Kings and a Few Old Queens

Honeymonster Cerberus and dog Molly Premature Hashgate Centaur Baldrick Gutbucket Mr and Mrs Blobby Utopia Lynda Chopstix Flash Foghorn Tony Neil Bev Ms. Whiplash Salome Dwight centaur Wendy Glittertits PissQuick Dumper Septic Cyclogical Skydiver TA Spex Motox Posh Bomber Butterfly and dog Paddy Dribbler BGB Steamer PrestonRichard James Vicky Ian Zebedee Florence Lonely and dog Beaver Itsyor Cap’n Y-Fronts and dog Tigger The Lone Trembler

A Crowning Achievement

Surprisingly enough for a Bank Holiday a large mass of Hashers appeared. They obviously didn’t realise this Hash was to be almost as fast as last week’s. in fact for some of us it proved to be even faster – see later on. Old Paddy the dog had evidently caught the spirit of the occasion since he raced off down the road at the On Out, dragging his mistress Butterfly along at a furious rate, chasing he knew not what – but by God he certainly catch it, whatever it was! However, thirty seconds down the road the old fellow had run out of steam and had to stop for a pee. By the time he’d finished he’d forgotten why he’d wanted to expend so much energy in the first place. Curiously, this rather mirrors Butterfly’s old fellow, Dribbler’s approach to, ahem, marital relations. He too starts off at a furious pace, wearing naught but a dog collar, runs out of steam, stops for a widdle and then tries to remember what he had got so excited about while hanging his tongue out and panting heavily.

The more sensible dogs, like Cap’n Y-Fronts Tigger, stayed with the main pack and let the FRBs check out the trail until the ‘On On’ was called. Now although Dwight, Centaur and Foghorn were well up at the front (I guess it must have been the warm weather) they were not nearly so far ahead as Glittertits and Mr. Blobby. These two intrepid FRBs were striking a well-aimed blow for the geriatric arm (possibly leg) of BH³. The poor sods had got four checks right in a row and were desperate for someone to catch up with them so they could have a rest. Mr. Blobby told me later on that he had jokingly asked Glittertits whether he had brought his pure oxygen aqualung (he’s a diver) along since they both needed it. Actually, by the time I caught up with them they both looked more in need of an iron lung. The narrow tarmac trail had snaked back and forth a long way so we’d ‘adder’nough of it by the time Centaur and I found the craftily laid blobs across a soggy field. Another of these sneaky side-tracks appeared soon after and I headed off into the field, having spied three horses cantering about. Spot had earlier mentioned three friendly horses so it seemed a good idea at the time. I was half way across when they saw me. These enormous beasts stomped over to satisfy their curiosity. I had stopped by this time, rather unwilling to have several hundredweight of dogfood racing after me at 20 mph. They got very close. The largest arched a sardonic equine eyebrow and sniffed my proffered hand. “Hmph.” He seemed to say. “Looks like a stick insect. Smells like a poof.” The second mighty beast shouldered forward. “I’ve seen more meat on Frankie Dettori’s whip.” She snorted. The third, slightly more delicate creature edged nearer, fluttering lustrous eyelashes. “Well luvvies. He can fill my oat bag any time he wants to.” Aaaargh! Thank goodnes Glittertits arrived. The horses all stamped away, evidently appalled by the orange fur adorning his hunky torso. We sped onward with nary a glance back until we hit the next check. A rather large mistake in the choice of direction on my part saw Glittertits swanning merrily off on the right trail and me rushing half a mile to a False, hotly pursued by Tony and TA. Still; that’s what they’re there for.

Now it’s traditional in these parts to wade through the nearby thigh-deep ford to the Regroup. So we did, some of us remembering the filming of ‘Rosie & Jim’ there a couple of years ago. It was surprisingly warm so the people who minced over the bridge rather missed out on a pleasant experience. I must give full marks to Molly the dog who was gently dragged across by Premature. Apparently it was her very first swim. Molly’s mistress, Cerberus, initially declined the aquatic invitation but bravely went back to stand in the stream after gentle chiding from me. New chaps Ian and Vicky made a very foolish mistake. Ian gallantly piggybacked the lady across little realising that a Foghorn fish was gliding towards them, a gleam in its beady eye. Ten seconds later they knew exactly what the Foghorn fish could do and Vicky was wringing water out of her soggy drawers and wondering why Ian had persuaded her to come on the bloody Hash. Mrs. Blobby, Utopia, Preston Richard, Honeymonster, Spex and our revered GM, Ms. Whiplash all declined to set their dainty feet fordwards and were roundly castigated for it. We hung about for rather a long time, dripping gently, while waiting for the back markers – and then we were off.

I must mention here an act of monumental stupidity by Bev and Neil who had turned up to run round the Hash following a morning competing in a triathlon. a) we really can’t have proper athletes on the Hash, b) you don’t tell the Scribe, and c) you don’t keep appearing in front of the Scribe looking very relaxed and offhand. Tchah! Some people.

Dusk began to fall. This resulted in more confusion than usual as Bomber and Zebedee ran off to the right calling ‘On’ and most of the rest of us went off to the left following other shouts of ‘On’. We all met up eventually after a fair bit of dimly seen shiggy and rutting slowed us dramatically. That’s what we need on the Hash – more rutting. Perhaps I’ll raise this at the AGM. Baldrick, Richard of Preston and various others ran for miles through darkening fields while gazing forlornly at distant welcome lights from houses where sensible people relaxed and watched the telly. Not for us. On we plodded.

And this is where it all got a bit silly. I had been following Zebedee and Glittertits at a quite reasonable pace when Itsyor joined me, just after bonking his knee on a clearly seen metal pole as we jumped a stile. Lovely boiiiiing sound it made. Anyway, we started running together along the road. He edged forward. I edged forward. He pushed it on just a fraction more. I stepped forward a little livelier. He ramped up his pace. I responded to the challenge. We broke the sound barrier, our sonic bow wave butting Mr. Blobby into a nearby ditch. The Doppler Effect cut in. Then the Red Shift. My watch started going backwards. I can only remember screaming past Ms. Whiplash and then standing in the car park, my plimsolls smoking. “Why did we do that?” I asked Itsyor later in the pub. “Dunno.” He replied. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” And with those words Itsyor summed up the entire ethos of Hashing – “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” You didn’t know he was a metaphysician did you? Well done and thanks to the Hares for a fine trail of good distance.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

Up and Coming