Starring…

Mother Theresa Lemming Donut Hashgate Whinge TC LoudonTasteless Spex BGB OldDog C5 Quack Foghorn Aintgotone Cerberus Desperate Ms Whiplash Salome Fannybag Bogbrush Diver PP and dog Barney Nappyrash Honeymonster and dog Max Blowjob Spot Hitchhiker The Tremblers Twanky Dorothy Bomber Posh OldFart Gaffertits Messenger Boy CIAC HeyBabe Dutch Shandyman Chopstix Ryan Cheating Hamlet Fukawe Florence Zebedee

A Walk In The Park

I may be mistaken. But I think Spring is here! She had picked up her petticoats and run, sparkly-eyed and smiling into the bright, sunny morning. Really can’t remember the last time it was warm enough to enjoy a Hash walk with just a T-shirt on the top. I say walk because Donut and I were indeed walking. A fractious calf muscle of mine had decided to throw a wobbler the previous week and Donut had taken most of the skin off the back of her heel while power walking across Hyde Park, dressed to the nines, in a desperate attempt to get to the Royal College of Music and the ‘work’ event where free wine and nibbles were being handed out. I’m pleased to report that she succeeded, bloodied but unbowed, scoffed as much food as possible and drank the place dry. Coo. This is getting more like a Blogsheet than a Gobsheet. I should twitter rather than ramble on so (I’ll explain that later, Motox).

It made quite a change to hike on the Hash. Different set of people altogether you see. Instead of the breathless crashing up hill with the FRBs... Actually, I take that back. Quite a lot of the walkers were breathless after going up that first little hill. Unlike Honeymonster’s dog, Max, who flitted about our little group with his foxy face and bottlebrush tail as if to say, “Look at me! I’m getting fitter and leaner.” Good on you, Max. We look forward to seeing you race Barney round the Trail. So we got to see Ms Whiplash, Salome, Hitchhiker (um, thought she was running these days), Paella, Hamlet, Dutch, The Tremblers. And some of Chopstix who was anxiously trying to pretend that she was walking because she didn’t want to tire her fine young grandson, Ryan. Yeah. Right. The little lad was climbing over gates and skipping up hills like a Spring lamb (not that they usually climb over the gates – it’s just an allusion. Or is that Imagination? There’s a joke there somewhere for you pop pickers).

We rather enjoyed watching the Pack charge across our path at right-angles, knowing they would loop round to join us at the top of the field by the Check. Now this was a three-way Check and the answer to the question of why Lemming fell for Cloggs’ mis-direction suggestion, “You might like to try that way.” may never been known. The grin on the Cloggs face as she turned to us while Lemming disappeared into the distance like the dot on an old, just switched-off TV was very broad indeed.

As broad as mine when Motox fell over in front of me just after we had gasped up a very damp hill into the forest and a herd of deer had shot off to our left like an explosion of furry grey grapeshot. I had just been chatting to him (and trying to keep up with him) a little while before. One foot caught in a sticky bramble and he went down like a buffalo after seven pints of strong lager and a schnapps. Maybe followed by a crème de menthe and a large cognac. Thing was, he grabbed at OldDog on the way down. Canny fellow. Hedging his bets and thinking either a) I could break my fall on something soft, or b) might as well enjoy myself while I’m down here. But OldDog is pretty canny too. She twisted from his grasp with all the eel-like slipperiness of Joe Worsley as he wriggled through the outstretched and flailing French tacklers in England’s glorious 34-10 victory on Saturday. Talking of rugger and ladies’ appreciation of the game I have to report that OldDog is really quite enamoured of Sebastian Chabal. Appreciating not quite some much his ball-handling as his legs and muscular frame. Now if I’d offered my own appreciative comments on the ‘skills’ of the Brazilian ladies beach volleyball team I’d have got a slap. You can’t win… here’s a picture for our ladies. Personally, I think Motox looked much more attractive in his picture in Gobsheet 1630.

After crashing up the slopes in the forest we rested at the Regroup and basked in the sunshine before crashing and slipping muddily downhill with the sure knowledge that we would soon be crashing and sliding muddily back up it again from a slightly different direction. We did, enjoying a chat with the nimble Fukawe and enjoying the beauty of the almost-finished snowdrops. Won’t be long before the bluebells are out. We are much luckier than we realise in this country. Aintgotone was telling me about the Hashes in the Middle East. Miles of slidy, muscle-sapping sand n’rocks with not a green hill or a daffodil in sight. As for beer; well I don’t like to describe what passes for it in that part of the world. Though in one way it must be pretty good coming to visit England in the Spring after a few weeks in the desert. The textures, views, colours and smells must seem that much more intense. And you can buy kippers in the supermarkets.

The last and biggest enigma of the day was provided by Florence who appeared after the Trail dressed entirely in Zebedee’s clothes. Even down to his undercrackers and (I understand it was his) bra. These two are well-know cross-dressers – well, one of them in particular – but we were surprised that this time it was Florence. Still, each to their own. Most people have a skeleton in their closet. They just don’t take it out and rattle the bones in front of the Hash!

Loevly Trail on a fine day, Hares. Though this is an area we know quite well they managed to find some different ways through the wood. Which means that Nonstick was very well ‘managed’ by Cloggs during the Trail laying…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Just for a change, RA Spot presented the following :-

No spillage on this speedy half

Up and Coming

Race Night

Saturday 25^th April @ 7:45 pm at Winkfield Working Mens Club. Gridref 897712.
Tickets are just £5 which includes a curry.
Drinks are at very reasonable club prices.
To book your place talk to Motox.