Dark Horses

Nappyrash Donut Hashgate TC Whinge Utopia Mrs Blobby Mr Blobby Slackbladder Little Stiffy Cerberus Billy Bullshit Desperate Itsyor Fiddler OldFart Lonely Paella C5 Slowsucker Honeymonster Dumper
Ms Whiplash TinOpener Ben Florence Blowjob CIAC Spot Poca Glittertits Pissquick Motox Iceman Hitchhiker Shitshoveller PP Baldrick Fannybag Bogbrush Steve

Dank and Dim

An interesting combination of Hares tonight. BGB and Cheating. Two of our somewhat more maverick BH³ members. One a superb exponent of off-Trail running; the other a gent never been known to call ‘On On’ with a decibel rating of higher than 3 and an absolute Scrooge with flour when laying a Trail. So it was tonight, though the rain may have had something to do with it. Apparently, the pair got caught in a thunderstorm while laying the Trail which was why a cold Cheating appeared, dressed in trousers jacket and a chapéau artistically crafted from a Tesco bag. Certainly one method of recycling we had never thought of. As a piece of suave head furniture it worked pretty badly. As a rain shield and head warmer it fared rather better.

Today’s picture shows The Black Horse at it’s lovely old best, the warm sun shining on its welcoming frontage. Unfortunately, tonight was wetter and muckier than C5’s running shoe after the first twenty metres. The thought of leaving one’s dry, warm car had the same lip-curling quality of non-attraction that would have met C5’s ingratiating invitation to don the item after he had removed it from what passes as a foot with a sock on it in the Sinclair household (but only on the male side, I hasten to add).

Our arrival was heralded by the raucous squaking of pea hens, housed in the barn behind TC and Whinge’s parking spot. TC reckoned at least one of them was trying to give birth to a double-yolker. These sensible creatures stayed put in their dry surroundings while we On Outed up the road at pace, most people thinking that the faster they ran the quicker they would get out of the dripping, cold wetness and into the nice, warm, comfy pub. Alas, it was not to be for our Hares had laid a lengthy Trail, some of which appeared to be completely flour-less though, of course this must surely have been because of the incessant rain…

Half way round the Trail we realised we didn’t have the faintest idea where we were or in which direction it was likely to go. We had already doubled back on ourselves, followed Billy (silly of us, I know) into a field where no flour had ever been and now found ourselves in a soaking wet lane that Itsyor and Steve, followed by Poca (splashing like a demented water nymph in the huge puddles) and her father, RA Glittertits (yes, he was actually attending a Hash) had gone up full of hope… and returned, full of despair. The sight of Cheating standing on the opposite side of a field, wearing a Tesco bag on his head and waving his arms about did not give us confidence. After all, on a regular Hash would you follow Cheating if you saw him doing this? But the Pack hesitantly stepped into the field from two different directions across the slippery grass. Too slippery for Desperate who managed a 5.9 on the pratfall gauge and found herself with a go-slower shiggy stripe all down her left-hand side. Very fetching. Lonely also managed a spectacular legs-in-the-air Hash Crash at one point though, sadly, I missed it. Pity. Always enjoy these kind of things – especially if it’s me.

An example of the tricky Trail-laying occurred, well, somewhere in a slippery forest. The Pack thundered downwards, splashing mud and water left and right, until it reached a damp grotto just past a lovely little cottage where a rather bemused gardener was raking over his neatly combed earth beds. We had waved as we skittered past. Then we came to a dead stop because a) we seemed to have run out of flour (not unusual I have to say) and, b) Billy remembered the bike Hash had come this way and there was a path off to the right. We took it, going uphill. Turned right. Waved to the even more bemused g. on the other side of his garden. Then ran slap bang into BGB who was coming down the forest path towards us. “On that way.” He pointed. And we nipped off down another sopping track to end up precisely where we had started on this particular square. Confused? We were.

Hmm. Now I have a problem. I am rapidly running out of the time available to write this Gobsheet. “Thank goodness for that.” I hear you sigh mentally. “Do I really have to read this drivel every blasted week?” Well let me shorten the agony with just a brief, final vignette. Having fetched up (Lord knows how) at the church in Stoke Row, Donut, Desperate, Itsyor and I had lost all sight of any flour but knew damn well how to get to the pub. In the deepening gloom we set off along the road and finally reached a stile that led to a footpath across the field that ended up next to the pub road. We slipped exhaustedly across the stile and into the calf-deep wet grass, stumbling a little across the uneven ground. Now Donut is not a great fan of large animals and when she spotted four legs way off across the dank field heading on a converging course with our path she turned towards me and said, “There’s a horse over there!” I’m afraid I almost fell over laughing. The ‘horse’ in question was two Hashers running one behind the other. All it needed was a pantomime horse costume covering them to make the moment absolutely perfect.

This area is such a good area for Hashing and the pub is so good one really can’t go wrong laying a Trail here. So even though it was a miserable night on the weather front and by the time we got back (08:50 or so) it was fairly dark, and we had hardly seen any flour, and we lost the Trail towards the end, it was a pretty good run. As ever, we mustn’t forget that no-one has to be a Hare so let’s thank BGB and Cheating for getting soaking wet and cold while laying the thing for us. Thanks chaps!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-

Very smooth (but not good for his blood pressure – private joke with the napster)

Up and Coming