Hungover Hashers

Spot Iceman Donut Hashgate NappyRash HP Little Stiffy Slackbladder and dog Maisie BGB Tokeelova Mother Theresa Lemming SkinnyDipper Motox Tinopener Lilo and dog Minx Bogbrush Fannybag and dog Pebbles CrustyToasty Amanda and dog Minty Swallow Slowsucker Flash Desperate Shitfor Cerberus BillyBullshit PoleDancer SilentP Slapper Nosole AWOL Betsy

The BH³ New Year 2012 Hash

Lemming has one and, I’m sickened to say, he showed it to us. Mother Theresa has one and, I’m saddened to say, she didn’t show it to us. Rumour has it that Lilo has two though no-one can confirm this. What am I talking about? Well, tattoos of course. To demonstrate their eternal love the pair decided to purchase for each other an inky puncturing depicting a bird. Now the position of these is on the gluteus maximus which accounts for my horror at the burlesque Lemming performed in the pub after the Trail. He has a kingfisher, wings outstretched, beak at the ready, looking for a tiddler. Frankly, it would have had more luck round the front. Since Mother declined to show her graceful curves to the slavering throng I had to take her word for it that a similar creature was poised on her derriere. Some unkind person spread the story that the bird was actually a full-size albatross… in open-winged flight. Given that these magnificent beings have a wingspan of six feet or so; if I find out who it was…

Personally, the New Year’s Day morning started badly. Apparently, as the curtains were opened in the bedroom to let the merry sunlight stream in upon my limp body my first word was, “Hellfire!” Understandable, really, after a night of imbibing and dancing with Donut, HP and Nappyrash. Followed by just a dash or two of fine bourbon until the (late) early hours. I have to apologise to Swallow for greeting her with a hearty kiss and a “Hhhappy New Year” which swathed her in alcoholic fumes. She was courteous enough not to recoil in horror or to mention it.

I was not looking forward to running but I hadn’t needed to worry. Fifty yards into the soaking wet undergrowth we stopped dead, with assistant Hare Fukawe living up to her full Hash name: Wetha Fukawe. She had no idea and neither did we, despite the map she carried. Eventually, we managed to work it out and set off on a long spaghetti Trail of shiggy and wetness after Hare Hamlet as he laid the Trail while walking. For this was a Live Trail and the idea was to try and catch him up. Fat chance!

We came across a lone reveller, walking his dog and carrying a can of indeterminate alcohol, who greeted us with a cheery halloo. He seemed almost as aimless as us if a little more personally cheerful. BGB lightened the mood by Hash Crashing not once, but twice, in the shiggy and spent the rest of the Hash with one side of him painted in mud.

Of course, certain people love the stuff. Lemming in particular, and he set about ensuring that as many Hashers as possible shared his enjoyment. I made the mistake of teeing up and letting go a mighty splash of the stuff at him, then pausing to appreciate the effect. Silly me. The reciprocation covered my turned back so I looked like a lumpy mud turtle from behind. Some were pretending to be a little more gentlemanly in their behaviour. Such as Slapper, who was a) helping HP across a stream, and b) helping himself at the same time. This just before BGB’s second Hash splosh – a fine slip and pratfall that had the judges reaching for 7’s out of a possible 8 for style.

After a long, muddy haul we reached a swift ankle-deep stream which Shitfor used to good effect, kindly helping other Hashers to remove mud from their beings as they crossed it. It all went rather wrong for a number of us from here and we still don’t quite understand why. Instead of turning right, as others did, we carried straight on, up a wooded hill, then turned left, following flour all the way. Hamlet later told me that he had not laid any flour that way so goodness knows whose Trail we followed. Either way, it brought us straight back to that stream crossing again. Hmm. It confused Shitfor and Nappyrash who started going back on the Trail we had first come along to get here before. Cerberus was blamed for the mess. It wasn’t her fault but the group felt it required a scapegoat We hummed and haad and after a few false starts managed to figure out where to go. Yet more shiggy and dank, ankle-sucking sedge. Lovely.

We finally caught up with AWOL, Donut and Swallow, who had gone the right way. By this time exhaustion was setting in and any alcohol or indeed moisture of any kind had long since evaporated from our bodies. The need for a drink of any kind kept us going and, luckily, at the end of a long and wet track we spotted Hamlet leaning over a gate and grinning at his gasping handiwork. “Only a little way to go.” He smiled. He was right but it was at this point that it started to rain. Heavily. Bit of a shame for people like NoSole who didn’t turn up at the pub until a long time later. Though I have to admit that in some ways I envied her. By this time we had been treated to the sight of Lemming’s bum with a wildly fluttering and (not surprisingly) desperate alcedo atthis trying to escape from his undershorts.

Many thanks to Hamlet and Fukawe for turning out on a dripping New Year’s day and laying a thoroughly enjoyable Trail.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Well there were none but those for our excellent Hares. It was absolutely tipping it down outside the pub and the chances of Motox (today’s RA) getting anyone out there were a dog’s and no.

We cheered Fukawe, who downed her booze in less time than it takes to snap your fingers. While Hamlet emulated his drinking heroes Slowsucker and Hashgate.

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