of last week.

We hurtled down a track towards the lake in front of the splendid 16^th Century mansion where Premature and Lemming decided to turn left in order to view the edifice despite the fact that the trail turned right. Why just about everyone followed them is unclear though it may have something to do with Lemming calling ‘On On’. We backtracked and eventually got to the Regroup where we managed to get in the way of several walkers out for a quiet stroll and were joined by Zebedee who was, surprisingly, a tad late – note the use of irony there. Lemming was hurled into a nearby ditch by CabinBuoy and Shandyman, emerging like The Monster From The Bog and heaving mud and wet leaves about with carefree abandon. It was a Long and Short trail from here and Iceman was so eager to join the Long trail down the muddy slope that he essayed a little one-footed ski-ing, delighting us with his impression of a human windmill. It was a pretty long uphill and down dale (particularly for Glittert*ts who went the wrong way downhill towards the lake) route and we were pleased that SlowSucker and Centaur kindly checked out the Falses down a large hill for us before Shandyman and I hit the right path and enjoyed a ½ mile cruise along a highly uneven track before slanting right into the forest. Here, of course, Hamlet had directed Mark to lay one of those unbelievably long Falses and I duly got suckered into doing it. Mind you, if I hadn’t run deep into the wood I would never have seen the fine little Muntjack deer that skipped delicately across the path just a few metres ahead. It almost made up for the long, shoe-sucking return journey and the desperate attempt to catch up with Spot, Margaret, Centaur and the rest. Caboose and I finally trotted in together, he trying to stay awake following a West London Hash late party the night before.

Only one question. Why on earth was Flash wearing carpet slippers in the pub after the Hash?!?
Thanks Hares. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Standin RA Glittert*ts presented the following :-

Only the last ¼ went on her head

Up and Coming