I See People

Trembler Shitfor Desperate Donut Hashgate Foghorn Iceman Little Stiffy Slackbladder Drac Glittertits Pissquick Gaffertits Snowballs Downunder Simple Skids Spot Hitchhiker Shutupwally and rat Bonnie Blowjob Twanky Paella Nick Slowsucker Tom (now Iron Balls! – see Down Downs)Nappyrash PP and Barney Septic OldDog Billy Bullshit Bogbrush Caboose Motox Rachel Legover and dog Millie Itsyor Fiddler C5 Whinge TC Cheating Handful Zebedee Florence Dorothy

A Nip Through The Woods

The sky was grey, puffed up with clouds full of snow, some of which sprinkled down as we reached this delightful pub. It was colder than a witch’s… well, damn cold. Had a score of penguins waddled into the car park, clapping their stubby wings together and wittering short-sightedly I would not have been surprised. Instead we had certain members of BH³ doing exactly the same thing. I had to wonder why, given the arctic temperatures and the biting wind. Even Drac, not currently in the running for the Guinness World Record for most hair follicles per square inch of scalp, was wondering about the car park in just a pair of shorts and a T-shirt with absolutely nothing covering his bonce. Just about everyone else had some kind of head furniture. Most interesting was C5’s. It made him look like one of those 17^th century potato pickers in a gloomy Dutch painting. It helps, of course, to have a nose shaped like a potato. Which I rush to confirm, C5 certainly does not.

Returnees today included Tom, one of our soldiers doing a difficult job out in Afghanistan. Very nice indeed to see him safe and sound and we took the opportunity to name him. Also returning was Legover. Haven’t seen her for ages and she brought along her other little dog, Millie, (leaving Megan to have a rest) who matched Barney for sheer eagerness and endurance (despite being somewhat smaller). I shouldn’t leave out a mention for Bonnie, Shutupwally’s wild rover. This particular pooch probably should be lauded more than the other two. Not only does she have short legs for Hashing but she can’t even get away from Wally since he’s got her on the end of a lead.

Due to the skin-shredding cold we were very glad His Eminence Slowsucker’s fearsomely interesting speech on the literary connections enjoyed by Cookham Dean (curiously, he didn’t mention that Ulrika Jonsson has a house there) was short and we On Outed at some pace, the better to get into the woods quickly and out of the wind. As we headed for the trees I began to hear sporadic bursts of what sounded like a bear who’s swallowed a particularly large salmon that’s gone down the wrong hole. Seismic hacking, 60-a-day coughing, ‘It Ain’t ‘Alf ‘Ot Mum’ hawking and baccy-chewers flobbing was following me all too closely. I turned and saw Skids. But no, it wasn’t her, of course. Next to her was Simple, carefully fashioning a moderately-sized plinth out of the clay-like gobbet he had just expectorated. I’m thinking of buying him his very own spittoon.

The Trail led us through some excellent woods, the mud underfoot crunchy and stiff with ice. I had never realised there were so many hills round this area! But the exercise warmed us up and there were some beautiful views over pewter lakes in the distance. There were a number of Bars and Checks that kept the Pack together and confused the FRBs. Blowjob got so confused she got her head caught in the low-hanging branch of a tree. There seemed to be a bit of panic involved in freeing herself so we stood back and enjoyed her ‘rutting stags’ show. Most realistic it was, especially with all that butting and grunting. Eventually, she broke away and stood gasping and triumphant as the tree conceded defeat.A polite rattle of applause greeted her victory.

Perhaps the finest moment (but not Snowballs’) was reserved for those who observed him performing the classic ‘trip over a root and fall in the mud’ routine. Many of us have been privileged to view and indeed take part in this vignette over the years and it never fails to amuse an audience. Whether the principal windmills slowly into muddy oblivion, slides like a foot into a soft shiggy shoe or splatters like a brick dropped from height the effect is the same – a mass outbreak of tittering and guffawing at the poor unfortunate. I have to report that Snowballs did not fail to amuse and rose, dripping from the morass with his sense of humour and personal effects intact. Thanks Snowy. I haven’t laughed so much since I stood next to Vertigo when he tried to steady himself in deep shiggy by reaching out to a fence with an electric cattle wire running along the top.

While running through some delightful, if bare, forest we came upon Cheating, BGB, Handful, Whinge. Where on earth had they come from? Never did quite find out. We did find out, however, that Handful had found herself in the middle of an empty forest with Cheating and BGB; one insisting that the Trail went left, the other that it went right. What should a girl do in such a position? Given that neither of them generally know neither where they are, nor where the Trail is (nor indeed their own names half the time) perhaps the best possible advice would be to knee them both in the cobblers and press on regardless. You might get lost but you’d still have a sense of achievement and the knowledge of an almost certain free drink at the Down Downs!

Although we had warmed up from the run the air temperature was falling faster than a High Street bank’s share price and the wind seemed to be rising. Time to get to the pub and that first cold pint of beer, we were thinking. Luckily, the very next woodland corner was daubed with a floury ‘On Inn’ which inspired Caboose (I believe) to vent a gleeful and very loud “On On” which, in turn, almost caused the two well-wrapped walkers just appearing from the opposite direction to fill the trousers of their ski suits. Ooer.

This was probably the best Trail so far this Hash year. Thanks ladies. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits (eventually) presented the following :-

Straight down…

Zebedee got the urinal for constant yapping. It should have been Millie!

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