Purley Kings and Queens

Lemming Mother Theresa Honeymonster Hashgate Dutch Whinge TC Iceman BlouseBlazer Twanky Harry Potter Baldrick ShutupWally tinOpener Lilo and dog Emma Scarlet Pimpernel Dumper Septic Trembler C5 Shitfor Motox Anorak Donut Colin Spot Bogbrush SlackBladder Little Stiffy Cheating Blowjob(Oxford H³) LaCrease Cloggs NonStick Zebedee Florence ShitShoveller Lonely Bootsie Foghorn Billy Bullshit Flash Itsyor Fiddler Leonora CS Gas

Babes In The Wood

Strange what some people do isn’t it? Directly opposite where Mother and I had parked our cars (and where Dutch had abandoned hers) was a well-kept little cemetery. A small gate was opposite us, behind which was a straight little path that ran up to a fairly new park bench in the back of which was inscribed a single poignant word: ‘DAD’. I was straining hard to read the small plaque above it when a Lemming appeared next to me. “That’s quite sad.” He said surprisingly reverantly. Followed by, “Can you see what that plaque says above the word DAD?” “Can’t make it out.” I replied, innocently. He enlightened me as only Lemming could. “It says ‘Get Lost!’” Well, something similar to that but I wouldn’t wish to offend your sensitivities, dear reader. Actually, I’m digressing a tad. The thing that really caught my eye was Whinge, who strode manfully over to the railings, eyed them closely for a while; then gave them a bit of a tug. Presumably if he’d wanted to get in even Whinge could have figured out how to use the gate. A conundrum then – which might be explained later…

The trail had rather a lot of interesting features; like that deep earth bowl where people like Colin, Lonely, Billy and Zebedee(intent on doing his achilles permanent damage) ran all the way down one side and all the way up the other while I waited at the top, having run round the rim, with the helpful advice that the flour blobs they had been following led sraight to an ‘F’. It was quite fascinating to see them gasping and struggling like salmon hurling themselves up a fish ladder. Even more fascinating was the sight and sound of Septic actually calling “On On” as she threw herself frenziedly to (almost) the front of the Pack. Though her enthusiasm had obviously waned by the time we reached the Regroup. She was plaintively asking, “How long is the Long?”. Mind you, that didn’t stop her taking this route when the ‘How long is a piece of string’ answer was returned.

As I remarked to Lonely, you can always tell when the Hares have realised a) that the trail is going on for a bit longer than expected b) they’re getting tired c) the Pack are miles away from the return venue; Checks become thin on the ground and long runs between them become the norm. However, we were running through some fine forest and thoroughly enjoying it. Even C5, who was carrying the Hash Umbrella. We were also variously spattered in mud due to Lemming, Foghorn, Vlad (in my case). But what’s a little shiggy between friends? When the Checks appeared there were some excellent long Falses, one of which Slackbladder and I investigated and another down which ShutupWally had meandered foolishly, then blamed me for his diversion. What seemed like a very long time later we popped out into the sloping field we had started in, viewing Motox and Cheating short-cutting across the top of it while Zebedee, Spot, Desperate et al went the long route round the base before gasping all the way up the track to the gate. It was only a short tarmac trot from here and we were very pleased to see the club (containing the beer) apperaring before us.

Conkering Hero(in)es

Motox, in his rôle of Hash Ents had organised for us a conker championship extravaganza, with huge prizes for the winners of the boys’ and girls’ events. Real conkers and stout string were provided and even a small, sharp implement for making holes through the fruit. Donut was conscripted to be in charge of the draws and away we went. Two things stand out. The first was Billy, who wandered geriatrically over to me and started wittering on about how he was going to carefully slice off the woody jacket of a conker, fill it with car filler and equally carefully put it back together. I realised the poor old fool hadn’t realised we were going to play conkers today so slowly explained this and led him over to a quiet bench where he could drool quietly and try to remember his name. The other was the sight of Fannybag who had obviously never picked up a conker on a string in her life. The desperate thrashings of this poor woman (sorry – babe) as she attempted to hit her opponents conker brought tears of sadness welling to the eyes and many of us offered up a silent prayer of relief when her conker finally disintegrated. Dumper provided moments of high hilarity when he missed a shot at mine and smacked the conker on the back of his hand, drawing blood and a very naughty word from him. Though not as naughty as when he missed on the next shot and cracked himself one in the cobblers. I could hardly hold my conker still for laughing so much. The eventual winners of this conkerfest were Florence and me. So we asked Motox what we could have for the prize. “You can have each other.” He said, with a lopsided smile. “And whatever one of you wants they get.” “I’d like a wee.” Said Florence. I went and chatted with Zebedee. Actually, I must thank Donut for handing me her conker while she was sorting out her draws (behave you lot!). Without this sturdy companion I don’t feel I could have faced the supreme challenge, stiffened up the sinews, summoned up the blood etc. etc. Thanks Donut. I owe you one.

With the most excellent trail, fine weather and a round or two of conkers this Hash proved a great success. So thanks, babes. Oh yes, and we drank the club dry of beer!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Today’s RA Dumper presented the following :-

Straight down with their water. Fortunately not straight back up

Lonely received the BH³ umbrella from C5 for ‘total lack of self-control’.

Up and Coming

p.s. Whinge is heavily into welding