Olympic Athletes

Iceman Bumwiper and dog Ebony Donut Hashgate Whing TC and dog Molly Twanky Motox Spex LoudonTasteless Simple Skids Nutty Potty PennyPitstop Snowballs Itsyor Foghorn Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Dumper C5 OldDog Billy Cerberus Hitchiker Ms Whiplash Glittertits Pissquick Lungs Jackie Woodentop OldFart and grandson (apologies, forgot to ask his name) Slapper NoSole Florence Spot Nappyrash RampantRabbit Dunny SkinnyDipper Slowsucker Swallow Cheating Itsyor Lonely AWOL

Track and Field

I’m seriously considering having Booby renamed as ‘Twister’ since his Trails are so labrynthine, and they wind (‘wind’ you see – it’s a pun. Do keep up!) one up something rotten. Tonight’s was certainly no exception. Since he told me that he and NearlyTwice had laid it on Sunday, then freshened it up tonight, I was surprised that a) she hadn’t become lost in the depths of one of the ferny glens, or b) buried the bugger in the woods – assuming she had any energy to do it. However, since Donut and I laid a Trail here some 8½ miles in length not that long ago I guess I can’t really carp.

There was, though, a twist in the end of this particular Trail for our Hares managed to lose Swallow and Donut. Arriving a little late at the Regroup they found a pointer to the Short Trail that led to a False and could find only another False. Not finding anything else and having no compass, I-phone or handy bloodhound they stopped to have a chat work out thoughtfully and logically how they might escape having their bleached bones found several months later – as Swallow so optimistically put it. They eventually arrived a couple of miles away from the pub near TheGreyhound in Sonning Common and wandered, mumbling aimlessly, until Olympic helpers Mr and Mrs Blobby cruised past on their way home to an early night before an even earlier morning at the Olympic Park. Seeing the distressed gentlewomen, they stopped, steered their dribbling forms into the car and deposited them back at The Red Lion.

We had started in a blur of bright yellow. LoudonTasteless (our Hash coutourier) had lived up to his name and outdone Stella McCartney with the design of our new BH³ T-shirts. Comfortable, stylish, bright and practical, they flattered many a sagging belly, skinny arm and pigeon chest. The design on the back appropriately features three drunken sheep on a podium on the gold, silver and bronze positions looking extremely sozzled, holding slopping tankards and bearing medals that read ‘On 1’, ‘On 2’ and ‘On 3’. Nice touch, L&T. Cerberus later rather unkindly likened me to the bronze sheep who was lying on her back balancing two tankards on her extended back legs. She pointed this out to NappyRash saying, “I’ve seen you on a Friday night down The Baron Cadogan, Hashgate.” What on earth could she mean?

Whinge managed to start with a spectacular and hootworthy Hash Crash when he failed to see a huge dip in the ground, took a massive step into nowhere and spread his nostrils across several hectares of the Oxfordshire countryside covering all in bogies and spiky hairs. This was the gold medal crash. The silver and bronze went to Simple and NappyRash, though the there was some dissension with the judges decision on both style and execution.

The first ¼ of a mile prepared us for the rest. Way, way down one pitted woodland track. Lost at the next Check for a bit. Then way, way up a steep, pitted, woodland track to pop out at the top and try to breath. There was generally rather a lot of this though, curiously, we seemed to be always following the Hares. Glittertits and I decided this was quite a wheeze, even though the going was hard, crunching acrosss what appeared to be brittle, bleached bones but what turned out to be old bits of dried tree. One arrived at a confusing Check – there was a Booby. One puffed round a corner, splodging through sticky mud – there was a NearlyTwice. Here a B. There an NT. It was impossible to get away from the blighters. Ubiquitous they were. Scarcely present they were not. Which actually marshalled us along swiftly to the Regroup (all but Donut and Swallow, that is) where we could all pull out the Capstan Full Strengths and suck in some restorative lungfulls before the mentally challenged headed off on the Long Trail. Having been on Booby’s previous Trail we should have known what to expect. Essentially, a tortuous and lengthy route through bog, sedge, forest, brambles, foxgloves, football fields, fairy dells, the Forest of Dean, Mount Snowdon, The Lofoten Islands and Corby. Certainly felt like it.

We finally reached a familiar crossroads at Sonning Common where I a) bumped into NearlyTwice, and b) knew that turning left would bring us fairly quickly back to the pub. Where did we go? To the right, of course and back off into the undergrowth. Luckily, with us were the Hares – for once we were very happy about this since they pointed out the short cut. Just as well since it was beginning to get a might dusky. I followed Cerberus up a steepish, narrow track where we bumped into a surprised SkinnyDipper and gave her a couple of gasped hellos as we stumped past. At the end of the snicket were some large and delightful houses which I thought were worthy of a little architectural admiration so let Cerberus trip away lightly to the large grassy area on the other side of the road from the pub. In the grassy area were some patches of perfectly beautiful little blue, bell-shaped flowers which were also well worth botanical veneration. Cerberus became smaller in the gathering gloom just as Bumwiper was dragged past me by her eager little spaniel, Ebony, who was attached to her belt by a lead. Really must get one of those. I staggered to the pub and waited for Mr and Mrs Blobby to bring back Donut - she who held the car keys…

Nice Trail, Hares. Perfect night to Hash and an excellent pub. Congrats.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 (LOCOG – Let Old Chaps Off Gently) presented tonight’s awards :-

Really not too good

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