Party Guests

Scarlet Pimpernel Mrs Pimp Alex OldDog C4 C5 Ms Whiplash Salome Spot ShutupWally Dumper Septic Honeymonster Iceman Nick Vertigo Handful Simple Skids Foghorn TC Whinge Nappyrash PP and dog Barney Glittertits Gaffertits Pissquick AWOL SlackBladder Little Stiffy Bogbrush Fannybag Horny NonStick Cloggs Dorothy Caboose Knickers Twanky Blowjob BGB Cheating Bomber Posh Swallow Penny Pitstop Shitshoveller Slowsucker Motox Cerberus Itsyor Fiddler Dutch Florence… and a host of (dare I say it?) Reading Roadrunners!

Desperate’s Big One!

Big ones. I should say. Just before we On Outed she was presented with a vast pair of knickers that, I am pleased to report, were far too big and which swung rather unpleasantly down around knee level after she had stepped into them. A small dog could have used them as a hammock. She and Shitfor were also presented with a pre-Hash birthday Down Down to help them along and keep out the cold. For it was pretty damn freezing – the snow lay round about, crisp and fairly even. But the sky was bright, blue and sunlit. It was a perfect day for a Hash. Even the Roadrunners had turned out in force, many in their snazzy road shoes, not entirely aware of the snow, ice, shiggy and water to come. And it didn’t take long to appear. Those of us who know this area immediately headed off to the path that led to the nature reserve and lakes behind The Wagon and Horses. Fortunately, Wally got there ahead of us and was left wandering forlornly by the gate when the ‘On Back’ call came. How sad. Wally, if he hasn’t already bored you into a catatonic trance by telling you, is apparently currently testing running shoes for Runner’s World. Pity ‘Cluster Bomb Weekly’ didn’t engage his services.

So we unexpectedly turned right, into a private field and a lot of snow, where BGB, Slowsucker, Shitshoveller, Fiddler and Cerberus all took a shortcut on the other side of the stream while the rest of us crunched crisply through the snow and followed the lurid pink flour, the colour no doubt carefully chosen by Shitfor who was getting in touch with his feminine side. One of the pluses of the snow was that we could easily see the double print of footsteps where our Hares had trod so it wasn’t too difficult to find the Trail and we looped joyfully (well, fairly happily) back over the main road, heading to the nature reserve and rather a lot of slippery shiggy on the narrow paths round the semi-frozen lakes. It wasn’t far from here that Motox met the dogs. These were two huge creatures that took a bit of a dislike to his walking stick, he told me later. “It’s your stick.” The dogs’ owner opined to Motox rather unhelpfully as the hounds circled the venerable Hasher like a tethered kid goat in a clearing. Motox, as you could imagine, was a tad miffed at the attitude of the animals but understood that a) there were two of them, b) they probably weighed more than he did and, c) the only time he wanted to foam at the mouth was when quaffing a pint of Northern beer. He forged onwards, fearing the trouser-tearing teeth at any second. Luckily, they left him to his walkies. Maybe they just wanted him to throw the stick? When we had gone past this area we not only saw these two dogs but also another, an extremely stupid looking chih… chahou… ch.. Mexican dog that was being carried in one hand on its back with its ickle legs sticking in the air so his paws didn’t get cold in the ice and snow. Barney must have raised his eyes and tutted mightily as he trotted loftily past.

We were lucky that Desperate had health and safety in mind when we got to Lands End and the ford. Cars have got stuck in this in the past when their drivers have misunderstood the depth of the thing. I have even been ferried across the road in a boat to the stables when it’s in flood. Very cold, waist deep and faster flowing than you think. Brr! Bogbrush and I stepped lightly over the footbridge a little further along the stream to be met by the sight of SlackBladder eyeing up a flock of geese and edging closer to them with every step. He purported to be ushering the grey creatures out of the Hash’s way. But I think we all know SlackBladder’s predilictions. They were lucky we turned up.

More creatures appeared a couple of fields and a road further up. Three delightful, furry donkeys stood in the field to our left as Cheating and I loped past, their fine ears twitching and their eyes following our progress. What an enchanting scene you might think. It was, until Cheating made a suggestion that made my gorge rise faster than a transient sniff of Foghorn’s left running sock. Thank the Lord I’d left him behind by the time we got to the field with the cute, white Shetland ponies. Talking of which, the Trail went alongside their field. Bogbrush was initially a mite reticent at stonking along it since much of it was covered in calf-deep icy water. It was a bit like a dainty fairy dipping an elfin toe in a moonlit forest pool at midnight. Ok, maybe not so dainty. But he eventually sploshed along it like the rest of us, meeting a very large and friendly brown horse on the way. Pity it was so friendly really. If the donkeys had rushed over and told him what Cheating had said he might have given the fellow a bit of the treatment he had been thinking of giving the donkeys.

It all went a bit wrong at the end of this track for Slowsucker and Itsyor. A pink arrow made it look very much as if we should carry on over the road and down a wide track. They went for it, with C5 and me following. Trouble was, the water covering the track was almost at waist height and they couldn’t make up their minds whether the Trail went that way or not. C5 and I stopped. They waded and splashed onwards. They stopped. They debated. They waded and sploshed back. Bit more debate. Splosh onwards. By this time Spot had appeared – rather sensibly on the dryish track just over the stream. I jumped the stream. Landed in the brambles. Not terribly sensible. “On Back!” Came the call. Bugger. Itsyor and Slowsucker sploshed back. Oh well, it was just a step and a hill to the Beer Stop at Desperate’s house where 42,000 Hashers and hangers-on filled the entire back garden and frightened the fish. Foghorn also managed to kick over one of the twee little ornaments (smiley hippo, I think it was) that Shitfor had spread thoughtfully around. (He’s such a poppet isn’t he?) Thank goodness it was only a short downhill run after the beer to the On Inn. I had a choice here. Either straight back to the pub and get changed in the cold car park. Or go to my warm office opposite the pub and have a hot shower in radiatorial magnificence. Decision making has never been a problem for me.

The Birthday Marquee…

… was full of people yacking twenty to the dozen. Hashers and Roadrunners and friends and family. All celebrating Desperate’s Big One. And she and Shitfor were celebrating by organizing the entire event, and the Beer Stop and laying the Trail, running around like blue-bottomed flies, making sure everyone was ok. They certainly were as soon as the scantily-clad bar ladies tripped across the freezing car park with the hot food. A hush fell on the throng. Eyes watched as the serving tables began to sag in the middle under the weight. A dribble of saliva ran from the corner of more than one mouth. The air fizzed with expectancy. Desperate removed the first of the clingfilm. A scrum that would have backed up both the Irish and Welsh packs together forged forward with a hungry roar. I last saw Shitfor disappearing beneath a mass of struggling bodies as he vainly tried to save a bowl of chips for Desperate – the gent that he is. While the rabble battered at the serving ladies’ riot shields hurriedly fashioned from paper plates Septic whipped up the storm by firing party poppers at all and sundry from her entrenchment in the corner of the marquee and cackling insanely. There’s nothing quite like chewing on a coloured streamer in your chilli is there? As you can figure, this and the Trail were a roaring success. Thanks and Happy Birthday! On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-

Up and Coming