Natural Conservatives

Cerberus BillyBullshit Dave FannyBag Hashgate Iceman ShutupWally C5 Potty NutCracker Snowballs Honeymonster Spot Hitchiker LoudonTasteless Spex Baldric Centaur Dwight Salome Ms Whiplash Shandyman Flash Shirley Tinopener Lilo and dog Emma SillyCow Jaywax Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Uplift SlackBladder OldDog LittleStiffy Viv Geoff ArthriticTit Julie Donut Dutch PissQuick Motox SlowSucker Twanky Andrew (but could be Pedro) TT3 Florence Zebedee OldFart

A Bit of Rough And A Bit Of Hot Stuff

A hot summer’s night. The thwack of racket against tennis ball; the collective groan of a nation at yet another penalty miss; the sweep of the oars in the Thames; the click of willow against leather (one of Ms Whiplash’s favourites). BH³’s contribution to this summer’s sporting life on this steamily hot night was a rapid trot through field and forest followed by a barbeque and a beer. We were actually on the site of one of Cheating’s ill-fated ‘griller barbeques’ of a few year’s earlier, the idea being to light a fire anywhere we liked in this nature reserve, leave it burning until we got back from the Hash, then cook a variety of dead animals for our later consumption. Not surprisingly, the Ranger (there was only one, so he was the Lone Ranger) put out the fire and called down every kind of woodland damnation upon the idiots who had started it. Fortunately, tonight’s event was superbly organised and OldDog, in a last-ditch attempt to stave off having to run on the Hash, had volunteered to cook. We On Outed from the overflowing car park, leaving her poking the English sausages with a sharp object and musing on things Hibernian.

The Hash scattered like chaff in a gale, came back together as if sucked in by a gentle whirlwind then drifted aimlessly like a ship in the Doldrums – all hope gone, nowhere to go, just the Hares to beseech for help. This was forthcoming in the sturdy shape of Simple who laid a flour arrow on a path. Though the arrow did not point in the direction that the trail went his action was that of a kind and generous soul who, though not having the faintest clue how he could help felt he ought to at least try. Dunny turned up, gave him a look that would have curdled milk, called the On Back and pointedly overwrote the arrow while muttering such phrases as, ‘useless twonk’, ‘big nit’ and I believe I heard the words ‘dick’ and ‘head’ in fairly close proximity. Well, we’ve all been there. I certainly remember laying a trail with Greenfly some years ago when neither of us could figure out where it went, actually during the Hash. Itsyor took our minds off the event by suddenly bursting out of the bushes closely followed by Florence. She of the excellent calves. Even LoudonTasteless, who by his very name should probably not know, appreciated the shape and texture of these most perfect articles as we examined them closely after the Hash.

Having found the road just outside the perimeter of Snelsmore Common we stopped awhile to ponder the significance of the floury capital letters ‘PO’. Florence suggested the more obvious answer though we couldn’t reason why the Hares would wish to be so rude. Usually, the Hash feels that way about the Hares. Fortunately, Simple appeared and explained it was ‘P’ for Petrol and the ‘O’ was a Check. We all uttered a gormless and understanding ‘Ohhh’ before watching SillyCow bounce off a short way down the road then stop and call ‘On Check’ by a large, painted white circle on the road with a ‘30’ inside it. There was a period of time not long ago when mad cows were banned. Does a silly one warrant the same treatment? Instead of banging my head on the nearest tree trunk I took my mind off things by persuading the friendly Uplift to check it out, carefully angling her into the forest so she would come across the trail via which we had just arrived. Cruel, I know, but worth it at the time. We eventually found the trail in the thickly wooded area opposite and crashed round after Mr Blobby, SlowSucker and Iceman, probably doing a great job for the wildlife by frightening it all back into the sanctuary. I found myself behind a long line of Hashers as we sped down a narrow track, behind our good GM, Spex. She looked very sleek in all black top and shorts and I remarked upon it. Credit where it’s due after all. “It’s my Jim outfit.” She replied ingenuously. I felt it would not be gentlemanly to ask who this chap was. Whoever he is, I hope he appreciates the effort she puts in.

We fetched up at the Regroup, where we found BillyBullshit lounging insouciantly by the ‘RG’. Though he swore blind he hadn’t taken a short cut let’s just say he didn’t get his name for nothing. I spent a pleasant few minutes chatting about C5’s knee and politely declining Cerberus’ repeated offers to remove her T shirt in order to mop my brow. The Hash then split into Long and Short trailers and disappeared off in different directions at different speeds. The Long trail turned into one of those non-stop, ding-dong, hammer and tongs sort of affairs and although the going was pretty hard at times some of the views made it all worthwhile. At one point we made our way up a bone-dry hill path through a field rustling with stiff, golden corn stalks, the green of the wood at the top silhouetted against the blue-grey sky and a rolling spread of multiple greens and browns in the vales either side, interested horses lifting their heads to view us as we dashed along.

It was a long, long traverse across an ever-rising field and FannyBag very kindly let us pass. Bit of a shame really since we were enjoying the rest. It meant that Mr Blobby and I went into testosterone-fuelled, lung-busting race mode even though neither of us were going faster than 2mph and the only thing that filled our thoughts was that there was a gate up ahead where we would have to stop in order to negotiate it. We caught up with C5 and Iceman as the terrain opened out into fairly steep scrubland. This was where Mr Blobby allegedly eructated from part of his anatomy. There was certainly a humorous noise which caused us to snigger – not an easy feat when one is gasping for breath.

Now Iceman, I think you’ll agree, is a pretty doughty Hasher who calls the ‘On’ (quite loudly) and is known for his fair play. Whether the imminent probability that a Scotsman may soon be taking over the running of this fair country had swollen his sense of national pride or whether he just fancied a bit of fun with the sassenachs I do not know but, with a grin as wide as the Tay, he sent C5 and me on a complete wild goose chase from a Check before barrelling off down the real trail howling like a banshee. We extricated ourselves from the bracken and chased the fellow down, catching up just as Dutch, Hitchiker and the other walkers hove into view next to a small herd of (apparently) wild horses. Two of the mares had the most beautiful foals who seemed fascinated by us. Thoughts of giving Iceman a ‘Glasgow kiss’ disappeared and we blasted on happily through the undergrowth, passing Baldrick (yet another Scot!) just before we hit the car park and the smell of roasting flesh emanating from the area around Scottish lady OldDog. The burgers and sausages (though not Scot-free) were most enjoyable and one of my abiding memories of the event is that of DunnyStumbler selling her baps to all-comers at 50p for one or a £1 for a pair…

Many thanks Hares and organisers. A good night was had by all. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Standin RA Motox presented the following :-

A well-deserved pint well downed

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