Bedraggled

Ms Whiplash HP Nappyrash Donut Hashgate Whinge TC and dog Molly 2Bob and dog Lucy RandyMandy BlindPew Swallow Slowsucker Honeymonster and dog Max Shitfer Desperate Foghorn Iceman Dunny Rampant Slapper

Wet!

Yeuch! Wet miserable greyness greeted us this morning and most people sensibly opted to stay in their cars in the pub car park as the rain dribbled down. I noticed 2Bob and his friendly collie Lucy had joined us for one of his rare forays into the world of Hashing so nipped round the back of my car, dug out my large umbrella and headed over for a chat. Surprising how many ‘friends’ suddenly appear right next to you in that situation. Slowsucker loomed worryingly close to me. Dunny snuggled up wearing her high-performance Goretex jacket with the hood up and a pair of wraparound glasses. The jacket is cleverly designed with a series of small internal ‘pockets’ that can be filled with air to provide additional warmth. When filled, like they were today, they also provide quite a different perspective on the person wearing it. With the hood up and the glasses Dunny looked like the Sellafield pet penguin – all she needed was a little flashing badge. I did wonder whereabouts on the Dunny body one might apply one’s lips in order to inflate the, erm, pockets but felt too much of a gentleman to ask her.

The rain beat down and we formed a damp Circle at Motox’ request. This is the second week he has stood in as GM and he’s getting in to the swing of it. His home made ‘GM’ cap, the initials jutting proudly above its shiny peak let us know exactly what rôle he is playing today. The fact that he looks like the narrow boat man on Rosie and Jim (see the BH3 website link ) just added to our enjoyment of the moment. I think we were clinging to the thought that we weren’t far from warmth and dryness for just a few moments more. Before we had to go running out into that grim weather.

We On Outed. It was all so different from the night before at the Blobbies’ Moonlight Hash. There, it had been bone dry and quite humid in the airless forest. Followed by excellent food and a very convivial evening. Even though ShutupWally had put in an appearance. Today, well really quite unpleasant. The cold rain began dripping off our eyebrows after only just ¼ mile uphill. But we persevered and HP and Donut even managed to find a nice warm, dry congregational hall into which they nipped to, ahem, partake of a comfort break while the rest of us cast about hopelessly outside, looking for flour. One can only hope that the hymn singers metaphysical yearnings were not interrupted too much by a double flush and two shouts of “Yippee!” as the girls dashed outside, rejuvenated and a lot lighter.

We, on the other hand, were not shouting “Yippee” or indeed very many On Ons. Largely because of two things. 1) the rain had washed out a certain amount of the flour, and 2) BGB had laid a considerable amount of the Trail. Actually the term ‘laid a considerable amount’ has rarely… let me correct myself… never been said about BGB. Think of a Dickensian miser dipping a meagre finger and thumb into an ancient snuff box and you get the idea. The bogie-sized pinch extracted is almost exactly double the size of BGB’s standard flour blob. Luckily for us he had been ably accompanied by the good Tequilova who trotted along behind him ‘freshening up’ each miniscule gobbet with a generous handful. Nevertheless, we struggled to find each blob, probably due to the water pouring into our ears and soaking our brains.

As we bungled aimlessly around in the middle of a wide-open-to-the-wind blasted heath with four ways from a Check and precious little flour or cover from the elements. Slapper suddenly appeared, bouncing in from stage right, wearing a white and blue, pristine, running tracksuit. It certainly shocked Donut, who quizzed him in depth as to how he could suddenly appear like that while the rest of us looked like a collection of sodden coypus or sodden water voles, depending on body shape.

Having found the Trail and burst of into the rather beautiful, if sopping, Sulham woods Desperate, having a geographically chellenging moment, asked innocently “Does this go to Sulham?” BGB seemed similarly challenged when Iceman returned from checking a False, saying to him “There’s an ‘F’ up there”. “Really?” He replied vacantly.

Quite how Donut, Iceman, Swallow, TC and I lost not only the Pack but also the Hares is quite a mystery. One minute we are schlepping through the dripping forest with everyone else, the next we are completely alone, not even a distant Foghorn “On On” to lighten the silence. Luckily, Iceman knows the area inside out and led us up a flour blob free track, edged with vicious brambles to the car park he had so confidently predicted would be there. We popped over the road and, quite amazingly, we were on flour again! Then the rest of the Pack appeared! Serendipity smiled down on us which was fortunate because we were getting damn cold and my left ear, the one into which the wind and rain had been blowing, was exhibiting all the qualities of an Antactic seal’s armpit after a couple of hours deep sea fishing. Many of you will realise that our picture is of a junior harp seal but I figured it would more aptly, given its immersion and the floating chunks of ice, illustrate the point.

Luckily, we were really not too far from the pub and we slopped, slipped and slapped our way down the hill with Shitfor before sliding gratefully into the car and nipping off early to a hot shower and a retirement party. As we agreed with Shitfor on that last piece of the Trail, get to our age and everybody is either retiring or snuffing it. So far we haven’t done either. Things are looking up!

HP very kindly took notes of the Down Downs for me so many thanks to her. She asked me to mention how much everyone appreciated the sandwiches made by RandyMandy and Blind Pew.

Many thanks to Motox, Tequilova and BGB for turning out on the day and getting wet twice. Well done.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

I assume Motox was RA – here is HP’s report:-

Up and Coming