Trash Hash Number 641 Sun 28th Dec 08 Whisby Nature Reserve
Way up north we went to Whisby.Our hares today were goldilicks and Short Straw And there oddly enough, in the corner of the car park was Shorty, surrounded by strange chalk markings which meant little to us until we heard the brief, when they continued to mean little to us. True trails, false trails, turkey trails, eagle trails, everyone back together again trails, running checks, walking checks, standing around checks – they were all there. I must have been having a blond day, because even after the second description, it was still all Greek, or American, to me. Being the first hash after Christmas, there was festive fare in abundance. There was gluhwein (inevitably), mince pies (very inevitably), and Quality Street (very, very inevitably). We were blessed by the presence of ten visitors (count them – ten!) who increased an otherwise small and shivering gathering to a respectable turnout of 24. Numbers were further swelled by Sasha, who announced her arrival by dropping something curly and steamy during the brief (what an astute critic!) and by Paedofido, who was as mad as ever, of which more later. Our visitors were Alex, Ash and Natalie (allegedly workmates of the Short One), three generations of Family Perrins, normally members of the Wessex HHH and recipients of a ton of encouraging email from me over the past year or so and, finally, Andean Sex Beast (I don’t like to ask) and Hash Puppy, once of the Quito HHH in Ecuador, and more recently from Derbyshire. All were, and still are, very welcome. It was noted, however, that two of them had the appearance of runners, and that they proceeded to warm up. A yellow card was awarded - behaviour of that sort will not be tolerated in future.
With the brief over, Her Fault and Swag Bag arrived - better late than never - and so off we went. The first leg was long and painful. I seemed to be carrying an entire turkey and Christmas pud around, somewhere down in the tummy region, and so I was soon puffing like a very puffy thing. We fell for the false trail like fools, leaving the nature reserve behind for a while and plodding through a local housing estate. A checkback (you guys are just crazy!) brought us back and for the next mile or two it was simply a matter of up the path, down the path, up the path, down the path. Some brave souls elected to take the shortcut, being a plunge down a riverbank, a crossing of a very cold river and a struggle up the far bank, with wet and manky shoes. Lots more of that turkey/eagle nonsense then occurred, and was best forgotten. Over the railway line we went, up and down the path, round the lakes, through the woods, over hell and high water, to the moon and back, a thousand miles, nay, a million miles for one of your smiles. And then back again. Paedofido sprinted past us at every opportunity. Nudge Nudge failed to catch the mad mutt at one point and so another toddler was subjected to a very vigorous licking. How his parents chuckled as the blood spurted onto the path. Suddenly we were surrounded by skinny dogs with skimpy coats on - it was like a Saturday night out in Essex – and the On Inn was upon us.
To the circle! The hares were rewarded for their efforts, as were the sinners. Squeakers was girly sheriff, and she fined Mudders for hashing (or somesuch thing), Bummer for shortcutting, Jamie and Adam for sitting, and Reggie P for premature checking. Mudders was blokey sheriff and fined Her Fault and ASB for trail avoidance, Swag for latecoming, and Emily P for keeping premature checking in the family. More fines: Adam was a returner after 17 hashes, there were visitors aplenty, one virgin (as it turned out) and Squeakers was awarded the prize for outstanding achievement during 2008, having attended 50 of the 55 hashes we hashed during the year, clearly more than anyone else. On on to Culverthorpe!
Hash Trash Hash Number 639 Sun 14th Dec 08 Welbourn
Scribe: Nudge Nudge
The hares Canary Boy and Squelchy covered in mud welcomed the hounds into a lay by near Welbourn.
After a brief oration the pack set off in the direction of Leadenham. Reaching the cottages opposite William Robertson school, late comers, Swollen Bits and FNL, drove past at speed in the direction of Welbourn to appear moments later as the pack pondered the next lead. Mutant favoured the old disused railway track but seasoned hashers headed for the mud and water at the side of the field to be rewarded with an On On. As the pack lengthened, the knitters at the back, including, Rooster and Doggers, enjoyed the scenery and the delights of what was to come.
As the hounds ran through a gap in the hedge, the runners/limpers and co were met with Shorty flashing away to his hearts content; getting a close up of the pup, peadofido, with his camera. Yes, the hounds could see what was coming; more mud and wet trainers until the way was clear to scamper onto a welcomed tarmac round. Bummer appeared from a direction of his own.
