May-November 2011 Hash Trash
Hash Trash Hash Number 783 Sun 21st August 2011 'A tiny Trespass',Stathern
Scribe:Mudplug
Scribe: Mudplug
Joining us at Stathern was Tight Arse from Spain – Swag Bag’s brother, fellow hasher and hare raiser. He was briefed by our hares, Gizmo and Nudge, but not very well, as it would turn out (“On Three!”, “On Four!”). This was Gizmo’s first outing as The Hare That Has Selected The Trail. The location was good, the weather was sparkling, and so were we, frankly. CB was contacted before departure. He moaned from under his quilt about it being too early, or too light, or too hashy or something. There were no returners and no true virgins. In fact, everyone there had a hash name – even Toy Boy, veteran of four hashes, who arrived with his aunty. The hares blabbed on about history for a while and then we set off down the hill into town. There are two pubs in Stathern, but we were off to none of them. Instead we headed out to the east and ran miles and miles across the fields until Nudge called us back for a hash halt we hadn’t seen. Once we’d recovered everyone, and recovered, we found the route – miles and miles back across the same fields. A quick diversion to the right brought us to the edge of the village (there was lots of Hare-in-Front activity here because the trail had mysteriously ‘disappeared’). We got our breath back from wherever it had gone and we set off down a doody footpath thing to a nice field, across which we stumbled. The field was so nice that no-one had spoiled it with any path, or bridleway, or any other form of public access, in fact. Thankfully there were no farmers or shotguns around. Beyond the field we happened across the Yellow Brick Road and the fun began. We had joined an ancient series of agricultural terraces and we spent the next hour going up, along, up, along, up, up, along, up, up, up and finally up to the top. There were back arrows too to increase the fun. Tight Arse doesn’t run up hills, we found. Not many of us do, either. Cheeky gave it a good go, as did Doggers and Squeakers, but the performance of some was quite pedestrian up the near-vertical rock face. You know who you are. Bizarrely, Bummer seemed to be with us throughout the route, which was possibly a first. Goldy weed behind a bush, but everyone was apparently able to watch. Everyone, that is, bar Nudge and Fresh and Happy, who had quite sensibly heeded the warnings and gone off on a short cut, and me, because I’m a gent. Up on top, the dogs found a cess-pit to wallow around in and we were presented with a nice view of Beaver before we found a track and a beer-stop. Hoorah! Lord knows how the beer got there, in the middle of nowhere, but it did. Refreshed, we pressed on along a ridgeline until we found a combination of roads, hills, sheep droppings and flour that led us back into the little hamlet that is Stathern (or ‘Slatern’ as Shorty has renamed it). A bit of nicky-nacky-noo brought us back uphill to the cemetery where we circled up large. The hash was declared erratic, but we believe the word that was meant was erotic. Congratulatory fines were awarded to the hares, our visitor (Tight Arse), and the dirty shortcutters. Shorty was on top form as RA and we had lots of varied songs, so we sang to Goldie for slashing, everyone for missing an early check, Nudge and Cheeky for something I can’t remember, Cheeky for overachieving and Doggers for being a lazy arse, Bummer, Cheeky, Toy Boy and Florence for creating an unusual knitting circle, those that wore red shirts and then those that wore white ones. Florence copped a fine for use of a name, and then Doggers got a drink for his 250th hash. We thought about getting him a shirt, but we couldn’t be bothered. On on to Nash Hash!
Hash Trash Hash Number 781 Sun 7th August, 2011,'What a pane (of Glass - geddit?)' Grantham.
