The Hashers

Tony Charlie(she prefers this to Arnie and who am I to argue with a lady of breeding) Hashgate C5 Lemming Mother Theresa Spot Dumper Septic Lynda Julia John(Julia’s virgin son – he ran well!) Muff Glittertits PissQuick Sue Chopstix Foghorn HeyBabe ShaginaJag Greenfly Barbara Linda Wendy Ms. Whiplash Spex Uptake Cloggs Flash BGB Motox Lonely and dog Beaver… and too late (M4 snarl-up) – Karen Iceman Cheating ShutupWally

Return of the Lemming

I pulled into the deserted but sunny, lawn-surrounded car park looking forward to the first Sunday morning Hash of this Autumn. Light zephyrs stirred the tree tops. A rotund, friendly Jack Russell waddled inquisitively about on a long lead. I chatted with Charlie about horses. The morning was perfect. A black car rolled into the car park and stopped. The driver’s door swung slowly open. A dark cloud obscured the sun and shadows fell. The Jack Russell suddenly snarled and yapped. The very tree branches seemed to withdraw in horror as a chill breeze chopped around us. I swear I could hear swelling organ music. The driver stepped from the car – slow motion – doves flying – cyberpunk style. Charlie and I gasped in horror. It was… Lemming! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrgggg! Yes. The little sod’s back. After a summer of hibernation, meditation and probably more than a little m*****bation, the fellow’s back. And it didn’t take long for him to make his presence felt at the ford we encountered early on. But let’s start at the beginning. This was the very first Hash held under the patronage of our revered new GM, the Right Royal Foghorn. Much was the bowing and scraping and tugging of fore(skins)locks as he bestowed his eloquent beneficence upon us at the Gather Round. I understand he wishes for no special treatment and is quite happy to be addressed merely as ‘O Great One’ or ‘Your On Onour’.

Stan and Cyclogical informed us that there was to be a short long trail, a medium long trail, a long, long trail, a medium short long trail, a long trail of medium length and a short to medium long trail. We puzzled over this as we sped off up the hill, coming to the conclusion that, knowing the Hares, whichever trail we took would be damn long. How right we were. Still, the early hillside run was bright and breezy as we followed Lemming at a fair old rate. He seemed to be emulating his small furry namesakes as we sped ever upwards (and probably seawards). Mind you, it didn’t last and he was soon to be seen shortcutting and bemoaning the lack of fags on the Hash. Of course, I forgot to mention the return of his far more fragrant half, Mother Theresa, who remains as fresh and pretty as ever, despite shacking up with the depraved old reptile for what must seem like half a century.

So to the ford. The Hares had obviously decided we should have an early bath – and we did. Foghorn, C5, Lemming and Dumper had got in the stream first. Oh dear. Poor Julia, Lynda and Florence got utterly soaked. Wendy just stood on the bridge and took the storm. I strode into the cooling stream during a brief hiatus. “Mind the equipment!” Quoth Foghorn regally, speaking of my Dictaphone. “Ok.” Replied the rest. Then proceeded to send a series of tsunami over me. It was a long, wet hack from there up the hill past fields smelling worse than Motox’s running shoes on a Sunday evening. A crowd of youthful black and white heifers watched us curiously, hardly believing that humans could be so stupid. We hit the first regroup and watched Greenfly trotting about while we wrang water from soggy T-shirts. The Long and Short Long split appeared soon after and most of us opted for the former in a fit of sheer madness. Tony, Glittertits and Muff hurtled into the forest while Foghorn affected his own Royal Progress by shortcutting. But who are we to criticise? We are not worthy. After a fast cruise and a trot across the M4 on a road Spot, Tony and I found the Long, Long, Long and Short Long split and decided to rest awhile wait a bit to encourage (Spot could not actually think of, or say this word – I put it down to a ‘senior moment’) the others. We encouraged for some time before speeding off on the loop and meeting a couple of huge, friendly Newfoundland dogs. Then we hit what Cyclogical described as ‘a tricky bit’. This was a ramble in the brambles which actually was great – it slowed us all down and made us search for the trail. We stepped out on to a fairly wide patch of clumpy sward with a flour arrow… that pointed us in the wrong direction. It took the hawk-like vision and experience of Motox to spot a huge splodge of flour on a nearby post and we all hared off up the hill back to Stan at the regroup. Er? He explained that we had missed a loop out somehow so we sped back down the hill to go and get lost again. Florence was lost next to me, who was lost next to Lonely, who was lost next to Tony, and Cloggs, and BGB, and John, and Bomber, and Posh etc, etc. Cyclogical finally called us back to a check he seemed to have just drawn and we were back on track to… to Stan at the regroup! Yes, we were going round in circles and were shortly to go back over the M4 (snarling up nicely due to the Newbury Show) to meet Cheating going the opposite way! No surprise really I suppose.

We duly got lost again in a field of clover with Greenfly and Bomber stopping for a chat since they were completely foxed. C5, Charlie and Tony led the way after a bit of shouted advice from Stan and we all ended up on a long-disused, trackless railway. Now then; what do we know about railways? They’re long and straight. Very long, in fact. Even though Motox and Cloggs shortcutted down the embankment it didn’t save them much of the two or more miles we had to go.

C5, Spot and I shunted together with clangs and rattles. The whistle blew, steam hissed and we chuffed off down the line. Diddlydee, diddlyda, diddlydee, diddlydum. Faster and faster. Pistons pumping. Boilers red hot. Shovel on more coal! Whistle as we pass Charlie on the slow Up line. Trees whoosh past on either side. Smoke smuts peppering our streaming faces, glowing with heat. At this speed the C5 and Hashgate carriages overtake the engine, ‘The Flying Spot’, who continues to push hard from behind. Just another mile to go and we break the speed record. Unable to stop we fly off the line, over a cricket pitch and through a churchyard. The carriages begin to brake. The engine rushes past with a mighty whistle and finally grinds to a stop with a huge release of steam in the car park.

A fine one by Stan and Cyclogical through some excellent and varied countryside. Thanks chaps!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following. My thanks to C5 for recording the event :-

A well downed shandy

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