Cold, Huddled Masses

Skinny Dipper Foghorn Donut Hashgate Slackbladder Desperate Shitfor Caboose Cerberus Billy Bullshit Mesdsenger Boy and dog Lucy The Tremblers Bogbrush CabinBuoy Twanky TC Whinge Colin Slowsucker Swallow Flash Ms Whiplash Salome CSGas Anorak Trainspotter Maggot Florence Zebedee Lonely Shitshoveller Penny Pitstop Heavy Petting Ben Iceman Tinopener Lilo and dog Emma Dave Motox Dorothy BGB Nicole Josh Cheating Caboose Chris

Random

It was colder than an Emperor penguin’s foot which, like many of the Hasher’s faces, was grey, pinched and scaly. Some metreological quirk had made it snow lighly around the Woodcote area, adding to an all-round wintry atmosphere despite the azure sky and clear air. It’s been like this for a while now. Not quite as severe as the Monday before Christmas when it snowed heavily and people were taking six(!) hours to get from Reading to my village just a few miles away. And not quite as cold as the -7.5 degrees on the 16^th when I had trouble wrenching my car door open because it had frozen to the rubber inner seal. But cold enough.

I hope everyone had an enjoyable Christmas and best wishes for a happy and prosperous New Year. And let’s send our best to Mrs Blobby for a speedy recovery after fracturing her wrist during the ice-coated Christmas Lunch Hash. My own New Year started interestingly when the central heating started playing up. It was only when son Motormouth noticed something sticking out of the vent high up on the wall that we figured it out. Standing on the top of a slightly short ladder in the freezing air I found a blue tit wedged in the inlet. It was possibly the most dessicated object I have ever seen – apart from Motox after a particularly arduous Hash yomp. Bit of a life-lesson, I thought, as I extracted the crisp pieces of feathered friend – a leg here, a beak there. One minute one is flying high and enjoying life. The next, dragged into a vortex and sucked dry. Like when the tax return flops on to your mat. Mind you bad news is good news for the press and we all like to sympathise with the unlucky. It’s the good news that rarely gets reported. On the good side my central heating is now working perfectly and on the ornithological side I got to see an oyster catcher, a little egret, several dunlins and a curlew during the Christmas break. And they were wading about in the freezing sea eating worms while I was on my way to an excellent coffee in a nice warm café.

As you may have worked out my knowledge of Spot and Fannybag’s Trail is about as fullsome as Katie Price’s on etiquette. Donut and I had been unable to make the start and opted for a stroll out on the In Trail. A brief and crunchy saunter through the frozen woodland and we met up with Cerberus, followed closely by Motox, Twanky, Bogbrush, Iceman et al. And then a meander back. Wonderful! No freezing fingers, unlike TC whose own were like five chipolatas recently removed from the fridge (she placed them on my warm arm in the pub later which immediately turned blue and solid, cracked and dropped on to the floor, making it a tad difficult to lift a pint and scratch my bum at the same time), no stripping off in the snow-dusted car park and no vain attempts to undo frozen running shoe laces with cold-burning fingertips. But then some people have it harder. Heavy Petting was telling me about young Iron Balls, one of our intrepid soldiers who has completed tours of duty in Afghanistan. He is due to take part in winter training in Norway soon. Part of which involves jumping into a frozen lake in order to break the ice with his body. He then has to stay there stating his name, rank and number until allowed out. Bit of a run in the frozen snow. Cold shower, Run. Slightly warm shower. And so on until the core temperature gets back to normal. Crikey! And we think we’re cold.

Of course, today’s Hash had been swapped with Posh and Bomber’s since they are in Austria visiting Heybabe and CIAC and the swap had been well publicized by our good Trailmaster, Shitshoveller. But there’s always one isn’t there? And this time it was Foghorn, dawdling idly at The Saracen’s Head in Henley and wondering where everyone could be. Anyone who is unaware of the change please note that the January 10^th Hash is at The Saracen’s Head (756822). No excuse then!

Apparently, the Trail today was a much friendlier length and reversed the current trend for interminably long runs. Thanks to the Hares for pulling the Hash back on course. Though there was that fiendish Bar-8 that took Hashers skipping amongst speeding cars and racing for their lives across the A4074 (known locally as ‘The Thirteen Bends of Death’)… then back again. Kind of glad I missed that.

Since it is the time for New Year resolutions here are a few:-

With apologies to all concerned :-)

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

Think Hashgate’s getting better!

Up and Coming