Woodland Folk

Donut Dutch LoudonTasteless Spex Hashgate Baldrick ShutupWally Hamlet Iceman Abi Potty Nutcracker Snowballs ScarletPimpernel SlackBladder Flash Spot Lonely Honeymonster Hitchiker Centaur Dwight Vlad Drac DunnyStumbler Ms Whiplash ‘J’ Salome Desperate Shitfer Cerberus Billy Bullshit Motox TT3 Dribbler Butterfly Mudman Mudwoman Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Tinopener Lilo and dog Emma Bomber Posh WhiteFang Samantha Nigel Mike PoisonedChalice Toni Louise Shirley Little Stiffy CabinBuoy KiwiFruit Quack OldFart Itsyor Steamer Zebedee

Flailing Through the Forest

It’s always good to see virgins appearing at the Hash and tonight we enjoyed the company of Mike who seemed very keen, even to the point of agreeing to appear next week after he had staggered in at the end, sweating and dehydrated like the rest of us. Of course, BH³ and especially the Committee like to make prospective members very welcome so we are normally quite sickeningly ingratiating in our greetings. At least, for a couple of weeks. But to break with tradition I must just mention Mike’s legs. A pair of alabaster plinths, they abseiled pristinely down from his shorts. Presumably having been darkly entrousered for a good many months before the night’s event. Perhaps he had let ‘em out for this special occasion and they had emerged, blinking, into the sunshine. The nearest I’ve seen to their milk-white perfection is Dribbler’s milk-white members (steady girls) glistening on a frosty Winter morning. Whatever it was Mike, I think you’ll find that they’ll benefit enormously from a few Summer Hashes. We look forward to seeing them you again.

It was truly quite amusing to follow the vast body of the Hash (even though Simple wasn’t there) out on to the road and listen to C5 advising his faithful helper Sue5 where the route should go for the walkers. He intoned sagely. She nodded in agreement. I grinned like a Cheshire cat. The last time C5 had laid a trail and planned a beerstop with the good lady she duly set it up and waited for us to arrive. Unfortunately, we had arrived somewhere else and deep was C5’s joy as we took the mickey out of him something rotten. However, tonight was fine and the walkers found their way quite easily. Or most of them. As I pursued a False trail in the depths of a wood later I met Poisoned Chalice hurtling towards me at the speed of light, flecks of foam trailing from his mouth and the breathless answer to my rushed question, “Think I went the wrong way!” And talking of woods tonight they were many and various. From your down-to-earth (s’pose they wood be really; otherwise the whole thing wood float away; just a surreal point – do carry on) coppice, to your run-o-the-mill deciduous (crikey, just checked that in the dictionary – didn’t know the word had connections with, um, ladies’ bits ‘n pieces) arbour to darkling ranks of dry fir trees. And it was in such an area that Baldrick led me a merry dance. From a Check on the narrow path he dived off into a positively sky-reaching cathedral of firs, cackling gleefully as each Blob revealed itself to his owlike gaze. “On One”. He whooped. “On Two.” He hooted. “On Three.” He screeched. I followed, half fascinated as he flapped across the pine needled forest floor. And then he stopped. He turned. He gave me the ‘F’ sign. You may reel back in horrified disbelief (“No!” You cry. “Never! Not that by Gad!”) that a gentleman of Baldrick’s undoubted refinement might do such a thing but worry not. He merely placed his hands out to the side, one above the other, in the globally recognised Hash sign meaning ‘Oh bother. I have found an F’. We wandered brokenly back to the Check.

An unusual sight on the Hash tonight was that of Cerberus walking. A minor injury has left the poor sausage incapable of anything more physical than peeling a potato. This meant the mighty forest juggernaut that is Motox had an attractive walking partner tonight. No doubt her husband Billy Bullshit is pandering to her every need (well most of ‘em anyway). I must say, if his cooking is as bad as his running they’re both on for a starvation diet until she recovers. The curious thing about these two ‘walkers’ was that wherever you went on the trail they were always in front! There might be a sustained period of all-out speed running (and believe me, there was plenty of that) yet turn a leafy corner and there they were, striding manfully (and womanfully, of course) through field and forest. It didn’t matter how hard and fast you ran – they’d be there in front of you as soon as you slowed to catch some breath. Another unusual sight was Ms Whiplash who had somehow inveigled her way to the front as the Pack steadied following a bar on a forest path. She dived off left into the brush, following flour and leading us all, well, astray sadly. Somehow or other we had entered the wood a little too far up and were following the flour back to the forest path rather than in the direction of the trail. Still, it was good while it lasted and Spex, Dwight and I congratulated her on a splendid effort – even though we had gone entirely the wrong way.

The Regroup appeared after a headlong dash that left us sweating like Red Rum on the last Canal Turn – and probably smelling much the same too though being in the middle of it we were immured and immune to it. We just enjoyed the sight of OldFart and Itsyor who turned up looking highly un-sweaty after arriving late, asking a passer-by for directions and trotting casually down the most direct route. Nice one, chaps. Now from here, Dumper told us, after having blown his whistle which gave him a redder face than your average Greek tomato, there’s quite honestly a bit of a run. Since we had already done more than a bit of a run this seemed like rather a rest and most people opted for it, pasting down the road like proverbial cats out of hell. We hadn’t actually seen Billy Bullshit at all during the trail. Or SlowSucker. Or Centaur. Billy informed me later that he had just been lucky at every Check and streamed round prematurely. The other two, though feigning injury, had been almost equally as fast if not quite so lucky. The rest of us pasted after them in a more leisurely fashion; Lonely, Desperate, Iceman and I admiring the architectural qualities of the converted and renovated chapel and farm before relaxing our way up the last fifty metres of tarmac as the pub sign came into view.

You know, one of the best parts of the Hash is the aftermath. Tonight’s was largely in the large pub garden. Everyone had had a drink or two and the conversation began to flow. Particularly, on the Billy, Cerberus, Desperate and Shitfer table. Not that I would report any of it you understand but it’s fascinating stuff and very funny. One particular item (and I only report this since it was shouted out so loudly that almost everyone must have heard) alleged that Motox asked ScarletPimpernel (aka RentBoy) to dance at a recent soirée. I shall leave it to you to find out if the lad accepted. The other item that caused some heads to turn was me kneeling before Dutch towards the end of the evening. But, of course, you know I never report private matters. You’ll just have to wonder…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Tonight’s guest RA SlackBladder maintained control and presented the following :-

A pint of lemonade and three straws. A good suck was had by all and I got away with the cherry

Up and Coming