Lost Boys and Girls

Motox Poca Donut Hashgate Potty Nutty Snowballs Iceman Desperate Shitfor Itsyor OldFart Swallow Slowsucker Skids Simple Spot Hitchhiker Foghorn SkinnyDipper FullFrontal Ms Whiplash Dribbler Butterfly Dwight Julia Scoot ShyLight Mrs Blobby Utopia Blowjob Twanky Barbara Dunny Rampant Spex Maureen Adele RubberDuck Lungs Aqua JJ Booby Stripper Linda LoudonTasteless Zebedee Florence TT2 Cerberus BillyBullshit Dumper Caboose Uplift Fiddler Cheating Pissquick Slapper Fannybag Bogbrush Whinge TC Jill Peter John Marcus C4 Lonely Chopstix Shandyman

Forest Grump

Not often one picks up a strange man in one’s car. But tonight, just on entry to Mortimer I noticed a large gentleman mincing along the road. He spotted me, raised a shorts leg, an insouciant eyebrow and a smile and I just had to pick him up. Motox was spotted with the raindrops that were threatening to turn into a storm. It was a grey old night. Another in our glorious English summer. The car park was already heaving with Hashers current and virginal, none knowing of the trial to come.

Simple, as GM, decided to rise above the horde, all decked out with ties, since this was a Thai evening (groan). He stepped gingerly on a tottering pile of earth and stones that had been left by the car park replacement people. I mused that its instability seemed a fitting metaphor for the support Simple will no doubt receive during the election procedure at the upcoming AGM. Having introduced a plethora of virgins he handed over to the Hares who launched into a Trail description, a road hazard health and safety diatribe and a sycophantic speech by C5 about his neighbour whose prowess at triathlons is apparently legendary (either C5 is turning gay or he owes the bloke money). They also advised us that the ties we were wearing were to be used to lash legs together since the first three Checks would be approached in a three-legged manner. It was a case of ‘you can lead a horse to water…’. About five couples out of the mass of people ‘legged up’ and the rest hurtled off down the road, oblivious to instructions. Donut and Swallow were going like the clappers for a bit. Florence and (I think) Caboose nipped off like a tripod on speed. Thing was, the third Check was a darn long way away and I don’t think any couple lasted that long. C5 had mentioned earlier that this Check would be the usual circle of flour but with a ‘T’ attached to it. He and I approached a flour mark in the forest. The rain had done its work on it but it apppeared to be a circle of flour with a ‘T’ attached to it. “What’s that then?” I asked C5. “Hmm.” He pondered. “Not sure.” “Could it be,” I offered innocently, “The ‘T’hird Check?” A 40 Watt light bulb clicked on. “Oh yeah.” He grinned. My confidence in tonight’s Trail rapidly scaled the mountain of optimism and stood blinking in the sunlight. But I, along with the rest of the Pack, were soon to be plunged into the Stygian darkness of despair (and the night) since the Long Trailers did not get back until gone 9 o’clock and the sun had tucked itself in and was snoring contentedly by then.

But back to the Trail which had entered forest land with a vengeance. We eased our way amongst saplings, tripped over stumps and slid sideways off slippery, lopped branches of fir trees. Twanky and Chopstix lightened the slog with an extended cuddle just before C5 upended himself over a similarly extended tree root. This just before Aqua crashed earthwards with a tree-trembling thud that saw wildlife of every species running for cover. This was dodgy ground indeed but I must mention Butterfly, who skipped along the woodland path in front of me like a woman possessed. She confided to me breathlessly, when we popped out on to a wider track, that it was because she could hear my elfin foosteps pressing on behind her. I was a tad disenchanted that such a fragrant lady should wish to run away from me but managed to hide my disappointment with a merry “Tra la.”

We reached a slightly dripping Regroup that Billy reckoned he had found through sheer skill and perspicacity and stod about steaming, for it was a mite hot after our scurry through the groves. The Long and Short(er) Trails led of from here and it’s my contention that if anyone had known how long and dark the Long trail was going to be they would all have taken the the Short. Like we did. Donut, Dribbler, SkinnyDipper, Billy Spot, Swallow, Foghorn and I trotted of, not having taken any notice of Mr Blobby’s instructions and promptly lost the Trail. The dusk thickened. Luckily, we had Billy (who didn’t really know where he was), Foghorn (who had a vague idea where he was) and Spot (who was more or less aware of where he was) to show us the way. A fair bit of woodage and a lot of tarmac saw us back to the Scout Hut (scene of much debauchery and dancing at the 330^th some weeks ago) on the other side of the field to the pub. Donut and I skipped lightly across it, ignoring the mad football circuit training session that was taking place in the middle, and tripped thankfully into the dim car park. Our picture left gives you some idea how dark it was.

What happened to the Long Trailers? We were almost on our second pint when they staggered back in a sweating, branch-slashed, raggle-taggle, strung-out (in more ways than one) group. Must mention Scoot, who looked much fresher than his old dad, Dwight. Look out for him at the 2020 Olympics!

Now we have a problem. Donut and I were unable to stay for the Down Downs. Mainly because a) everyone got back so late and, b) most people had ordered the delicious Thai curry and pint and there was no way they were leaving their comfy tables to watch a bunch of Hashers being awarded their Downs before they had consumed every last curry-sodden grain of rice. So I have no idea who got awarded what and for why. Apologies. I did ask C5 if he could advise but he was out travelling all next day. So I sneaked over to the table where sat Desperate, TC and Cerberus sat, sucking curry into their faces. Rule #1: never ask a group if they will do something for you. Responsibility bounces off each person like a pinball off the rubber cushioned stanchions, binging and bonging until it drops into the gutter with a resounding ‘ping’ of a zero score. Can’t blame ‘em. Sure I’d have done the same.

Running out of time rapidly this week so apologies again for a slightly rushed Gobsheet.

Hope you had as much fun as I did on this Hash. We always have a good run in this area. And, despite the fun-poking, our two Hares are among our most experienced. Thanks to them for yet another fine Trail they have laid.

On On. Hashgate.

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