Mermen, Mermaids and Merdogs

Baldrick Hashgate Dutch Cerberus BillyBullshit and dogs Libby and Molly Aqua Motox Steamer baldrick Fannybag Bogbrush Simple SexSlave and daughter LittleRabbit Yorkie Desperate Shitfor Snowballs Fruit’n’nut Flash Mrs Blobby Mr Blobby FairySnow Fuggles VelcroF VelcroM BlouseBlazer C5 Cheating Spex LoudonTasteless TurdTreader OldDog Glittertits PissQuick Salome Ms Whiplash Uplift Centaur Septic Dumper FlyingDoctor

Waterworld

It rained. Arrows of rain. Rain in stair rods. Big, heavy curtains of rain. Lancing rain. Stinging-on-the-back-of-your-neck rain. Cascading down yer back and into yer pants sort of rain. Glittertits remarked later that he had been drier when he was deep-sea diving. I think you can guess – it was wet. The car park seemed fairly deserted just before the Circle; just Motox and Pissquick sheltering under an open car tailgate, and Baldrick, Yorkie and BillyBullshit with a very wet dog in a small portico at the side of the pub. This proved to be an excellent vantage point for seeing the best entrance a Hasher has ever made to a Hash. Just as the appropriately named Flash cycled in an almighty fork of lightning ripped the sky in half, resulting in a cataclysmic crash of thunder. “Morning.” He uttered prosaically. Talk about nonchalant. The bloke has obviously been spatula sculpted out of British phlegm. Nice one, Flash.

It was strange that, as ‘Gather Round’ was called by our omniscient GM, Blouse Blazer, Hashers emerged en masse from various wheeled hiding places where they had been keeping dry. A totally pointless exercise since it began raining harder than ever at this moment. There were three among us who appeared more sensible than the rest. OldDog, Spex and Dutch. They each had their own separate ways of trying to keep dry. Let me list them:-

• OldDog had stuck on several layers, including a transparent latex number normally used on on those ‘special’ Thursday nights, that hung down under her old raincoat (it won’t ever let you down…). This was about as much use as a tea strainer against the Severn Bore.

• Spex spent the entire Hash trotting round with a broken umbrella, looking like one of those bag ladies who wanders around Piccadilly. Anyone likening her appearance after the Hash to a soggy water rat in need of a hair-do would, of course, be utterly wrong.

• Dutch had what seemed to be the best idea of all: attend the Gather Round looking like a waterproof red penguin, then get in her car and head for Sainsbury’s. Unfortunately, the spatial awarenessly-challenged girl managed to knock a bit off her car mirror on the wall as she tried to back out of the car park (perhaps that’s why it’s called the ‘off’ side) but blamed the entire incident on steamed-up windows (what had she been doing in there?) and the proximity of my car (parked virtually the other side of Cleethorpes). Which is why, during the Down Downs she awarded the BH³ umbrella to, “the bastard who parked too close to my car”, using a terrifically effective hard, Northern ‘A’ in the second word. Fortunately, she handed me the brolly, rather than try to insert it into an orifice so I guess I should be thankful for that.

The rest of us just splashed off at the On Out. It was such a waste of time trying to keep dry that we felt we (and everyone else) should get thoroughly wet to start with. Then we couldn’t get any wetter. This isn’t quite true. After a while your skin seems to give up on the maiden aunt gathering of skirts and squealing, “No, no you beast! Go away! Go away!” for the laid back approach of the about-to-be drunk knowing that the next gulp will tip him over the edge, “Oh sod it. Come on then.” And we duly enjoyed the splendid shiggy, wondering only why Lemming and Foghorn were not around on a day that was meteorologically tailored perfectly for them. Architecturally tailored imperfectly for Mr Blobby was a small wooden bridge over a stream. As he put it later, “One minute I was standing on the thing. The next I was flat on my back in the stream!” Enjoying, no doubt, the rousing cheers and later hearty handshakes for a job well done.

It was a curious, but true, fact that despite the torrential rain the flour blobs and (in one case, underwater, Hamlet told me) Checks all stayed in place and no-one lost the trail. This was in complete contrast to our good GM’s ‘trail’ last week that was run under cloudless skies and with hardly any flour at all. Of course, there was the odd occasion, deep in waterlogged forests where Cerberus, a wet red setter, Iceman and Bogbrush would chase off-trail to an obvious dead-end. And early on I managed to lose the trail right in the middle of an incredibly soggy field with the rain lashing down, a nice, tall telegraph pole next to me and lightning flashing overhead. I almost assumed the egg position when testosterone (yep, there’s still a smidgeon left) and the ‘flight’ reaction set in. Although it turned out to be a bedraggled Florence who found flour again.

Of course, the day had been advertised as a ‘come in your 50s gear’ to celebrate Hamlet reaching his half-century and Fukawe getting to, I think it’s just about 40. The downpour had rather put everyone off the idea – except for one. Trilbys off to the only Hasher who ran round wearing his 50s gear – C5, whose skin-tight jeans got tighter as he got wetter. Not a pleasant experience I’m sure. At least later he would have had a free leg wax when it came to peeling ‘em off. In fact, C5 and I almost never made it to the last Regroup. As we trotted a few yards into what seemed to be a geographically misplaced paddy field we both realised we were up to our ankles in quickmud, and sinking fast. Luckily, Steamer pointed out the compacted tractor tracks near us and we just managed to squelch out of the shiggy before it claimed us in its loamy embrace.

I must briefly mention Aqua who, apart from having the most apposite name also gets the award for the sexiest running style seen on the day. Somewhere between a shimmy and a shuffle this hip-swaying effort would not be out of place in the Tahitian Half-Marathon and would certainly be up for a medal in the Instanbul 10k. To be fair about this and to give the ladies a chance to have their say I will be happy to print anything they would like to mention (in strictest confidence of course!) that may have floated their boat on this particularly damp day – or at any time in the future. Though thinking of the broken-down hacks that make up the male side of BH³ I must confess I don’t expect to be crushed in the stampede…

We owe a debt to both Hares for turning out twice on such a stonkingly wet day. But then we always get a good trail from hamlet and Fukawe. Thanks guys!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

A very fine pint indeed

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