Spotted

Nappyrash Diver PP and dog Barney Donut Hashgate CabinBuoy Messenger Boy and dog Lucy Twanky Tinopener Dumper Septic Zebedee Florence Spot Hitchhiker Hamlet Fukawe Effin Dribbler Butterfly TC Whinge LoudonTasteless Spex Rainbow Warrior Flash Ram Foghorn Turdtreader Iceman Desperate Shitfor Billy Bullshit Cerberus Motox BGB Simple Skids Ms Whiplash Salome OldDog Greensleeves Bogbrush Fannybag Kyle Dwight Julia Scoot ShyLight Paella Jo Nellie The Tremblers

Dog Tired

I suppose we should have known it. Dunny and Rampant. They never stop, do they. When others have fallen by the wayside, foaming at the nostrils with exhaustion they just keep on running. The only other Hasher who exhibits the same blinkered approach is Barney. So all that guff Dunny gave us at the Circle about the Long Trail being about 6½ miles should have been taken with a pinch of salt and a large snort of derision. Iceman’s GPS registered that he had covered 7.8 miles at the end of the Trail and even taking into account that he winds it on a bit to show off the distance was still pretty severe.

Add to that that the first few hundred yards were uphill on tarmac and you begin to get the idea of what this Trail was like. Poor Effin who had not Hashed for about a year had rejoined us today. It was probably not the gentlest of Trails to ease oneself back into the groove. Those of you who watched on television James Cracknell and Ben Fogle in their race to the South Pole know what exhaustion looks like; several Hashers at the end of this looked very similar (without the dangly, icy bogies, mind you).

Fortunately, OldDog provided a little light relief after that initial hallucination-inducing tarmac hill. As we blundered breathlessly into the first of the woodland she tripped over a medium-sized log which forced one of those seven-league recovery steps and much mirth from the closely following Hashgate. Shortly followed by another ungentlemanly guffaw when she almost repeated the action with a smaller one immediately after. Florence suffered an even worse fate while attempting to take a short ‘comfort break’ near a False at the top of a rise in the forest. We had all run back from the ‘F’ but Billy decided he needed to check the ‘F’ for himself. The unfortunate Florence was just settling herself like a mother hen on the nest when the fellow trolled past her camouflaging tree. Not sure who was most flustered. Billy spun on the spot and raced back at pace, eyes locked heavenwards while Florence hurriedly re-panted with a lot of squawking and clucking. How Billy got down that root-gnarled hill without face-planting was a miracle. And probably a bit of a shame really…

Now just occasionally you get a grumpy old git who objects to our childlike enjoyment of a bit of running and the odd shout and so it was today. He was really not impressed with Whinge and company and informed them so in the red-faced, apoplectic fashion of a long-serving MP defending the right to purchase: a holiday in the Bahamas (essential research into the environment likely to result in the event of global warming), several lesbian porn movies (investigation into and understanding of social prejudice against a minority group), 84” plasma television (crucial for following up-to-date political reporting – the lesbian porn dvd found in it had obviously been placed there inadvertantly by the 18-year old Libyan maid (supporting a displaced asylum seeker – identity documents in the post))) and a bath plug. The fellow ranted a tad, though Desperate almost placated him by showing him her beautiful titanium hair. He conceded that at least she was, “trying to be polite.” Unlike Messenger Boy’s dog, Lucy, who (fortunately unseen by the chap) squatted down on the patch of grass behind him and strained until her eyes crossed before depositing a large section of, erm, fertilizer, scratched about with her back legs in that peculiar fashion dogs have, then ran off with what could almost be described as a grin on her face. There was certainly one on Messenger Boy’s.

It all got very messy after the Regroup. The Short Trailers duly hived off that way while the rest of us ignored Dunny’s offer of a Medium Trail and opted for the Long! Why we do dat? Especially after Rampant had advised us, “It’s a bit faster for the runners from here.” The Bar-7 we ‘enjoyed’ early on hinted at what was to come. Fortunately, we were next to young Kyle who was running with Fannybag and Bogbrush when he hit it or what leaves were still dangling from the branches of the trees would have been blown off with the invective directed against the Hares (who had cleverly managed to reverse the Pack). Incidentally, Kyle and Dwight and Julia’s son, Scoot, skipped along lightly like Hash veterans. Actually, I take that back. The Hash veterans staggered along like knock-need, knackered old nosebags compared to these exuberant, full-of-running lads.

We actually thoroughly enjoyed following Dunny as we raced down into and along that Roman ditch, carpeted in scrunchy copper leaves. And Twanky and I had fun yomping down that steep hill in amongst the dark trees where the mountain bike track ran and a small gathering of earnest youths with bikes stared at us with amazement. We limped breathlessly past a bevy of friendly walkers who were sitting down for a good old rest and a sandwich. A nasty thought occurred to me that the buggers were only just older than, or the same age as, us. At least we were still running. Well almost. That last, long uphill field followed by that last, long uphill track nearly saw us off. Not many were running. I just followed Loudon Tasteless as we nipped along a bit of road before diving into the little path that came down just behind the pub. It was indeed a heart-lightening sight.

Must thank the Hares for their hard work on this one. Some lovely country to run through – actually quite a lot of it. Good also to see them carefully marking the direction with flour after we had gone through the Checks. Doesn’t half make a difference if one is late.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

After presentation by Ram of a number of awards and Down Downs to some of the intrepid and highly successful Clarendon Way participants (including Florence, Zebedee, Dwight, Dunny, Rampant, Fannybag, Jo) RA Simple stunningly presented (he complains if I don’t say this kind of thing) the following :-

Crikey! No hanging about

Up and Coming

Hallowe’en Barn Dance

Enter the Twilight Zone on Saturday, October 31^st for only £8 and all the frogs you can eat (ok, it includes food). BYO drink and dance to the excellent Pitchfork. You can wear fancy dress, or not, and there’s a competition for the best designed and cut pumpkin. Motox has the tickets. Haunt him for one before they all go!