Scribe:Mudplug
We met at the tradesman’s entrance of Belton House, but it was to be a hash through housing estates and cornfields for us today. This was a Nudge Family affair – Nudge, Dolly and Jotham Incapax were hash hares, whilst Briony Nudge was walking hare. How very well organized. They even brought their own virgin – Ricky Nudge. Dolly and Jotham were returners, too. Luckily, the family had brought with them a massive supply of mineral water for the fines that would result from all this. The trail began with a one kilometre-long warm-up to the first check, designed, no doubt, to let your legs know that it was Sunday morning again. Through the park and off to Manthorpe we went, and we encountered the first of many Health and Safety road-crossing double hash halt checkmark situations. The primary aim was sound: to stop hashers running into cars. The secondary aim was also sound: to stop Nudge Nudge from getting taken to court. Hashers please take note: if the lawyer does it, it may be wise. However, hashers are simple souls, and the result was that with two checks marked on the ground, one on either side of the road, we ran around confused like very confused things – over the road, back across the road, one of us on one side and twenty on the other, encouraging the individual to go for it. I don’t know if it was safer, but it made Nudge happy, and free from liability. From here we went into the previously unknown fields around Grantham – towards the scary railway line where trains go whizzing up and down. However, we turned off early and instead made our way across a raging torrent of a river, full of shopping trolleys, drugs and piranha. We learned from Her Fault that Beverley had been whining like a little kid on the journey, and had asked to stop for a McDonalds on the way. What’s wrong with a beer? We went past the nurses’ home, through the housing estates and up and down the alleyways and footpaths back toward the On Inn. It was such a well-laid trail. The last 200 yards or so were through woods and onto a dangerous corner. Nudge insisted that he had laid a number of safety markers to prevent people wandering into the road, but I never saw any. In fact I nearly got knocked down whilst staring at the ground looking for them. At the circle, we were joined by Scotty who hadn’t been hashing since she tried to walk through a glass door without opening it first. She may have been looting before it became fashionable. Her daughters ‘helped’ her onto a tiny camping chair, from where she was unable to get up to receive her fines. It all went really well, considering.
Hash Trash Hash Number 779 Sun 24th July 2011,'The Wet One!
Scribe:Nudge Nudge
Hares – Bummer and Canary Boy
The “Wet One” arrived. During the previous year, Bummer had been teasing the Hash about his proposed devious and cunning trail which would ensure that the pack could not avoid getting wet. A circle was called and Bummer, proudly wearing his tangerine top, briefed the pack about the joys and tribulations to come; including any Romans who may be lurking the vicinity. Cheeky was deputised as the RA and Mudplug was honorary photographer and was quickly off the mark by taking photographs of prospective new running shoes. Well Hung Over was incognito with her dark glasses and was certainly well hung over from the entertainment of the previous night. Swag Bag telephoned ahead to ensure that her delayed arrival was known and a loud crash and bang was rumoured to be heard over the mobile phone.
The On was called and 18 hounds set off with two pups towards the Old Great North Road in search of the trail. Blobs of flour led the pack through a gap in a hedge and along the side of a field, next to a housing estate, and then into a small wood. Dog Plop had other ideas and committed a heinous misdemeanour by taking a short cut across the field of wild grass. Inside the wood the pack was met with thorn branches and barbed wire across the trail and Bummer was heard shouting to FnL that she needn’t descend into the wood but she had other ideas and was soon confronted by a sharp incline and looked pleadingly at the rest of the pack which was exiting the wood leisurely. Mudplug kept the pack entertained with regular flashes from his camera.
The trail twisted and turned through fields with Squeakers, Gizmo, Swollen Bits leading the pack astray into the distance. The Hares indicated the route of the trail with Canary Boy standing with his arms folded across his chest. It wasn’t to long before they returned after undertaking the excursion. Gilbert tried to explain away his part in the escapade by saying that he had forgotten the rules. There then followed a series of back arrows causing FnL and Cheeky to collide with shouts of molestation by the Chief Snitch: Nudgers.
The pack found itself back into civilisation and plodded towards Great Casterton passing what at first appeared to be a hasher lying prostrate on the road but on closer inspection turned out to be a bunny which was no longer of this world. The pack was then guided into the back of Bummer’s Old Mates house and a well earned Beerstop next to a RIVER! It wasn’t long before there were sounds of laughter as Laughing Boy ferreted out his favourite bottle of bear.
Questioning the hares about the RIVER was to no avail but Bummer’s old mate gave the game away and the pack knew where it was going! Anxious hounds remained on the bank as the river reached up the thighs of those hounds splashing across the river. The gallant and chivalrous Dogplop gave Happy Feet a piggy back across the river. Hoorah! The sodden pack was relieved to leave the river behind them only to be confronted by it again for a second soaking and a cheeky return journey back over a bridge and the same river! Guaranteed to enhance the thirst of those present.
It wasn’t long before the smell of the beer drew the pack along the back of a housing estate and a long leg back to the RV. Mudders took control of the circle and made sure that each and every member of the hash present was penalised for some misdemeanour or other.
