Racing Cert’s

Iceman Honeymonster Hashgate BillyBullsh*t Cerberus BlouseBlazer Nutcracker Potty Don Irene Baldrick Lemming Mother Theresa The Abominable Barfman Show’em Ms Whiplash Salome Foghorn Dutch Sh*tfer Desperate Loudontasteless Spex The Tremblers Stuart Bogbrush FannyBag Sybil Don Dave PP Tony and Barney the dog Itsyor SlowSucker Stephanie OldF*rt Simple Dunny Shandyman Paula Sue & Sue Motox Hitchiker Zebedee Florence Yankit WetConnection Caboose Colin Sue Anorak TrainSpotter Cheating Drexel

A Trail of Two Halves

The plump creature stood at one side of the road as my car came down the opposite side not twenty feet away. It lifted a scaly leg towards the tarmac and cocked its head quizzically, eyeing the advancing metal and wheels. A beautiful bird, the pheasant, but when the Lord created it he must have got a bit carried away with the plumage and run out of time on the intelligence level. The few brain cells fizzed into action and a dim light flickered wanly somewhere in the largely empty cognition department. “Duh… car?” Posited the creature. “Godda take off.” Being unable to think of more than one thing at a time it took off at a low trajectory on a heading destined for the bonnet of my car instead of away from it. Mission accomplished, the game bird bounced lazily off the paintwork, executed a half-roll and disappeared backwards into a hedge with its feet, beak and accusatory expression all pointing in my direction. A similar level of cognitive intelligence seemed to have afflicted Dunny halfway through today’s Hash. Not, of course, that I would ever describe this lovely lady as a ‘plump creature’ or indeed ‘a game bird’. She had just offered to help me up a steep, slippery bank in the forest, next to a dead tree that was rocking as she pulled herself up by its lower branches. As she walked away from the tree a loud, woody ‘crack’ came from above and a large branch, about the size and shape of Simple’s left leg (but lacking a foot) plummeted on to the leaf mould with a ‘flump’ directly behind her. Did she turn, aghast at the nearness of disaster? Did she utter at least a squeak of surprise? Did she drop to one knee and offer up a swifty to the heavens in thanks for her deliverance? Nope. She hadn’t even noticed. Just scuffed her way through the leaves without a care in the world, little realising she had narrowly missed having a wider centre parting than usual.

I’m starting this Gobsheet halfway round the trail since the early part of it was such a fast race with every man, woman and dog for him or her self that it passed in a blur with little to record. The Hares were being clever. Since the trail that they laid on March 12^th this year (No. 1477 for the pedantic) was more of a standard one that belted round the woods on the pub side, then up and down Ashley Hill, they figured to take us across the road for a cruise round the long straight bits towards the Walthams. And since SlowSucker, Zebedee, Billy and myself got lucky at the early Checks we flew round like, well, a rocketing pheasant. Even TrainSpotter and Tony were grizzling at the sizzling pace. Salome, Hitchiker, Ms Whiplash and Nutcracker opted for a more leisurely pursuit, accompanied by Hare Cloggs. As I found out while checking out another fast-paced Check – they approached me as I ran towards them. Still, we stopped for a pleasant chat by a fallen tree before some of us(!) ran off back towards Zebedee, who had been caught out on a similar False trail. Possibly, no definitely, the most leisurely non-pursuer was Dutch who yet again only appeared after the Hash, looking cool and comfortable in designer Tricel^®.

Things all changed when we crossed back over the A4 and dived into the wet and welcoming forest – on our way up the hill we had expected to ascend at some time during the trail. Well, it’s traditional. We always go that way. People expect it. Motox can say, “We always go this way.” And really mean it. Iceman’s eyes light up since he knows the area exceptionally well and has laid many a trail here. Not that he knows where anyone else’s trail in this area is going but it gives him a warm Scottish glow of satisfaction to know that he can never be lost, even though he has no idea where he is going.

Where we were going was up a few hilly bits via tarmac and track towards the Regroup, where Stuart and SlowSucker panted breathlessly from their hell-for-leather run up to the top. Hashers turned up in various states of distress after the early race and hill climb. Spex, I felt, looked particularly knackered and wandered vacantly about hoping to find someone young and male to massage her weary limbs.It all turned into a bit of a nattering party, particularly since Yankit and WetConnection had flown over specially from N.Y. to be with us. Cheating appeared, as usual, from nowhere. Another surprise was LoudonTasteless, who led us out from the Regroup and stayed at the front for some time. I can only presume that the bedtime double-strength Sanatogen with a double shot of Wincarnis is doing the trick. He simply tore down the hill and up the other side as if the hounds of hell were ten yards behind and intent on removing the ar*e from his running trousers.

The Hares had laid one last sneaky backtrack just after we had sped out of the forest on to the open hill with the roof of the pub beaming a welcome in the distance. Some people hurried downwards across the sodden field towards the pub in a desperate, “For Gawd’s sake gimme a pint!” rush. Others bore off right, still pubwards, in the forlorn hope that the concrete track might lead them to alcoholic Nirvanha. Not a chance. We all had to slog back up the foot-sucking field or the ankle-jarring concrete and run away from the pub, loop round and come back to it via a somewhat shiggyful forest path. This delay had obviously affected Sh*tfor and Desperate badly for, when I ran into them, they were having some kind of domestic that involved shoving handfuls of mud down each other’s backs. Not one to become embroiled in the marital affairs of others I kept well back… and just enjoyed the squealing. Desperate occasionally squealed too.

I have to agree with Simple on this one; the first half was cr*p (he was speaking from experience, see below). The second half was fearfully enjoyable. Thanks for trying to make it different Hares :-)

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-

The swine! Fine, measured Down, though.

Up and Coming