It was back into the countryside until the hounds were back onto the disused railway track and a well drained way ahead but, no, it was down the bank through brambles and mud slide with the watchful eye of Squelchy smiling contentedly to himself as the pack struggled back into civilization and to the ON INN. Bummer took charge of the circle whilst Canary Boy brought out the usual refreshments but no Gluvine; he thought about it, he said! Lots of cakes to the enjoyment of those present. The Sheriff, Goldilicks, duly fined FNL and Bits for being late and they seemed to enjoy every minute of the penalty. Mutant and Rear Gunner were fined for their planned three month sojourn but she got the date wrong and did the honorable thing by undertaking a Down Down.
Hash Trash Hash Number 638 Sun 7th Dec 08 Bedford Purlieus
We skidded into the car park on this wintry Sunday morning and shivered in the cold. To trot out an already overused ‘joke’, the frost was laying on the ground like a pizza (deep pan, crisp and even). Bummer, to his credit, had laid the trail all on his own. I noted with interest and a little concern that steam was rising from his shoes, which were caked in a variety of brown substances. He had a stab at the history - something about flying, and royalty. I forget the details, but perhaps a prince has held a helicopter-based rave there? A respectable pack of 19 had gathered, and so with little pink noses and numb extremities, we gaily set off into the woods. This could have been termed the Icebreaker hash, as the mud and the puddles broke up under our dainty footsteps. Beams of sunlight pierced the trees and lit up our little faces, all rosy in the crisp air - lovely.
Alongside the A47 we went, being passed by motorists snug in their warm cars. Our breath escaped in clouds as we cursed the first of dozens of back arrows. Eventually we left the traffic behind us and set off down a track toward a farm. Through a gate and into the farmyard we went. The shiggy turned thicker, and deeper, and less mud-based. At the bottom of the track lay a deep, wide pool of cow excrement. On on! For some reason the harriettes were reluctant to take the plunge and tried to gingerly step around the festering mess. Yours truly and LRO, meanwhile, thought we’d seen a back arrow and skipped through it again (we’re used to being in the poo). This meant that VIP and others could be properly introduced. FNL managed to hover over, thereby keeping her shoes shiny clean. LRO, meanwhile, decided that Bugs needed to get down and dirty. What followed was a hissy fit of Mutant proportions: “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! I hate you! I hate you!” and so on. Teenagers, eh? Spoiled rotten. To show us how it should be done, the cows and their calves lumbered through the mess after us. Boy, they were big. I haven’t seen a backside that big on a hash since ***** left (insert name here). Our shoes had now grown in size and taken on an aroma and an appearance that could only be described as agricultural. On we went, across the field, down the cliff-edge, along the track through the deep frost, and back again as a result of the first of a number of check-backs. We met up with Reargunner and Happy Feet who may have had a tip off about cow dung. Back into woods we went and, after few upalong downalongs, check-backs, back arrows, and false trails we spied the On Inn. What a feast awaited us at the circle – we had mince pies, little celebratory cakes (to mark Long Runny One’s 100th hash), gluhwein, warm juice, chocolate caramel squares, crisps and jolly old Stella. Bugs, noting that gluhwein was alcoholic, asked what it was without wine. “Glue”, came the answer. FNL was sheriff, and fines were awarded to Bugs for her tantrum, to Mutant and LRO for shortcutting, and to LRO and me for child abuse. Gilbert was honoured as a returner (that’s a beer), having missed twelve hashes whilst yacht racing (that’s another beer, then). Swag Bag had had a birthday and a drink (“a Stella with a cake in it, barman, if you please”), and FNL had a new car. She protested: actually it was only half a new car, it was a second-hand car, and so she got half a song, a second-hand song. Finally, LRO was presented with his 100 hash hoody, just in time for winter. He’s probably in it now, hanging around with his posse outside the Drum and Monkey. On on.
