Foodies

P*ssQuick SixInches Motormouth Hashgate Iceman Bomber Alison Abbi ScarletPimpernel(RentBoy?) ShutupWally Bl*wJob Ms Whiplash Salome Cerberus Premature(but see Down Downs) SlackBladder AintgotOne Twanky Dave Margaret Debbie Stuart Centaur Spex LoudonTasteless SlipperyN*pple BlouseBlazer Sh*tfer Desperate Steve Foghorn Chopstix Shandyman Lonely The Tremblers Paula Barbara Sue Spot Quack Potty NutCracker DunnyStumbler Simple Uplift Mrs Blobby and sister Utopia Smantha Nigel Baldrick SlowSucker Aqua Katherine Karen Caboose TinOpener Lilo and dog Emma TT2 Dumper Septic CabinBuoy Little Stiffy Sue4 C5 Yankit Flash John Cheating Lynn Dutch Donut Grommet Butterfly Dribbler OldF*rt Cloggs HeadBoy Posh

A Run, Fun and a Bun

An eyebrowless and consequently surprised-looking Glittert*ts stood a defensive distance away from the roaring firestorm that was the Twigg barbeque. The flames leapt and crackled, dancing hysterically on the red-hot grill. Periodically, co-hosts P*ssQuick and SixInches (who confessed to me later to aspiring to TwelveInches) scurried furtively from the kitchen carrying a sack that sometimes appeared to jerk briefly – perhaps the last kick of an unfortunate creature? When no-one was looking the sack carrier would reach stealthily inside, pull out something limp and furry and hurl it into the depths of the flames where it popped and sizzled before exploding like a greasy sunspot when Glittert*ts stabbed at it with his specially sharpened, specially long, roasting fork. Had I drunk a few more pints I would have thought I had wandered accidentally into a Hieronymous Bosch painting. Possibly this one. Certainly the line of hungry people(?) look similar though certain members of the Barbi-queue (Dutch, Donut, Florence…and, of course, many more) were perhaps a little more attractive. So here we were at Twigg’s Towering Inferno, roast-in and Hash. Post-hash, in fact, where everyone had an enjoyable sit down, some intelligent conversation (yes, I know Premature was there too) and a gobful of rather tasty food. Ok, several gobfuls in Motox’ case but he has a large frame to feed. Actually, the last time I wrote about GT, PQ and SI’s BBQ Hash I did it backwards so I figured why buck the trend? Oh, buck it. Let’s get on with the Hash.

Having heard there was cheap food on offer, fourteen thousand people converged on the huge Church car park and filled it completely with cars, people and dogs. A number of newbies joined us including Karen and Katherine who were trying not to appear totally bemused while Bomber attempted to explain the Trail marks. ScarletPimpernel had co-opted the flaxen-haired and slightly shy Alison from the BBC to pump up his image of a totty magnet and he strutted about with a knowing smile and a sardonic eyebrow. Yes, you’re right. Not so much a taut, firm, straining balloon but a flaccid and drooping piece of wrinkled rubber. Spex called us to (some sort of) order after rather a lot of whistle blowing, red-faced, pop-eyed straining like a baby with a bowel problem and an exhortation to “Shuuutuuuupppp!” unbelievably enough, to Ms Whiplash! Luckily for Spex, the good La Whippers had spent a very long and tedious afternoon sitting back on her chaise longue flicking the longer hairs off the a*se of a naked and bending John Prescott with a braided snakeskin lash while he mulled over the coming week’s heavy workload. We On Outed the usual way, past that pretty Church, and Utopia treated me to a very sexy rear end wiggle as she sacheyed around the stinging nettles. By the way, have you noticed that as soon as they think we’ve forgotten about it she and Mrs Blobby go back to the wearing of identical tops. What is going on there?!

The ground on all the fields was cracked and dry. Bit like SlowSucker and his sense of humour. I followed his limping form early on and asked him what the matter was. A heel problem apparently and would I like to overtake? Not that this stopped the blighter later from speeding off into several distances like a jackrabbit that’s just had it’s piles stepped on by a stilleto-clad Victoria Beckham. Yes, that does conjure up an interesting surrealist vision doesn’t it? You have to wonder where some of this stuff comes from. Motox had organised us a fine stumble through a wood plentiful with sharp branches, dead wood that cracked like pistol shots beneath our feet and nettles that stung like rabid hornets. Stuart’s legs afterwards looked like he had been briefly slung on GT’s BBQ by a less than concentrating PQ. LoudonTasteless, Motormouth, Abi and I took a brief and fruitless sojourn down a narrow snicket behind a hedge before having to climb out of it, much to the amusement of Dribbler and Motox.

A densely wooded area with a little stream brought the pack together and provided Desperate with an opportunity to make us laugh. As she attempted to straddle a large fallen log she let us know quite innocently that, “I can’t get my leg over and I’m not short.” Short of what she didn’t elaborate on but we could have no doubt helped with the description. Margaret too, who is normally quite refined, was obviously infected with whatever it was. Firstly, she attempted to smash a child’s slide that just happened to be lying where we exited the wood by slipping on it and stamping to regain her balance. Hugely amusing to watch but not quite as funny as her subsequent comment, “Ooer, I’ve got a sticky willy.” She informed us, while pulling some greenery from her sock. Quite how one is supposed to run while doubled up with chest-crushing laughter is beyond me. She went and did it again later. Just as I drew level following a fairly long cruise through the heat of the countryside she admitted to Cerberus (I think) that, “I’m suffering from a permanent hot flush!”

BlouseBlazer blackmailed me with not printing this Gobsheet unless I reported (and It’s true) that he was first to the Regroup. What he didn’t want me to say that it was only through a mixture of animal cunning, shortcuts, local knowledge and a friendly taxi driver that he did it. Unfortunately, ShutupWally was there too, vocalising like a manic Orator Hunt, or should that be Colin Hunt? Either way, he was driving us bonkers and I could see OldF*rt and Lonely casting a speculative eye over several possible burial areas. Amazingly enough, Samantha had managed not to wander off tonight and even Cheating was there. Just as an aside, I noticed he and Lonely at the BBQ later, peering intently at a GPS. Presumably to confirm they were in Glittert*ts’ garden. How odd. Since I am now running out of space yet again – there’s just too much to write about sometimes – I shall have to precis the rest in video clips. So here we go. Premature and SlowSucker running over a Bar to get out of going over a slippery earth slope. Caboose mincing a skip over a small fallen branch. Cerberus inviting us over a ‘shale slope’ as she described it. Sh*tfer attempting same, mixing his words and calling for t*mpons rather than crampons. Donut appearing suddenly from nowhere in a bright green T-shirt like a smiling grasshopper – at least she didn’t rub her legs together rapidly and chirrup at me. Us all cheating down a shorter field crossing while being shouted ‘On On!’ at and shouting ‘On On!’ back by the non-cheaters. The church bells pealing manically as Motormouth and I trotted steamily back into the carpark with Iceman. It was a superb, fun night and our grateful thanks go to the Hares and hosts for all their hard work and hospitality. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

Very smooth supping. Nice one.

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