Hash Trash Hash Number 778 Sun 17th July 2011, 'On A Whinge and a prayer'
Scribe:Mudplug
Some things never change on our camping trips: birds start singing at 3am; the hares depart at some ungodly hour to do their business; someone wanders to and from the showers in a long, thick, woolly dressing gown and gets laughed at; someone else has a battle with an easy-folding single tent – a battle that involves more and more people, but doesn’t get any easier; Well Hung Over makes a lovely breakfast; Bloodhound dons some loud shorts; Squeakers pees in a pint pot; I make up some lies and publish them. Anyway – it was hash 778. At the nominated time, the non-campers returned and nicked a free breakfast and Harlot ripped off Cheeky Girl’s trousers – it was time to go. It was Retribution Day in Wing. The performances of the hashers and their criticism from yesterday had all been noted. We began by running straight past the pub, through the smell of greasy chips. Yum yum. At the first check, back in Wing village, the first blob was on. This blob, perhaps? No, that was one from yesterday. How about this one? No – yesterday’s. These two? No. How about this series of eighteen? Nope. Eventually we sorted out yesterday’s trail through Wing from today’s and headed east. We went into the fields and were joined by two white horses. They didn’t look happy, though, since they both had long faces. Well Hung Over, who knows a fine stallion when she sees one, immediately grabbed one by the throat and peered into its mouth to see if it had cleaned its teeth that morning. Meanwhile, at the other end, I stuck a carrot up its arse to try to make it bite, but without success. We went gaily across the fields and then back onto the roads. The trail was marked with many back arrows most of which had the letters FB beside them. Fanny Boy loved this because he was always at the back anyway. Who said that there weren’t enough back arrows yesterday? I’ll give you a clue: Squeakers. We went down the hill and then back up the hill, down the hill through the rain and then back up the hill again. It was like that film: the man who ran up a big hill and came down a knackered wreck. It was fair to say that there was scenery, flora and fauna, and more rain. Hashers, from somewhere, pulled out jackets, hats, cagoules, umbrellas, galoshes, and welly boots. We became tangled up with horse riding types – they passed us, we passed them, they let us through, we ran a back arrow just to annoy them, they hit us with whips. One big loop later, we headed back through the downpour toward Wing. We had some fields to cross first, though, and so we each carried a couple of kilos of mud on our shoes just to increase the benefit of the run. Uphill again and back into the village, we left a trail of muddy footprints through the streets on our way back to the campsite. At the circle, we smothered the hares in our congratulations and fined lots of people. They included dog owners, because they had pooped all over the trail (I presume this was the dogs rather than the owners); those who were soft and girly and who didn’t camp; Shorty for his 100th hash; Bloodhound for his 450th and for his loud shorts; Dog Plop, just for being Dog Plop. As we left the site, all was well and everyone was happy. Little did we know …
Hash Trash Hash Number 777a Overnight Wing, Sat Night 16th July 2011 Winging It
Scribe:Mudplug
There may, or may not, have been some talking and possibly some slightly eccentric behaviour after the curfew at 10pm. This may have been blown out of proportion by campsite staff. Suffice to say that Rutland Hash House Harriers are no longer welcome at Wing Campsite. A successful weekend? I think so, but the staff apparently didn’t.
Hash Trash Hash Number 777 Sat 16th July 2011 Winging It
Scribe:Mudplug
I need to get my name on the Hash Trash page before Dumplug writes about an entire year’s worth of Rutland hashes. The hash was a month ago now, but the dust has settled and my memories have faded enough for me to be able to squeeze the details into one paragraph, thereby avoiding boring you. This was hash number 777. Hooray! Like its aeronautical namesake, it was gonna fly. Little did we know that it was also going to be noisy, and would then run out of fuel and skid to a halt in a field. We were camping at Wing in a splendid little site complete with free-range hens, a farm shop selling free-range eggs, a café, and a restaurant that probably served free-range chickens. They’ll probably serve anyone. Ha ha. Bloodhound and Fresh As were responsible for arrangements, and they had done damn fine job since they, along with Lofty’s Lapdog, also hared both hashes. On site, Lord and Lady Cheeky set up their palatial tent a suitable distance from us commoners; Shorty and Goldy pumped up their King-Sized airbed and, after their deflating experiences at Nash Hash 07, carried a spare stopper; Well Hung Over unpacked and erected the gazebo, the World Service radio, and the candelabra; Nursy Sue tried to squeeze a double mattress into a single tent, possibly prompting Runny One to think that she may appreciate his assistance in getting her