The Stiff and The Limp

Posh Bomber ScarletPimpernel Hashgate Steamer Dumper Septic OldFart ShitSHoveller Quack Dutch Alex Desperate Shitfor BillyBullshit Cerberus Dave FannyBag Knackercatcher C5 Simple Honeymonster Utopia Pissquick Glittertits Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby (hobbling along nicely now) ShutupWally Motox Uplift LoudonTasteless Spex Iceman Itsyor BlouseBlazer OldDog with young lad Craig Baldrick Claire Alison Sue Claire LittleStiffy Jaywax Florence Zebedee Twanky Louise Pyro Moose Mike

BH³ Goes North

About this time of year certain cranially deficient specimens of humanity congregate together in the countryside to overcome limited intellect and supreme physical challenges. No, not Cheating’s Hash. Not even the upcoming big bouncy BH³ 1500^th Weekend Extravaganza and Whale Blubber Eating Championships. I’m talking about Summer Tough Guy. This is something a few of us have done at various times in the past, generally to be followed with a great deal of regret and embrocation. This year the fearless DunnyStumbler, not contect with pasting round the Reading ½ Marathon earlier in the year like Paula Radcliffe with her socks on fire, took part and rocketed round the thing in 3:11:25 to finish 841^st overall. There are the very best shiggy pits to wade through, lighted straw bales to jump over, several lakes, streams and ponds to get in and under, incredible leg-sapping runs up and down steep hills, tunnels to crawl through, huge obstacles, high rope walks. You name it. They got it. So full marks to the girl and if you want to see what the event is like and some photographs of the competitors check out http://www.toughguy.co.uk/. I must report, however, that sources close to Dunny said that on Monday morning she was stiffer than Tutankhamen’s mummy after a stiff brandy. She could only move her eyelids without pain. To get her out of bed Simple had to fold her up into an ‘L’ shape (ignoring the screams), lay her on one side, then pick her up under his arm like a large, two-legged shelf bracket. Tony and PenisPuller also did the Tough Guy, coming in at 3:15:24/3 and positions 918/9, respectively. So very, very well done to them. Apologies for taking the mickey, Dunny. If it’s any consolation I could hardly walk down the stairs at all next morning. Getting back up them with my tea was like watching one of those leatherback turtles flippering its’ way up the beach to lay eggs. ‘Cept I had a mug of tea in my quivering flipper and it would have been too painful to lay eggs even if I could. Next year? You betcha! Why don’t you all come too?

So there’s a bit of self-indulgence for which I hope you will forgive me. Another bit was Cheating’s trail from a never-before-Hashed-from pub. You see, the lad tries very hard to organise new and exciting events from exotic locations – hence the almost-High Wycombe venue. Though Porky, one of the local Hashers who joined us, offered to flatten the nose of anyone who said he and his fellows were High Wycombe Hashers. Understandable really. The country around which we ran was seriously beautiful and although we had to run up and down many of the rolling and steep hills in the area looking at them from afar was extremely pleasant. None more so than almost half way round (just the 5 miles or so) where the Hares had laid the trail across a wavering carpet of long-grassed meadow with hills, valleys and shady woods in the distance in varying greens and textures. Here it was that Hitchiker ran in front of me, lifted her T-shirt tail demurely and laughingly asked, “Does my bum look big in this… field?” I was unable to answer since I was agog with the mistaken impression that there had been a total eclipse of the sun which mysteriously re-appeared as Hitchiker skipped away from me.

Such was the length and complexity of this trail that Mr Blobby, who had been carrying The BH³ Umbrella in tandem with LoudonTasteless was using the thing as a divining rod to try and dowse for flour. The Hares had, for instance, placed small blobs of flour on cow pats in various fields. But the blobs were on the other side to where we ran so no-one could see where to go. This provided Cheating with an opportunity to lord it over the lowbrow Pack by pointing us in the right direction with much Basil Fawltyesque “Tchah”’s and smiting of the forehead while raising the eyes heavenwards. We found this rather useful and played on our basic inability to follow a simple trail so that he was forever exasperatedly pointing out the trail to us. Or we would just wait around, looking somewhat forlorn so he could stride in, a Churchillian figure, fling out a mighty arm and point a mighty finger so we could shuffle past, tugging at our forelocks and uttering respectful thanks. It worked a charm, every time. Mind you, we did get caught out a couple of times. I was following Utopia and Spex down a steep forest path with BillyBullshit somewhere in front of us. Going downhill with my unbelievably stiff quad muscles was a tad painful. Liken the feeling to the sound a large cat makes who, having been thrown on to a tall blackboard and managing to cling on with his claws only, is making his way slowly down tail first. If that makes you wince painfully then you know what I felt like. It’s surprising how one can be stiff and limp at the same time (you may need to think about that for a while). Then we met Billy who was returning from a Bar-11. Suprising how the lineage of a person (Cheating in this case) can include so many non and sub-humans. And almost all on the male side. At least, according to Spex, Utopia and myself.

Some snapshots - Quack turned up at the impromptu regroup sporting a large stook of corn stuffed down the back of his shorts. Perhaps he is a long term member of the Morrissey fan club. He was spotted later rolling under a barbed wire fence after Alison who had just done the same. However, whereas she sheened under it like a wraith he looked like a drunk struggling to get out of a gutter. Trust me; I know these things. Cheating informed us at one particularly confused Check that the trail led straight on and right. Make your flipping mind up, pal. He also told me later that the way from the beer stop to the pub, “… leads you to a wall. Go straight on up.” Er. Florence, Fannybag, Shitfor and myself sent C5 (now running nicely again) off to Check it out for some practise. He obviously needed it since he found the False almost immediately. Though when we followed the rest of the Pack in the opposite direction we had to go over a false! Don’t understand.

Thanks go to Cheating and Porky for the trail and particularly to the former for giving us something new, again.

I am off on holiday for a couple of weeks so I’m going to miss both the Hashes and writing the Gobsheets. Hopefully there will be a Hash where Motormouth and I will be. See you soon.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

Nice one baldrick. Oh dear, Dutch.

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