Hash Trash Hash Number 636 Sun 23rd Nov 08 Southwick
What an attractive little village Southwick is, with its church, its hall, its country pub and its smattering of quaint houses and cottages. But, boy, it’s a long way from anything. I suspect that there are people there who don’t yet know that the war is over. I’m not sure that the villagers have mains electricity or decimal money, but they may have their own language, and only one surname. Anyway, a small crowd gathered under Swollen Bits’ umbrella to shelter from the freezing rain that was falling, and to take a small drink from his mobile cocktail cabinet. I obviously drive the wrong sort of car. Mine comes with a toolkit in the back, his comes with an off-licence. We waited for FNL to return from some emergency laying of back arrows, put out in case the hash was too short. Ha! Meanwhile, many of the girly types refused to leave their vehicles. As a result of the weather, there was going to be some urgency to this hash. “Let’s just get it over with”, said VIP, making it sound as though we were to have our kidneys removed. Back came FNL, which meant that we could begin.
“Welcome to Hash 636”, said Swollen Bits. “I’ll tell you something of the history of Southwick. In 1547....” “Oh, whatever”, interjected FNL, who was chilly, “check it out”. Off we went over an icy footbridge, and I nearly fell in the river. The first leg took us across a muddy field covered in puddles of freezing water. Bugs and Happy Feet wisely decided that today was a good day for a walk – they would be back in the car by 1030. Into the woods we went, and SB announced that in light of the snowy weather that had been forecast, today’s hash would be laid in a variety of high-visibility materials, including chalk, flour, sticks (in a wood in Autumn – I like a challenge), leaves, animal entrails, blood, shark’s teeth, and chocolate mice. Some of those I may have imagined. Paintballs would be used, though - both the exploded and the unexploded variety – and would be placed at eye level. We happened across a false trail shortly afterwards, laid in paintballs. Eye level if you are a snail, it seems. The paintballs in question were about the size of hydrogen molecules. How we chuckled! Through the forest we went, optimistically checking up nice wooded paths. SB and FNL had other ideas though, and kept us on the clear wide track, pointing out ‘blobs’ as we went. “Look”, said Swollen Bits. “There’s one laid in tissue paper, and there’s another, crafted out of dog-ends. Do sharpen up”. We reached the end of the track to find ourselves staring down the barrels of hunting rifles. “Oh”, said a country chap. “You don’t want to be going down there, oh no. There be people down there with guns an’ stuff, killing defenceless animals, like you lot”. He had an impressive rifle (which he fondled whilst he spoke) but, I suspect, was short-changed in the IQ and, possibly, the trouser department. It struck me that had it been a little closer to Christmas, the little hashers may have trotted through the woods wearing false antlers, reindeer-style. It could have been carnage. Anyway – there was a check (made out of used chewing gum, of all things!). “You may not know”, began SB, “that this wood was once part of Rockingham Forest, and that....” “Oh, whatever”, interrupted FNL, who was still cold, “check it out”. Past some ugly monstrosity of a house we went (it had been at some point a very expensive TV house) and along the edge of a field which, we subsequently found, was very private and probably laid with landmines. Clearly there was a rush to lay the trail through this field since the farmer had a clear arc of fire from his living room (think Schindler’s List) and so the hares cleverly used blades of grass to mark the trail. Oxygen flowed into FNL’s head and she got confused at the next check. “Now, this is particularly interesting....” began SB, but FNL was having none of it. “Normalcheckcheckitout” she blurted out, cutting him off at the knees. Except, no! There, marked in grass cuttings, was a question mark. “OhmyGodfirstblobisoncheckitoutnow!” she spat. “Now!!” She clearly wasn’t getting any warmer. We happened across a vast pile of small, fallen apples. “Oh look”, someone said, “paintballs”. “Yes”, said SB, “that’s where I emptied my sack”, which brought to mind a lovely image. “We’re following Bob’s personal trail”, said VIP, which made me feel a bit queasy. We then followed a very pleasant route through the woods, up paths and down rides, through glades and across clearings. We were eight in number at this point, and we’d done our hour. Laughing Boy stopped laughing. Doggers and Canary trotted along through the fallen leaves like young lovers. Squeakers pressed on (jacket on, jacket off, jacket on, jacket off…). VIP stayed very quiet, making mental notes. She was sheriff, it turned out. I took it upon myself to analyze the quality of each check. Sure enough, there were the checks made of sticks, deep in the woods. Honestly, a lesser group could have jogged on by. “Do you know,” commented SB “this place is lovely in the Spr....” “Yawn!” exclaimed FNL loudly, stretching in an extravagant manner, “mustgetoncheckitoutnowquicklyquickly” and so off we went, wondering when Spr is. We were, by now, following a trail of small, yellow marks on trees. It was great fun, but I was beginning to miss plain old flour. Then ... over there! There was a check laid in flour! But, no, wait – it was half a check. Half a circle drawn in atoms of flour, with the rest of the mark left to our imaginations. Enough was enough, and we headed back to the cars via a trial of black chalk on tarmac and an On Inn sign written in sheep droppings.