mattress flat later that night. Finally, Bummer and Squeakers handed out the special Hash 777 beers (courtesy of Gizmo) which people had bought for five pounds and which came with a five-pound note attached. Clever finance! We were ready for the off. We started by running through lots of other campers and caravaners. Was it once around the campsite and back for tea and medals, we might have thought? No, it wasn’t. Off down the hill we went, through the crops, to the railway line – a live one, we were told, like it was on the Jubilee Line or something. We sneaked carefully across just in case. Fresh As crossed it on all fours, for some reason. We then spent a good while on roads, making our poor little legs all tired and confusing lots of Saturday-afternoon drivers. Finally we were allowed back onto the soft squishy stuff, through a tunnel for the same railway and back up a long, long hill towards Wing. Dark clouds were rolling in and lo, it rained on us a bit before the On-Inn. The hash had been a pleasant little loop of about three miles and since rain was forecast, the hares had smiled upon us and had been kind. Bless. Back at the circle, the hash was criticized for a lack of back arrows. Are we mad? Don’t we realize that the same hares would operate tomorrow? Lots of jollification followed, presided over by Canary Boy. The usual criminals were fined for the usual crimes (Bummer for short-cutting, Shorty for wandering around aimlessly, Goldie for peeing in the open) and some lucky people got to put their hands up CB’s pipe. It was a bit like cow’s arse day at vet school. Meanwhile, Family C all turned up in different, yet colour-coordinated Crocs, and Gizmo inexplicably wore a beer box on his head. We then had one of those democratic moments where we named people. We voted for Bunny Girl, but welcomed Hop On. We voted for Dr Doolittle, but welcomed Twig and Berries. For one of our nursy types, we could have had Cervarix (Human Papillomavirus Bivalent (Types 16 and 18)) Vaccine, Recombinant, but welcomed instead Florence Nightmare. Also baptized into the order of the holy hash were Galloping Georgie (Gee-Gee) and Gobby. In Gobby, I believe there lies a future GM bursting to emerge. Later, we had dinner which, for some, was very scrummy. Even later, Gizmo had the cheek to fall asleep in the gazebo and was liberally sprayed with beer to help wake him. Later still, some people fell over (CB, who some will recall had difficulty opening a sausage roll on a previous camping trip, found that sitting down was quite beyond him. Others fell over in sympathy, and then laughed a lot. You probably had to be there). Those who didn’t camp, and who should hang their heads in shame, included those below. The excuses that may have been offered were:
Her Fault (“Because I like soft toilet issue”)
Canary Boy (“Because I want to have sex in private”)
FNL (“Oh my God – does that mean with me?”)
Hash Trash Hash Number 773 Sun 19th June 2011 Ferry Hill, Castor
Scribe:Mudplug
Scribe:Dumplug
Short and soggy for some.
Much confusion regarding the parking for the hash today. In terms of
geographical location but also the angle and spacing. It was
universally agreed that the spaces were too small. Or the drivers too
rubbish. Very diminished numbees were evident; clearly the last two
weeks of 10K+ hashes have had a deleterious effect on enthusiasm. Or
possibly the distances covered have simply worn out the legs of the
missing hashers.
Being so close to Bloodhound’s favourite stomping ground, Ferry
Meadows, it was pretty obvious which way the On On would be, and we
were not disappointed. An inventive routing allowed for crossing of
rivers and railway lines - both standard and narrow gauge - as well as
a good view of the watersports being enjoyed on the large lakes. As
something of a relief to those who had completed the previous weeks
gruelling exercises this proved to be a rather short hash, although it
was certainly enough to work up a thirst. Just a shame that the keys
to the car containing the beer had been deposited with the walking
group, who were nowhere to be seen. One lucky scout was despatched
for a further few miles of running in order to collect the keys and
return them to the rapidly dehydrating hashers.
The circle saw a number of down-downs doled out, the most notable
being a new offence of “Posh Hash Slash”, whereby all three of Cheeky
Girl, Rear Gunner and Long Runny One had availed themselves of the
available local facilities. Hopefully not at the same time. Mutant
and Bummer were brought in for what was either shortcutting or simply
making up their own route, since as with the last visit to Ferry
Meadows Bummer’s attempts to short cut seemed to just result in him
taking the long way round. We look forward to seeing Bummer lay a
hash around Ferry Meadows. If he sets off now it might be ready for
next week ...
12th June 2011Hash No 772 Colsterworth Well Hung Over & Dirty Gertrude
Scibe,Dumplug
Back to Colsterworth again, although this time the hash had a car park
all to itself. Well, after a fashion. Waste land round the back of
the houses would be just as accurate a way to describe it.
