Hash People

Cerberus BillyBullshit Donut Hashgate Whinge TC Iceman Slippery Snowballs Glittertits Pissquick Mother Theresa Lemming Booby Honeymonster and dog/fox Max Crusty/Toasty Spot Rampant Ms Whiplash Nappyrash HP Dunny Rampant Foghorn Simple NewBoiler Layla Blowjob Skids Simple Marcus Amanda Julie and dogs Pickle and Minky SkinnyDipper BGB Frankie Lungs Swallow Slowsucker CabinBuoy LoudonTasteless Spex Dorothy Twanky Motox MessengerBoy Awol Itsyor Cheating IPlod

Dire Straights

The straights in question were long, long straight, knee-joint grinding runs between the sparse checks. It was like running a 10k between each one. Hashers would have wailed and gnashed… but they had no breath. Despite the reasonable length of the whole Trail (just over 4 miles) the bits in the middle were truly challenging.

But I get ahead of myself. Something which I would have been glad to do on any of the long straights. Stuff nearly always happens at the Hash and today was no exception. Apart from Swallow and HP turning up sporting tonsorial styles designed either to speed their progress or bring back that skinhead look – appropriate that Swallow’s real surname is ‘Barber’ – we enjoyed a stampede of horses while we gathered in the pleasant autumn sunshine outside the pub. Four, sleek, dark-haired ponies trotted happily along the road by the side of the pub. Head-collarless and pleased with their freedom, even if they didn’t quite know what to do with it, they hove to on the green and began munching the sward while a large-bottomed girl hurried after them, closely followed by a police officer wearing the standard combat kit and peace-keeping kit (extendable metal club, steel toe-capped boots, pepper spray, taser) clumped along behind. By the time we returned from the Hash they had all gone. No trampled bodies on the green so presumably the Old Bill hadn’t had to restrain the beasts. Swallow wondered if they were relatives of the one that had bitten her on the shoulder when she and Slowsucker had laid a Trail from here earlier in the year.

But what, I hear you ask, of the Trail? You keen to know more. You drool with expectation. Every molecule in your body strains for information. You yearn to sunbathe in the brilliance of scintillating material. Bugger all to tell you, I’m afraid. Lots of long straight bits and a recording machine that languished unwanted on my desk at home puts rather a gap in the front page of The Hash Herald. Mind you, that’s never stopped this organ of news from putting out a report. In fact, in some ways, the more meagre the information about the Hash the more plentiful the details that appear in the Gobsheet. Some may see this as gutter press activity: if there is no news go out and write some. However, this sheet ever stands by its principles. Never let facts get in the way of a good story… is certainly not a tenet upheld by this journal. Ok, I’m wandering. Let’s get on with it. Errm.

Firstly, let’s congratulate NoNuts on a splendid job as co-Hare. The lad helped to ferry round the walking wounded with a panache, nay, almost a swagger. The lad knew his stuff and ably assisted on the day. Shandyman, on the other hand, was the fiend in Welsh form who had laid all those long runs. And then compounded his felony by laying not one but two Fishooks (Fishhooks? Fish Hooks? Please yourselves). One of these marks with a number beside it indicates that that number of FRBs should run back along the Trail until they reach the last Hasher in the Pack, before running forward again. One of these with the number ‘6’ inscribed alongside had been laid just before the Regroup and we found ourselves smiling at the gasping Slowsucker and AWOL and they headed tailwards. Then having enjoyed a reasonably good rest at the Regroup we hit another one with a ‘4’ next to it. Again, Slowsucker slogged abaft with a look of resignation. Good of him to do it. Unlike certain people, namely Itsyor and Billy who rushed past both markings with an, “Oh look at that lark up there. Is that a noctilucent cloud? By jove, a rainbow!” Essentially anything to save them looking down and seeing the Fishook. Sneaky blighters.

NappyRash, HP and I stopped (during yet another long straight, eyeball-popping dash) to admire the unknowing fortitude of a scrabbling of pure white turkeys, penned in a farmyard barn, who crowded towards the entrance to see what was going on. They had the hopeful, innocent expressions of those who were unaware that the metaphysical rumbling of Christmas tumbrils drew ever nearer. Oh to be a turkey, eh? Stomping about on scaly legs with a carefree expression and given lashings of food to gobble up willy-nilly. Not a care in the world and destined to be forked for pleasure on the happiest day of the year. No taxes. No Eurozone worries. Bring on the feathers and wattles!

Despite a bit of a detour on the football field for those of us who knew we weren’t far from the pub but also did not know where the Trail went (Booby, HP, NappyRash, Dunny) we eventually found the neat arrow that had magically appeared on the road and tripped lightly along the little path with AWOL, eventually catching up with NewBoiler as we crossed the churchyard – just as the congregation floated out of the church door to be greeted by the Vicar, who studiously ignored us as we sheepishly slipped by. Oops!

Nice area round Finchampstead and we saw rather a lot of it. So not really dire but certainly straight. Thank you Hares.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

Smooth 

Up and Coming