By now it was dry and relatively warm but, at the circle, hashers put on what appeared to be every item of clothing they owned. Squeakers and FNL stood in the weak sun and exposed their yellow bits to the daylight. Luckily I’d brought a large amount of cold lager and lemonade. With a small turnout, the circle was concise and to the point, and the singing was largely based upon solos and duets. There were some fines, and there was a large dish of yummy-scrummy mince pies made by Little Bob. Thanks, Little Bob! Laughing Boy suffered his birthday and was presented with a Gooner birthday cake. Happy Feet joined in even though her birthday was in August and has been celebrated six times already. It was tough, but we bravely managed to stuff all the cake and pies down our hungry throats. It was, in sum, a top hash in an interesting location. It was well laid and, in the end, nice and warm and sunny, with pies and cake and lager and stuff. On on!
Hash Trash Hash Number 635 Sun 16th Nov 08 Elsea Park Bourne
Passed the woods!!!! What’s all that about! Elsea Park my car will be there well it was eventually.
Canary turned up sweat ladened brow a man under time pressure?Hi Canary web sites in a mess, more pressure, great this Hashing lark out in the fresh air taking the stress out of life.
Still at least no one mentioned Liam or bubble bath! Till now anyway, how is the blood pressure mate?
A new venue well done you two, a good mix of surfaces most of it wet or muddy or both, lots of old railway lines. No short cuts today was the bit of chalk talk that hurt, but I like a challenge! There were some big old open fields which many took to wondering around in packs like lost sheep, one lead and the rest followed trail what trail, off they went. The trail went into a village and I managed to rise to the challenge and popped up,” where the hell of yal been Bummer"Goldi noticed my non existent short cut, well that one any way! It was all going great short cut worked heading towards the woods(not the usual one)and heading homeward.(beer)
into the woods seemed to get confused again, had to wait awhile all alone on a check! On in down the railway a nasty long back arrow for us FRBs! A goodly circle Mutant and Reargunner welcomed back, some over achievers 300 runs for Squeakers,150 for Doggers(only three back arrows!).No problems for me shortcutting I was Sheriff! Many were summoned and dealt with. On pres was worried about use by dates on the Stella think we sorted it a bit for him.
Hash Trash hash Number 634 Sun 9th Nov 08 Colsterworth
Good old Colsterway Bowls club car Park, Mudders and co stepped up to the plate once again!
If anyone needs a prod into the woods with floury shopping bag for a lay fear not i will always take you into the bushes!
Its weeks since this run so this could be only somewhere half near the true story, and deffo a quicky to fill in the gaps in Hash Trash.Dry,sunny,windy,Classical music in the car park, about 14ish and off we trundled. In and out of the houses onto main drag down hill check on xroads.Good old Happy Feet nice and chatty
Hash Trash Hash Number 633 Sun 2nd Nov 08 Barnack Hills & Holes
It threatened rain, but stayed fairly dry. Well done to those brave souls who turned up in Halloween regalia. I know I lapsed (and that’s bad) but I wasn’t well. The brief warned us of slippery surfaces (Swollen’s head? Canary’s chat-up lines?) and, oddly, mud. Whatever next? Soon, we’ll have to be warned about trees, sunny outbreaks, and the presence of air.
The hash began in typical Canary and LRO style. Off we went on an FRB leg, trusting the hares to bring us back to the pack via an interesting yet challenging loop. Oh, how wrong we were. Using the symbol they seem to have made their own, we were sent back what seemed like a million blobs to where we’d started earlier that week. How we love those crazy guys and their check-backs. That blew any trust we had clean out of the water. No more FRB running for us. Oh, ok. Go on then. The next one took us on a loop of the entire county of Cambridgeshire. Even Squeakers was puffing a bit (she should give up the ciggies) and I’m sure I saw FNL slow up at one point. Believe me - when that happens, we’re in trouble. We plodded on regardless. The last check was a worry, since the route took us directly away from Barnack but, phew, there were the good old Hills and Hollers to welcome us back. You guys are just too good. Pansy Power stood staring at the On Inn symbol, wondering what to do next, but was then bowled over in the rush to get to the beer and fags.
