Hare Coursers

Honeymonster Hashgate Salome OldFart Iceman Donut Wendy Foghorn Simple LittleStiffy SlackBladder ShutupWally and dog Bonnie TT2 C5 Motox Hamlet Dumper Septic BlouseBlazer Effin Sue Colin Quack Snowballs TinOpener Cheating

Heading for The King Charles

(Put on your best David Attenborough sotto voce voice for this bit)

Here; in the forest; not far from The King Charles’ Head; a creature seldom seen in these parts is cautiously making its way through the undergrowth. This natural caution is part of its defence. In the same way that birds can be plagued by ‘Twitchers’ this shy animal can be plagued by those known as ‘Hashers’. It is, a breed of Hare. Known as… a ‘Baldrick’. If I’m lucky I may catch a glimpse of it as it goes about the business of marking its trail. Wait. There’s a movement in those bushes. And. Yes. Yes, there he goes. He looks round furtively before dashing across the clearing. That distinctive stooping gait. All the better to conceal his actions. And, yes. I can see, in his hand; his tool. These intelligent animals carefully construct them from discarded milk containers and fill them with a white powder. He’s… yes, he’s stopping. He reaches for the powder. Oh! He’s startled by something. In fact, he very nearly marked the curious shorts these creatures wear rather than the trail. But he’s settling down now. He feels safe. His hand reaches down. He scoops up some of the powder and throws it to the forest flooor before capering away into the trees with that curious; gibbering cackle.

At least, these were the thoughts I had when coming across Baldrick tripping lightly across the road and ‘freshening’ the Trail just before I drove into the pub car park. Now Baldrick and OddBalls had recce’d the trail quite thoroughly and spent hours poring over weather projections, eyeing the skies, casting the runes and consulting Old Father Fish at the Bracknell Witchcraft, Duck Stuffers and Forecasting centre to figure out when to lay the Trail. Saturday afternoon it was then. None of this getting up early on a Sunday like those two prats last week. “Not us!” They chortled. And laid the trail with gay (just an old-fashioned term) abandon. And lo, during the night a mighty, unseen Finger pointed down and a mighty, unheard Voice spake. It spaketh thus, “Let there be rain.” And verily it p*sseth down, washing clean the pathways and the byways. Then it stoppeth. And, lo (again), at 0700 +1 GMT the Finger and Voice did point and speak once more and a Mighty Flood did descend upon the forest. Just to make sure most of the flour had been wipethed out.

Which explains why the first part of the Hash saw Baldrick bounding and leaping about the Pack frantically slapping down Checks and Bars like a Hare possessed. Simple, Sue and Colin went hurtling down a damp field only to be called back. OldFart wandered amongst the trees like a lost dryad. The Foghorn was silent – no flour, so nothing to shout about. Even Iceman was unable to give vent to his stentorian yodel. Thus sparing several feathered friends and a nearby hedgehog out on a worm hunt from heart failure. But the bright sun freckled the springy, damp ground in the forest. The air was scented with the bark of wet trees and our legs were fresh; and, for the moment, clean. “There was a Check there.” Said Baldrick, clicking his tongue at the fickle weather and scattering a hurried flour circle round a tree stump. Since the road was next to us there was only one choice really and we all squeezed between the two strands of the barbed wire fence (some finding it more of a squeeze than others), tripped lightly across the road and raced after Baldrick as he scattered flour left and right, heedless of the expense. He laid a Check so a number of us stopped and I must say I had a very nice chat with Septic who said she was growing her hair. Not just then at the Check, you understand, but generally. And, to explain further, just the hair on her head. Nowhere else.

Usually on the Hash, the Hare is a somewhat remote figure, seen occasionally at the back of the Pack laying a flour arrow or cutting across country to head off any Short Cutters. On this Trail we really bonded with Baldrick. He was, after all, everywhere. Calling Colin back and laying a Bar in front of my feet on that steep, wet hill. Sticking down an arrow and advising the way. OddBalls got in on the act too, worrying that Simple, Cheating, TinOpener and others were slanting away from the real trail until he saw the blighters short-cutting across further up. The flour was more on the trees in this bit of forest so hadn’t been rained off quite so much and we could speed up, slapping our feet through the first shiggy for months. Simple enjoyed a double-footed ‘Splottttt!’ in one particularly viscous patch just ahead of our returneee Wendy, who was mincing gingerly round the edges of the puddles, rather like Blouse Blazer. I’m afraid the rest of us got a bit carried away at one particular set of puddles when we found we had hurtled past one of the Hares’ invisible trail markings. There was heavy stamping and splashing from C5 and Sue in particular. The latter carefully practising her side-foot technique on the poor Scribe who had to cup both hands protectively round his equipment to prevent it from getting wet. Direct revenge on the already soaking bint was pointless so the Scribe ran silently up behind Colin, her partner, and essayed a perfect execution of the left-footed leg swipe in a large rut brimming with a mixture of water, goat’s entrails and the contents of a can of Baxter’s Mulligatawny soup circa 1942. Perfect! And the fellow took it all in his stride. Obviously a born Hasher.

T

Scurrilous Scandals

As usual from this venue, you can’t go wrong (though we did, a lot!) and thanks are due to Baldrick and OddBalls for their efforts despite the earlier torrential downpours. Thanks guys.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following, including OldFart with his 300 Runs certificate – but no pint; he’d had one already:-

Lovely to watch from the Steed of the Hash

Up and Coming