Some initial confusion over the first leg arose as people overshot a
hash halt which forensics are still attempting to detect. Luckily a
hare called them back, just before they attempted to run across the
A1. Reminiscent of the old video game “Frogger”.
Shortly afterwards the first of the “Eagle versus Turkey” signs was
encountered. We think. White squiggle versus white squiggle would
also describe it. The braver members of the hash elected to follow
the eagle trail. Two farmers’ fields later and the hash was back to a
road. Fortunately the looping nature of the extension meant that the
FRBs collected Bummer on their way back, with his short-cut
essentially being just the one side of the rectangle.
The turkeys had given up waiting for the eagles, who clearly need to
do some more fartlek (google it!), but fortunately the damaged
posterior of Fresh As was spied making its way up the Stamford Road.
The nicely rested turkeys immediately set off down the only possible
pathway, heading over ramshackle bridges and through a strange
corrugated iron tunnel. Dogplop would have been overjoyed at the
army-style obstacle course. If he hadn’t left with Bummer and Canary
Boy to complete this leg of the hash by car. Mounted hashing. It
could catch on.
As the hash wore on further attrition was suffered, with VIP limping
back on an injured leg and in all honesty your author lost track of
who was left, especially as a further slightly confusing eagles/turkey
split saw the hash pack become distended over a considerable distance.
Jake took the opportunity to trip up FNL, clearly feeling that it was
important to hold her back slightly. As the hash became “temporarily
uncertain of position” Cheeky led a small breakaway, relying on his
instinctive tracking skills to work back towards the beer. Mighty
White Hunter proved correct, bringing his squad seamlessly back into
line as the entire trail doubled back in itself for a return trip
through the tunnel and bridges, giving Dogplop the chance he had
earlier missed.
It was with some relief that the hashers scrambled up the rather sheer
trail back to much needed chilli and rice (a trend in hash
refreshments clearly detectable).
Once again Bloodhound made a rapid exit – where is he off to every
Sunday afternoon, enquiring minds want to know ...
5th June 2011 Hash No 771 Oakham Dogplop
Scribe, Dumplug
The longest half-marathon in history, with Dogplop shouting fire
orders in a desperate attempt to keep the hash together. Apparently
the local police had taken an interest in the hash markings. Having
seen the size of them it would not be surprising if this turned out to
be the Alpha Centauri Constabulary.
Primarily an urban hash , there was some consternation as Squeaker’s
trick of multiple turnbacks appeared again on the approach to the a
hill we were assured was “higher than RAF Cottesmore”. Fortunately a
swift right turn through a sheep farm avoided any risk of altitude
sickness amongst the lowlanders.
A much needed beer stop was welcomed by most hashers, however, those
with limited endurance (both physical stamina and, more pressingly for
some, bladder capacity) were quite concerned at the time. Regrettably
the time keeping problem also limited the time which could be spent on
passing a retired hasher en route to re-crossing the railway line.
It was most noticeable that throughout the hash numbers were steadily
diminishing, fortunately all missing hashers were located back at the
car park, suspiciously appearing in time for Dogplop’s home-cooked
fare (Eds note : I cheated on the brownies, thank you Betty Crocker.
Cookies were hand-made though!).
Fanny Boy was suitably punished for everything the RA could think of,
including racing the RA and reminding the RA that Carl was wearing new
shoes. Thus we saw again a hasher engaging in the age-old custom of
catching something nasty by drinking out of their shoe. Scrapie
perhaps? Carl is probably exchanging his shoes now since they leaked
and smell of beer.
It must also be pointed out that missing from the circle was one of
the fathers of the hash; Bloodhound had made a rapid escape as he “had
to get to Brize”. It is slightly concerning that the RAF is in such a
bad way he has been recalled ...
3rd June 2011 (7pm Fri) Hash No 770 Hurdler PH Stamford 7pm R-d Run Swag
Bag & Her Fault
Scribe, Dumplug
Comms trouble between Dumplug and Canary Boy resulted in an offer to
pick up CB from Huntingdon (he lives in Stamford) and hashing in heels
by Dumplug. This was only the start of trials, as Well Hung Over
disappeared when her mother took a turn, resulting in bemused
paramedics dealing with a “responsible adult” with hair in pigtails
and face dotted with mascara-based freckles. Swag Bag had time for
just a half before taking Charlie to be awarded for services to
football, while Fanny Boy put Usain Bolt to shame as he legged it
before he could be dressed.
