Human Clay

Honeymonster Hashgate C5 Arnie Lonely and dog Beaver Ann-Marie SkyDiver Premature Cerberus and dog Molly Brian and dog Corbi OldFart Itsyor Foghorn Chopstix Motox Iceman BlowJob Gordon PonyExpress Steve Judy Fritz Cap’n Haystax Legover without dog Megan James with dogs Jimmy and Rusty Zebedee Florence CanOpenerGlittertits Muff Pissquick SlipperyNipple Michael Fiona Salome Ms. Whiplash Flash Mr and Mrs Blobby Utopia Lynda Spunky Dave Centaur BGB BouncingCzech Baldrick Dumper

Pottering About

‘Twas cold, damp and threatening rain as we gathered at this most excellent of pubs. Nestling among lush green hills this little gem boasts an overflow car park large enough to take all the Hash and brews its own delicious beer which it sells for a reasonable price. The surprise of the evening was the arrival of Zebedee and Florence well before the On Out. This was probably because they live but two minutes down the road and had miscalculated. However, they did try to make up for it by running over James’ delightful little dog Rusty, but managed to mess that up by missing the little fellow by inches. He gave them a pained look of surprise as they swept past unknowingly so he got his own back later by peeing on their wheel. Here’s a picture of a dog that looks nothing like Rusty at all. It actually looks more like a canine version of Motox.

Before we started the Hares explained that the trail was about six or seven miles long and verily there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth as we started off in the opposite direction to usual! Flying against tradition in this way is fraught with danger since the more experienced members of the Hash tend to run on automatic (especially after a few early G and T’s) and the unexpected can confuse them. In fact, most of us were confused by the long spaces between some of the blobs at checks and we dashed hither and thither through thick undergrowth until we fetched up at the first ford. Now the dafter amongst us waded straight in. It fell to the more sensible (Centaur and Brian) to notice that there was no bar check on the bridge. They trotted blamelessly across, sneering slightly at the damp fools staggering through the maelstrom below. Fields of strong-stemmed, water-bloated, serried crowds of green corn awaited us. It was a fine experience running along the beaten flat path through the middle of it. Infinitely preferable to the following tarmac and long false that I ran to. Coming back we all met Septic who had obviously decided to drive round in her rather flash Saab. C5 opened the passenger door, expecting that Septic had been cruising for a bit of rough, but all he got was the old lip curl. He closed the door quietly and pattered away crestfallen.

The next part took us through Bucklebury Farm Park where we were stared at by black sheep, goats, a carthorse and two fine little donkeys that seemed to be heaving with suppressed laughter as Premature and I staggered up the grassy hill. At the top we sucked in great lungfuls of air and tried to act nonchalent even though I was draped like a worn carpet over a fence rail and he was being dragged along like a dead body by dog Molly. More than one bar check came and went where there was no blob back to go off from and we had to wait for Hares to lay a flour arrow or point the way. This was presumably to slow the FRBs. It certainly had the desired effect and mighty was the swearing and cursing. Motox was also trying to find out the felon who had “marked the check up when it was down”. Since no-one understood what the hell he was talking about I guess he never found out. A large ford then appeared and again; no bar on the bridge. Cheating very kindly attempted to push me in as I recorded the scene, obviously forgetting the somewhat parlous state of my knee. Such was my concern that I accidentally let fly a stream of foul invective that splattered upon the nearby innocent C5 like muck being spread on a field. He was gracious enough to accept my apology as we waded onwards.

The regroup finally appeared with its Short and Long trails. Off we went on the Long. This proved to be a fairly fast cruise through dense forest, shiggy trails and ankle-snapping fallow fields with lots of overgrown grass. Mr. Blobby and I found ourselves at the front on an uphill trail of slippery mud and biscuits. He carried on as I hopped over a stile that had a floury hand mark upon it. My spirits rose as I noticed the stile on the opposite side of the field. Across I went, thinking I’d cracked it, when I came across the ‘F’ the other side of the stile. Damn! I started back. Half way across I heard a rustling and muffled thudding from behind. I stopped and turned. A massive herd of young Friesians stood around behind me in an inquisitive and slightly threatening semi-circle. “Nice moo-moos.” I stammered, stretching out a hand like you would a dog. Several licked it in a rather lascivious bovine manner, never taking their huge eyes off me. I took one step backwards. They took one step forwards. “Oh bugger.” I thought. “If I run now I’ll be face down in the mud with a thousand hoofprints on my nice clean Hash T-shirt.” I turned round to find that one of the more socially challenged of the herd was jumping up and down in front of me in a ‘Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough’ manner. Just as I was wondering what the effect would be if I screamed like a banshee Motox and the pack saved me. He was quite rightly taking the p**s from the track whence I had come. The cows decided this was much more interesting than me and beefed off in a stroboscopic black and white flash. Casually, I legged it to safety at a pace that would be admired by Linford Christie.

We clumped across overgrown fields, ran through strong scented packs of clover, crossed slippery bridges and ghosted by shady lagoons. Except Beaver, of course, who dived in gleefully in an attempt to turn himself green with pond weed. I must mention here Anorak who is circumnavigating the world with TrainSpotter. Steve mentioned that the poor lass broke her arm snowboarding. I’m sure BH³ wish her a speedy recovery and hope the temporary loss of limb use doesn’t preclude her from drinking vast quantities of alcohol. Good luck to you both and hope to see you on your return.

Eventually, we hit the On Inn across the field that is usually the On Out and despite missing some of the trail (sorry Hares) we got back safely to be told off by Honeymonster and Dumper for returning the wrong way. Great trail through excellent countryside, Hares. Thanks very much.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following with lovely flat Brakspears supplied generously by GBH :-

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