BH³, NH³, DH³ and GH³

Honeymonster Spot Linda Karen Hashgate Motox HeyBabe Baldrick Lemming Mother Theresa Iceman SilentNight RentBoy GoalKeeper Dickhead JollyGreenGiant Chardonnay Jude Lonely and dog Beaver Itsyor WetDream SpottedDick Cleudo GreyFox BGB Cuddles and Sarah DafdoDildo GreyFox Petal ShutupWally… and a very late Keith (looking uncannily like Harry Potter!)

Cheating Pulls It Off (not a pleasant thought)

A bugger’s muddle? A pile of dingo’s doings? These were some of the descriptions bandied about as we arrived at the first cold, grey, damp event of the year. And why was there a touch of disparagement? Cheating’s Hash was billed as being in Virginia Water – it was in Windsor Great Park. His excuse was that it was “originally going to be in Virginia Water”. We seemed to be having a joint Hash with almost every other group in this part of the country – except none of us had known about it in advance. And then there was Cheating’s Hare speech as we Gathered Round. It went on for ages. We’d rather have listened to Gordon Brown during a Budget Speech. Well, maybe not. But at least he would have been more understandable. We were to have checks, bars, bars with numbers, checks with one blob in, meaning one blob and you’re on, circles with an ‘X’ in, meaning regroup, False trails that had four blobs leading to them, there was a beer stop four miles in, etc. etc. Drizzle began to fall. Eyelids began to droop. A gentle snore escaped an older Hasher to my left. We On Outed towards the park to escape. And this was where the fun began…

The Hares had this interesting idea of laying four or five blobs followed by nothing. Well, nothing discernible anyway. We were lucky enough to have SexSlave and Fruitn’Nut amongst us to point the way when the trail disappeared. It disappeared at the very first check and it was only thanks to some luck and a pointed Hare’s finger on JollyGreenGiant’s part that we were on our way. An apt example of the ‘interesting’ trail laying occurred just after DafdoDildo, Spot, SilentNight, RentBoy and I lost the trail amongst some rampant rhodedendrons. There were calls of “lost trail!” all around as the Hash spread out and slowed. Suddenly, a check appeared from nowhere and we all burst apart down different paths. Mine had no flour on and I was just about to return when I came upon a bar-6. Interesting! Itsyor and I set off to backtrack it, assuming we would hit the real trail. Back four we went… and it disappeared. Luckily, someone called On to our left so we shrugged shoulders and put it down to experience. I got chatting to Jude (out on only her third Hash), who asked me about bars and I explained the best I could. But this particular one defied explanation. Interesting lady, Jude. After the Hash she, ShutupWally and I were walking back to the cars through the rain. “Can you give me a Hash name, Wally?” Queried the innocent. I asked if she knew about the flour and beer shampoo at the naming ceremony. Her face fell. “Oh dear.” She said. “Spot the muppet.” Wally and I exchanged gleeful glances. We knew what her name was going to be.

After a fair old firkle in the forest we found the regroup and Beaver luxuriated in a prolonged roll in the mud and leaves, covering himself in all sorts of muck and biscuits. He then disappeared as Lonely and I walked (we thought we would for a change) to check things out, meeting Karen and Linda who were walking towards us. Just behind them was a large dip, full of disgusting water… and Beaver, who was up to his ears in the stuff. If he could have grinned, he would have.

We ploughed on, relentlessly lost. None of that single file stuff. We spread far and wide seeking any flour at all and I found myself trotting next to Iceman. “Oh look! There’s a deer.” I exclaimed, pointing to a fine animal yonder who was munching something with that curious sideways jaw motion and eying us with the disdain of a professional of nature who comes across a couple of rank amateurs. “That’s interesting.” Replied Iceman and promptly tripped over a small twig, causing him to lurch sideways in a most amusing Hibernian manner. I was about to quiz him on this new dance step; whether an eye-catching new move in “Donal’. Weer’s Yer Trewsers?” or simply a reel (that’s a joke, by the way) but the glint in his eye had me foraging diligently for flour further up the trail.

And now came the most flour seen in one place on this trail. Four blobs spread up the trunk of a venerable and ancient oak. SexSlave stood by to bask in glow of appreciation of his handiwork. The problem was, after this there was a huge, flat expanse of grass with nary a blob to be seen! Believe it or not it was MotherTheresa and HeyBabe who streamed, Radcliffe-like, to the front of the pack and found the single blob that denoted On. Then there weren’t any more. But we were near the King George monument atop the hill and everyone knows you always end up there. Thing was, we all got there from different directions and at different times. Except Beaver. Who spotted a deer on the road behind Karen and Linda. His tail went up. His tongue came out. He ambled into second gear. The deer hit 160mph within five metres. Two minutes later she was idly shopping in Slough Tescos wondering what to have for tea that night. Five minutes later at the excellent beer stop the Royal gamekeeper and a Ranger screamed Sweeney-like to a halt in their little green vans either side of Lonely. “Your nicked, sunshine!” Shouted the gamekeeper triumphantly. “Get the mutt on a lead!” Lonely was duly forced to write down a false name and address and informed officially that any more off-the-lead stuff would result in Beaver being hauled up in court. This gave Lemming and others plenty of scope for surreal ‘dog up before the beak’ humour. “…and furthermore, Mr. Beaver, I put it to you that you are not telling the whole truth. Just how much of the truth have you told to this court?” “Arf.” You know the sort of thing.

Having taken in the magnificent view to Windsor Castle we all went downhill rapidly. Largely because there was no more ‘up’ to go. Cheating packed the beer debris on to his ‘bag-lady’ sholley and trooped after us. We didn’t have far to go. BGB and I tripped lightly among the trees to where starving Hashers were beseiging Cuddles and Sarah, who were cutting hunks of bread, laying out superb brie and ripe, sliced tomatoes. We tucked in. Especially WetDream, who made simply the largest sandwich ever known to man. Cheating arrived and loosed the tops off his £1 and 55p botles of wine. A huge bottle of gherkins appeared. Mother Theresa peered at the small, green wrinkled objects, looked at Lemming and burst out laughing before sliding one into her mouth and munching the thing with apparent relish. Despite the rapidly cooling weather it was a very fine picnic, enjoyed by all. Which rather describes this Hash. It was neither too long, nor too short and the (no doubt carefully calculated) scarcity of flour and complicated trail kept the pack nicely together. Despite Cheating’s best efforts it was a roaring success. Thankyou Hares. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RAs Motox and JollyGreenGiant presented the following :-

Cheating SexSlave Fruit n’Nut

Up and Coming