Staggerers

Mother Theresa Lemming Donut Hashgate Skids Simple Swallow Slowsucker Baldrick JWax Caboose Twanky Dorothy Desperate Shitfor Cerberus Billy Bullshit BGB Motox C5 OldDog Spot Hitchhiker Iceman Quack Dumper Septic Pissquick Snowballs Mark Jeff

Into the Rough

We waved and smiled at Spot and Hitchhiker as we drew level near the roundabout on the A355 in the toxic wastelands of Slough. They waved and smiled back, turning right at the roundabout while we carried straight on. Interesting. Watching in the mirror, I saw them come all the way round the roundabout and follow up behind us. Then get into the right-hand lane at the traffic lights as we got in the left. They waved and smiled. Hmm. Vehicular obfuscation designed to cause us ambulatory anxiety. It was working. Had we gone wrong? Well, yes, as it happens. We went rather North of where we were supposed to be. Fortunately not landing up in Egypt! Yes, Egypt. Near Farnham. Which is not in Surrey. But we still got there before Spot and Hitchhiker arrived.

This pub was much further East than our usual venues. Nice change. And the Trail wound through some excellent woodlands near Pinewood studios. “Why are they called Pinewood Studios?” Asked Lemming of Desperate while she gazed vacantly skyward through the lofty pines that littered the woods and failed to answer the question. Sometimes one has to wonder…

Spot continued his (successful) attempts to confuse people by hiding next to a False as we all hurtled towards it down a narrow alleyway. He grinned like the Cheshire Cat on smack when we arrived, the little tinker. This early part kept us all together very well since we all kept running off towards trees and countryside and the Trail kept on pulling us back on to tarmac and suburbia. The FRBs hurtled off again and again only to be disappointed and hurtle back. It was Hashing Brownian Motion. Until we hit the golf course and headed for countryside. Curiously, the hackers, shankers and whackers didn’t seem to mind us. Though we were very polite – waiting quietly for each poor duffer to fluff his shot and offering only tacit advice (“Little low in the shoulder there. Oh dear – should have kept that head down. Crikey, that rabbit is unconscious” etc) as they replaced the massive divots and trundled on. I can’t remember who told me the apocryphal story about Jenks who, whilerunning across a golf course, was asked what he was doing by a golfer. After he had explained the golfer guffawed and stated how stupid the whole Hashing idea sounded. Jenks responded by telling the fellow that at least he wasn’t a prat who wandered round a field trying to hit a little ball into a hole with a stick. Luckily for him, Jenks could run quite fast in those days. While we tripped along the footpath I heard Desperate living up to her name – she was chatting up new bloke Jeff. It was damn nearly as bad as Spex with young Will last week. What is it with Plus Fours anyway? All that baggy material round the knees. Does it provide plenty of room to keep your balls. Perhaps warm places for a pair of sleeping ferrets? Does the bagginess show off your shapely calves? Maybe we should get some for Florence? Just to digress for a moment – I thought I’d look up the definition of Plus Twos to see what the difference was between them and Plus Fours. Sometimes the internet can throw you the odd curveball. Apparently, in urban slang Plus Twos are the name of breast implants, since the lady on the receiving end of said chicken fillets usually increases her cup size twofold (Motox – if I’ve lost you I’ll explain later). The website went on to display a (non-definitive) list of alternative terms for a lady’s enhanced(?) bosom. I’d never heard of some of them so forgive me for reproducing part of the list here. Such as: bolt ons, hooters, air bags, ben and jerry, blinkers, high beams, yazoos, wilsons, snow tyres, rib bumpers, muffins, neenies and honkers. And you can bet your last red cent none of those terms were coined by women. Ladies, how on earth do you put up with us?

To continue the ‘off-road’ course of this Gobsheet I have here to mention Whinge who, on Friday and after several pints, solemnly informed me I should try and work the rather arcane word ‘merkin’ into the Gobsheet. A difficult one. Itsyor’s request last year for ‘tussocks’ was much easier. However, the Lord of Hashing moves in mysterious ways. Just as I caught up with Shitfor, Desperate and Lemming after the golf course I realised they were discussing this very topic. No, not tussocks. Merkins. And Lemming had just asked the question, “Well what would you use one for?” His ovoid bald head bobbed along next to me. There was only one answer really wasn’t there? I think he found the idea quite appealing. There you go Whinge. Ask and ye shall receive.

The equal best surreal moment was when I caught up with Little Stiffy as we crossed a field of rather weedy-looking white and mauve turnips. Across the field, beyond a fence, gambolled a small herd of brown and furry cattle who seemed intrigued and excited by the Hash’s progress. Little Stiffy, as Hare, carried a bottle filled with flour. Puddles littered the surface of the field. In next to no time we were discussing the possibility of feeding the Hash by making a very large pasty with the flour and water, and filling it with the nearby meat and veg. Nourishing and tasty. What more could you want?

We hurtled into the forest, led by (gulp) OldDog who was bouncing around like a puppy on heat. Excellent running by our BH³ mascot. We thoroughly enjoyed crackling through the dry-leaved (mainly pine) forest and all fetched up at some kind of mini wooden Stonehenge at the Regroup with a square wooden plinth in the centre. The plinth extended about three feet off the ground and its flat top had been hollowed slightly in the middle. A copper sheet had been hammered into it, with a shallow gutter extending out to one side. The surreal crept in again as we each offered our version of its purpose. Until we decided it was a crack heater. Which was when C5 sat his (crack that is) on top of it. Hugely amusing until he rose and we saw the burnished surface was really quite damp. With steam rising. A mass outbreak of ralphing, puking and pizza parking was only stopped as we On Outed again as fast as we could go. The Short trailers one way; the Long Trailers the other.

It was a fast and enjoyable cruise through the woodland, meeting several dogs and owners. Wondering if the blobs we saw were from the Bash that had been laid at the same time! The Hares loved that! After a quick Regroup at the car park where we bumped into JWax we sped off and Cerberus and I found ourselves alone… but for three teenagers and a motorbike. They were actually quite helpful, pointing out the flour they had seen and stopping their bike. But their faces were smooth and curiously blank. The sound of ‘Duelling Banjos’ began to filter into my head. Time to go.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before we caught up with the Short Trailers and a brief sprint saw us back to the pub… and no real ale! Disaster. At least they had Guinness. Excellent Trail in a different location. So thanks Hares. And the sun came out for us – how nice!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following (mainly with halves the tight bugger) :-

Ditto

Up and Coming

Put a Spring In Your Step…

With Motox’ Spring walk on Saturday 28^th March at 11 a.m. Starting at the Savacentre car park petrol station (M4 J12) at 654718 the walk will be approximately 8½ miles long with a pub stop or bring a snack/drink. See Motox for full details.