Foxes and Hares

Cheating Donut Hashgate OldFart Cheating AWOL Zebedee Florence Simple Skids Nutty Potty Iceman Snowballs Glittertits Pissquick Poca and baby Ewok Chopstix NoNuts RedRum Quackers Damien Dwight Scoot Julia Bob Hamlet Ms Whiplash Hitchhiker Spot Slippery Legover BGB Shandyman Dorothy Twanky OldFart Blowjob Nick Josephine Benjamin Bomber Posh Vertigo TurdTreader Nick Ruby OldFart Flash

Running To Earth

Curious how time stretches occasionally, isn’t it? Donut though the possibility of arriving at the Hash within 40 minutes were, to say the least, slim. So we thought, as we enjoyed passing the cyclists toiling up Streatley Hill – a task that might even see Mark Cavendish (well done on winning the UCI Road World Championship) raise a bead of perspiration – let’s relax and enjoy the drive and maybe we’ll have a little trot round before a drink and a chat. Not a chance. We got there just after the On Out, to be met with derision by Simple and the small band of walkers. Luckily for us almost everyone had run leagues up the hill away from the pub,,, and away from the real Trail that started just across the road from us up a little track. Excellent! Donut and Slippery FRB’d and we thoroughly enjoyed running through the first of many forests in the warm autumn weather.

Now Dunny and Rampant are renowned for, shall we say, giving us value for money and today was to be no exception. We must have covered every inch of ground for miles around Hermitage. Not one piece of forestation was left untouched by our steaming plimsolls and since we seemed to be in such a hurry there was little time to enjoy any incidents. Except AWOL, who crashed to the ground with an earth-shaking shudder that almost wrenched off his well-renowned rubber leg. The poor chap took it very bravely and stood up almost at once but I saw him rubbing himself furiously a little way off in the bushes (I could have phrased that better) with a wrinkled expression of pain.

I have also to mention Glittertits, with whom I was enjoying a conversation about the high price of stuff as we legged it through a boggy patch. We had just expostulated generally about the fact that the price of a packet of twenty gaspers can be over seven coins of the realm when he trod into a particularly moist chunk of shiggy which spurted several streamers of something that appeared to have emanated from the bowels of a particularly digestively challenged skunk following an earlier repast of rotting carrots, three-week dead ferret and a puffin. We stopped. It trickled sockwards. He grinned. My thoughts turned lightly to the Spanish Inquisition.

Motox provided a moment of light relief with his log hunt. He initimated that he had been searching for one for quite some time. Pray tell us more, we queried. It turned out he needed one on which to rest his foot in order to tie his shoelace. He was a lucky fellow, for we found three in a short space of time. He was happy. So now you have an inkling of the kind of thing that makes Motox happy. For some, the exquisite beauty of an English sunset. For others, the wit and perspicacity of Oscar Wilde. For Motox, a log…

An aside. I just used Google images to search for ‘fox’ in order to add today’s picture. It’s surprising what pops up. Not too much for the ladies (depending on your persuasion) but a couple of beefcakes among the silky sirloins. Try ‘loins’ you get some really weird results. And for the Lord’s sake don’t try ‘weird’ or you’ll get stuff like this.

Aargh! Running out of time. Amazing how time contracts occasionally, isn’t it. What I need is a large Hadron Collider so I can produce particles that move faster than the speed of light like those scientists reckon they have done. Now according to Einstein, moving at that rate would make time run backwards which would mean that I could employ a few particles to slip into the past, taking my almost completed Gobsheet with me, of course, so I would have more time to finish it. No more typos. No more using the same word twice in a paragraph, paragraph.

Let me at last (I meant that. Not a typo!) thank Dunny and Rampant for an exceedingly well-laid and enjoyable Trail. One of the best and good fun in the pub afterwards. Also, let me say how good it is to see a lot of youngsters having a great time running with us. Nice to hear a few squeaks of ‘On On’ instead of the usual gutteral bellow (no, I’m not talking about you, Iceman )

I mentioned, after the Hash, that I had been thinking of changing the format of the Gobsheet. Not dramatically and not because the current format is particularly tired or unliked but because a little refreshment can be a good idea. Let me know what you think.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Spot presented the following :-

mixture

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