Thus the somewhat depleted set of remaining hashers were directed by
Her Fault to carry out the first leg of the hash by car, resulting in
further excitement for Dumplug as he attempted to now not only walk,
but drive, in heels. It was welcome to see that Goldie and Short
Straw had both made the effort to travel down from Lincoln, while
Squeakers had managed to sneak out the house despite Sophie’s stern
order not to “go out wearing that”. A slight juxtaposition of roles
there! Tom and Canary Boy took the opportunity to refresh their
makeup, Canary Boy opting for the rarer “lipstick on my nose” look.
As the hash progressed around Stamford few eyebrows were raised;
clearly our hare’s usual antics made the red-dress run tame by
comparison. Well Hung Over’s return was marked by FNL attempting to
make some sense of the multiple straps buttons and zips which
constituted the back of WHO’s outfit.
Swag Bag’s delicious chilli stop saw much needed sustenance taken in,
(although those of us squeezed into size 10 dresses had severe limits
on what we could eat ? ), but it must be said that Swag Bag herself
could be accused of cheating as she had changed and thus was the only
one wearing trousers while others shivered. Although they shone a
spotlight to check up, the constabulary chickened out of approaching
the motley crew of chilli-chomping cross-dressers. Short Straw took
the opportunity to fertilise the river bank, while FNL vacillated at
the lack of facilities. The exact results of her expedition into the
undergrowth are perhaps best left to the imagination.
With nightfall came the onwards march (or wobbly gyrations for one) to
nightclubs, music and dancing. Still very little reaction from the
Stamford revellers, except one lad who took a keen interest in 6’ men
in dresses, to some consternation on the part of said man in dress.
By this point Canary Boy was not so much seven sheets to the wind as
all sheets to the wind. With some rips in the mainsail for good
measure. Many are thankful he was wearing shorts underneath his
“skirt/dress/sarong”.
Squeakers sensibly opted for a coffee, along with several others,
leading to the anachronistic sight of the run finishing with a ladies
coffee morning, in a nightclub, at 0200.
29th May 2011 Hash No 769 Woolthorpe By Colsterworth Bummer
Scribe, Dumplug
Parking up on a friendly villager’s verge, the arrival of Squeakers
seemed to show that the rumours about teenage pregnancies were if
anything undersold, as Happy Feet opened the Mini’s boot and unloaded
a pushchair and new baby.
A short Chinese Parliament between Bummer, Nudge Nudge and Dumplug
determined that Bummer should carry the pram since, as an ex-Para, he
was used to lugging large heavy things around (and apparently they
also carry logs as an exercise for P Company). However, upon
reflection, Bummer decided that he hadn’t received the extra £5 per
day for being jump qualified and declined the secondary duty. The
author would like to point out he didn’t receive anything for jump
qualification either ... except painful bruising when hung up in an
A-frame harness to demonstrate the cut-away procedure.
Abandoning Squeaker’s and brood in the local play area, the hash took
a wending wander around the surrounding countryside including a few
paths which necessitated cutting the actual route through the standing
crops. Shorter members of the hash were out of sight entirely for
some time. In fact, having not completed a headcount it is possible
they may still be in that field. Has anyone seen the nurses since?
It would appear not all farmers are as punctilious as they could be in
keeping rights of way clear, so the hash provided a public service.
The quantity of harvest collected in shoes and shorts would probably
feed a small family for some time.
As usual Jake and Molly cleared the stiles with several feet to spare,
while our resident fat Labrador required assistance from his
human-helpers to be lifted over each crossing point. Some more
exercise might help, extra hashes are prescribed!
Swollen Bits and Dogplop’s short cut strategy backfired spectacularly
as they ended up long-cutting through a field which was separated from
the actual trail by a fence, river and sheer slope. Luckily Thomas
was able to procure a sufficiently long branch to assist them in
clearing most of the water and scrambling up the bank.
It must be said that the feast laid out afterwards made it all
worthwhile, and we really must say “Well Done Bummer”.
22nd May 2011 Hash No 768 Exton Lofty's Lapdog & Her Fault
Scribe, Dumplug
Well, this was another interesting little village. Some confusion
amongst the newer hashers saw a number parking in the Fox and Hounds,
before a quick re-shuffle to colonise the village green.
