Hounds (many without hairs…)

Glittertis Pissquick Muff Mrs. Muff SlipperyNipple Hashgate Simon Andy Leonore Nadia Bev Neil Darren Tony ShutupWally Foghorn Chopstix Ms. Whiplash Salome LeVoisin HeyBabe Iceman Karen Motox Urine and dog Gnarler Steve Baldrick Fiona Alex Julia Butterfly Dribbler Potty Nutcracker Sue5 Cloggs Spot Lynda Mr & Mrs Blobby Greenfly (‘The Fly’, as Barbara refers to him! Perhaps he has a nasty habit of buzzing around dustbins?) Barbara OldFart BGB Steamer Cap’n Y-Fronts and dog Tigger Florence Zebedee…and from Wycombe Hash we welcomed Mask and Blueman

Charge!!

Hellfire! I thought we had already done the Fun Run. This one started off at pace, speeded up during the mid-section then put on a spurt as it heard the bell. Paula Radcliffe would have been proud of us as we thundered across the parched land, eyeballs out on stalks, tongues lolling, sweat streaming and lungs pumping like bellows. It was our own fault, really. The Hares had done their best by bunging in back checks and FRB offsets but the land was open and lent itself to fast running. So, rather stupidly, we did. It was partly down to Greenfly early on. After an initial bit of real Hashing (i.e. everyone unsure of the route, FRBs scattered to the winds) on the Green he shot off as if a whole swarm of starving ladybirds had suddenly spotted his scrumptious greenliness and were speeding towards him with slavering mandibles. The daft thing was that the rest of us followed in hot (and it was hot) pursuit. BGB, Baldrick (back from N.Z.), Zebedee (when he caught up), OldFart, Spot, Simon and Andy all flat out. New boy Andy even speeding up to stop Zeb and myself from passing him! Perhaps a little over-competitive for the Hash? Actually, his friend Simon told me an interesting snippet of information about Andy. Apparently, the lad doesn’t need to use a cock’s box. I believe that’s how it’s spelt. This either means he has a very large voice when they are rowing or a very small appendage that gives him no cause for concern while playing cricket. No doubt he’ll clear up the matter if you ask him nicely.

So there was Spot and myself pelting, helter skelter, hugger mugger and pell mell down a chalky track. The fact that we were descending slightly gave us a chance to a) breath almost normally, and, b) chat. We agreed that we were running far too fast and that this was supposed to be a Hash. Not that this slowed us. He edged forward. Then I did. Etc.etc. We agreed that we knew we were doing it but that the competitive urge would not allow either of us to give way. Spot went on to say that he thought that this would be a great way for him to finally snuff it; out running in the country when he’s 75. I wholeheartedly agreed with him but thought it best not to mention that he wouldn’t have many more years to wait.

On and on we toiled, sweating like fat men going up a Down escalator. OldFart and then Mr Blobby moved aside to let me past, the b******s. I had only caught up with them so I could have a rest. But no, it was off and upwards across yet another long field to another check. Craftily, the Hares had used the old back check technique to try and slow us and Andy, Simon and I followed Zeb and Tony along the other side of the dogleg while people like OldFart short cutted across. Tch. Tch. A bit more yomping and Hare Honeymonster appeared, running fast. Of course, we all ran after him, speeding up even more on the tarmac incline as the beer stop loomed into view. Mind you, certain people like new girl Julia had stopped running half way up. She painfully dragged her aching carcass to the beer wagon, gaspingly accepted a beer from barmaid Sue5 and downed the lot in one mighty suck. And Steve had reckoned she was fit! Well, believe it or not, not everyone had arrived at the regroup before some of the mad buggers were off again! Zebedee and I repeated the “We’re all running too fast.…” conversation and considered the state of some of the ‘athletes’ languishing on the low wall by the beer stop. Potty looked as if he had been part-roasted on a spit. Motox seemed to have stepped straight out of a hot bath with his running clothes on. Cloggs was positively glowing (well, that’s what ladies do when they’re hot). OldFart looked like a) he was very old b) a fart would just about finish him off. All around Hashers dripped and wilted in the rainforest heat. It was a terrible and highly unpleasant sight and Iceman and I started off again, luckily hitting the correct trail straight away. A bit of fast running and a fair bit of uncalled-for abuse from Urine (she believed I had short-cutted - this from a woman who was using her dog to drag her along) and we hit the Short/Long trail. Call it macho-mindedness, rank stupidity or what you will, we buggered off down the Long trail despite Blueman pointing out that the pub was but two minutes away as the SRB trots. We all blundered through the darkling forest. No-one seemed to know where we were going, with people skittering around allover the place. It was great fun. Another small green appeared and no-one could find the trail. I jogged off down the road, only to find a False just after a low metal pole blocking the entrance to the field. “Shall I leap it?” Mused Roger Reckless. “No.” Replied Steven Sensible. “You might trip, knacker your knee and look a complete prat.” I edged round the deep grass by the side. I tripped. I fell over. I looked a complete prat. Still; I didn’t knacker my knee.

More rapid running brought us back to Pinkneys Green. OldFart viewed the endless sward with a jaundiced eye. Then uttered the most profound statement of the evening. “We could just go back to the pub instead of poncing about on this common.” There was much nodding of heads but, of course, we couldn’t disappoint the Hares who had worked so hard and we wanted to get our 50p’s worth of Hash. So we ran hard, all round the bloody thing until we returned to the pub, a blaze of light in the gathering darkness.

So apologies to any of the more sedate Hashers for not mentioning you. It was rather difficult to see you guys while being swept along in tonight’s Hash hurricane. However, I shall mention Leonore, one of our more recent additions. After the Down Downs she left a little before me and was sitting in her car (with Nadia I think) as I strolled past. Evidently she had left it in gear for, as she turned the key, it coughed mightily and attempted a giant kangaroo leap into the bushes. Luckily it failed and squeals of laughter burst from the interior. Thanks Leonore. It rounded off my evening.

Our thanks to C5 and Honeymonster. We should have taken more time to enjoy the trail they so carefully laid. Just a pity C5 hadn’t taken note of the last bit since he managed to get lost with Neil, Mrs. Blobby, Lynda etc. A dog and a stick should sort him out.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox (magnificently attired in couture shorts) presented the following :-

Up and Coming

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