Whinge Potty Nutcracker Binbag Hashgate 2Bob Puddleduck TT2 Lonely Wally Greenfly Foghorn Chopstix Wetnurse Skydiver Centaur Spunky Mr. Blobby Dribbler Butterfly and Paddy the dog (nice to see you, Paddy) Claire Eth Paella Baldrick Ms. Whiplash Salome Madeleine Angie PartyAnimal GulabJaMoon StickDicky Cheating Cap’n Haystax Flash Spot C5 The Tremblers Mudwoman (and MUCH later, Mudman) Old Fart Cap’n Y-Fronts David Jonathan Sebastian Ben Dwight Tacky Roy John from New York ManEater Mike Helen Posing Pouch Organ Grinder Benjy

For those of you who were unsure, this picture shows you what a clown should look like. Dig that afro, man!

Anyway, C5 launched us from the Gather Round with his usual aplomb and a large portion of the Hash decided it would be a good idea to wander about on the A4 – me included. Fortunately this lemming-like behaviour soon stopped as we realised we had been led up the first false of the day and we duly dived off into a lush, vegetative state. Now Hashers tend to feel very at home in this stuff since a) many of them are lushes, and b) they subscribe to vegetative states as often as possible. It was certainly very wet, slippery and uneven under the thick canalside growth but (unfortunately) no-one went in the drink…except, of course, Beaver who jumped in for a bit of dog paddlage and, seeing no feathered friends floating about, jumped back out again.

Foghorn had taken an early lead and his castrato wails led us clearly along the right direction. And so did the Hares flour laying – a series of directional hyphens placed not too far away from each other. Nice one, chaps.

It wasn’t too long before I thought my luck was in. As Mr Blobby, Posing Pouch and a.n.other returned from a fruitless false to join the main pack, the fragrant Paella sidled up to me with a friendly smile. ‘How pleasant’ I thought, until she explained that she merely wanted to keep me between her and a mucky-hooved crowd of muscular cattle. ‘Rotten cow’ I thought. No, no, gentle reader; I was merely noting the proximity of one of the older beasts…..

More seemed to happen at the pub than on the Hash. Firstly I met Cap’n Y-Fronts with his faithful hound outside the pub, desperately seeking entry unti I pointed out the brightly lit door next to the large sign marked ‘Entrance to bar’. Guess he needs a stick and a dog. Inside was a huge crush of milling Hashers croaking ‘Drinkkkk’ while behind the bar two gentlemen moved Marcel Marceau-like in timeless slow-motion. The lack of service was somewhat exacerbated by Mr. Blobby asking for beer from a barrel that had just run out and, after the landlord had picked the hops, cracked the malt,added the water, fermented the brew, racked it off etc, etc and wafted back to the bar on a summer breeze, proffering a twenty pound note! I suggested to Tacky that she whipped a leg on the counter to get some service, since Baldrick, WetNurse and I were in the last stages of parched desperation. In fact, Salome had the best technique; one minute she was behind me, the next she was at the bar getting the bevies – fine style, madam.

RA C5 had two minor problems 1) virtually nothing had happened, and 2) the blasted pub ran out of glasses! Still, he coped with his usual finesse :-