A rapid exit from the village saw a somewhat uneven river side path
which disappointed Bummer as he had been planning to use it for one of
his future hashes. Attempts by Happy Feet and Thomas to entice Jake
to follow his stick into the river proved fruitless, Collies have far
too much intelligence to fall for that sort of trick. However, one
of the nurse collective took the opportunity of the uneven path to
“twist her ankle” and retired hurt. Seems humans do fall for tricks
...
The top ten miles of the hash saw something of a change in character,
with a gale force wind appearing which, combined with the 1:7 inclines
resulted, for the second time in a week, even Cheeky giving up and
walking. There was some confusion that the camping weekend may have
arrived early, as the hash took on more of the appearance of a DoE
expedition, trekking through a desolate wilderness with several
worried they should have packed tents and provisions. Or at least
warmer clothing.
An exhausted hash finally staggered back into the village just in time
to interrupt a large Triumph classic car rally. Either that or the
village one way system has had some people confused for a very long
time ...
15th May 2011 Hash No 767 Harlaxton Squeaky Clean
Scribe, Dumplug
A Squeaky Clean production, bringing the hash back to its Northern
roots (well, Northern for this Midlander anyway), this saw the return
of Nudge Nudge and Scottie, who could not resist a hash which was
almost literally on their doorstep. A slight snafu with the sat-navs
not being aware of the roundabout removal from the A1 resulted in
several hashers arriving somewhat earlier than normal, such that the
1000 hash nearly managed to begin by 1000. One day ...
Another chocolate-box village location resulted in multiple hashers
stopping to admire the duck-pond at a nearby cottage, complete with
signs requesting people not to feed the ducks. With several dogs,
there was little danger of any food escaping, in fact the ducks were
quite lucky to survive themselves.
The hash was then itself lucky to survive a herd of stampeding cows,
however, luckily several hashers had chosen to wear loose-fitting red
t-shirts and thus provided a fantastic diversion for the rest.
As usual a small group broke away from the main pack, leading to
several hashers waving at a group they believed to be the “Bummer
contingent” who were spied on the opposite side of the Denton
reservoir. Unfortunately it turned out the people on the other side
of the reservoir were a group of bemused locals walking their dogs.
Nobody was inclined at this point to take the proffered shortcut,
which would have turned the hash into a biathlon.
Interestingly, in the light of the dire warnings regarding hosepipe
bans, the driest spring since whenever and the possibility of drought
orders being introduced, the Denton reservoir itself was still fairly
full. It would seem that rumours of a drought are greatly
exaggerated, or else the Denton reserve is “local water for local
people”.
Squeaker’s inner PTI was drawn out by a close-to-final hill, which
featured no fewer than four back arrows. Even FNL and Cheeky “didn’t
see” the last couple of arrows. The author would like to point out he
completed them all ...
A small optional extension for the last leg of the course took a
selection of hashers through the grounds of a large Country House, an
extremely scenic detour incorporating a bridge, lake and barley
fields. Apparently it is some sort of University now, however, there
was a distinct absence of any students, unless the freshly grown
cabbages count. They probably pay more attention in lectures and have
a higher chance of finding gainful employment, anyway.
A somewhat abbreviated circle was necessary to avoid a threatening
rainstorm, but there was just time to introduce a new hasher from
Nottingham, via Switzerland. The hash’s fame has gone international!
8th May 2011 Hash No 766 Morcott VIP & Cheeky Girl
Scribe, Dumplug
Meeting at the White Horse promised to be an ideal run for those who
like a tipple. Sadly the bar wasn't open at 0930, which was probably
of the greatest disappointment to Long Runny One who turned up
clutching a McDonalds coffee with matchsticks holding his eyes open
following an all-nighter. The run itself encompassed travelling past
a number of extremely expensive properties but also managed to take in
a wide tract of the highly picturesque surrounding countryside, also
crossing what is apparently known as a “skew arch” railway crossing.
The author believes it more likely to be the result of dodgy builders.
Returning to the pub provided a real highlight. Real draught beers,
and sizzling bacon butties made the whole run feel worthwhile. The
bar staff had put in place a relay system which provided a seemingly
endless supply of porcine provisions. After consuming several hundred
more calories than had been expended, the circle finally took place
late in the afternoon, as the sun drifted over the White Horse’s
incongruous flag pole and parade square. Fortunately GQ and HH had
already departed as they had to be up for work on Monday, so the hash
was spared being drilled for its sins by “the man from HQ”.