Back at the circle, Mrs Long Runny One had provided lovely scary Halloween cakes which were the absolute billy-bob business. The hash was a little shy when they were first presented, but the hounds soon overcame their reservations. Whoosh. Gone. The harriettes forget calorie counting after a hash, it seems. Scotty must have had a sniff of some shandy because she went off on one. Proceedings took a little longer as Scotty’s input was interrupted by lots of girly giggling, random comments and vague ramblings, possibly from her childhood. When her daughter isn’t around to admonish her, I’m sure that Scotty lets her hair down a little. Dolly – you need to let your parents party more! Unusually, Scotty and her man, Becks, hadn’t appeared in a celebrity magazine this week. I’m sure that once the ‘Ross and Russ’ incident becomes chip paper, the paparazzi will be banging on the door of Nudge Hall once more. Following Scotty’s lead, Oldest Swinger and KnickerD then went off on a tangent involving nurse’s uniforms and role play. Canary then joined in by describing incidents involving certain members of his family, some bubble bath, and Liam (the lapsed hasher). It made for a long, but certainly more interesting circle.
Fines were awarded to Mudders for stretching (I told the physio that that would happen, but she insisted that I did it), to Dirty Stop Out, Runny One and Mudders for peeing (I’m sure the girly sheriffs envy our ability to achieve this feat wherever we like, with a combination of speed and a carefree attitude), to Canary Boy and Happy Feet for sitting in the shiggy, to Doggers and Mudders for short-cutting, and to the hash at large for sub-standard singing. Scotty, our ex-Star Trekker, reached the milestone of 50 hashes, so in an attempt to stop her talking we gave her a beer and her very own t-shirt, which she is probably stitching her name onto right now. Knickerdropper had her birthday that very day. We celebrated in true style using Stella with a dash of the last remaining scary Halloween cake drizzled into it, as you do. Apparently it tasted lovely. On on.
Hash Trash hash Number 632 Sun 26th Oct 08 Finshade Wood
Scribe: Canary Boy
It all started a bit early this week, it was 0845 and I was still resting in the land of nod, when my mobile started ringing. Who could that be at this time of the morning I wondered? ‘Hey Canary where’s today’s hash!’ Was the question when I eventually answered.’ Morning Short Straw its at Finshade Wood, ‘why where are you now?’ I asked. ‘We are already here he shouted!’ There is always one who forgets to turn their clock back isn’t there. Must remember that for circle later on.
Anyway the rest of us came on time, it was chucking it down with rain when we left home, but its as if vip and Anya had arranged it to stop when the hash started, well organised you two.
Parking was £2 per car, so what we need now is a long long hash or a long long circle because the parking ticket was valid until 10pm.You have to get your monies worth don’t you, credit crunch an all that.
So onto the brief, it was short and sweet, basically watch out for rough ground, tree stumps oh and by the way there are people shooting on trail. Don’t worry its only paintball and we have told them we are coming so everything will be fine. At this point it was on out, and everybody went quiet and trotted off wondering if we would ever return. Into the woods we went no sign of guns just yet, but we did get to a check Vip said check it out so we did, Shorty went one way only to hear stop! ‘Not that way’ shouted Vip, Shorty ducked waiting for paintballs to maybe fly over his head, ‘what’s the problem’ he said, ‘nothing’ came the reply. It turned out that the banned route he was checking was being used a bit later in the trail, which meant that we would all end up back at the same check and use it again, which to me is another good idea to save flour as I said earlier credit crunch and all that.
The trial was good and at some parts it was like the hares had actually chopped a few trees down to make it easier for us hounds, very thoughtful we thought! I’m sure I heard laughing boy call what time is it? Have I done my hour yet? Just as that was said someone looked down and there it was On In, Great timing again hares!
So onto the circle then, in came the hares and as the questions were asked what did we all think of hash 632 then? Most people said very well, just the one stuck in my mind; Nudge Nudge, his comment, is this beer stop? Jesus there is just no pleasing some people is there! Short cutters Oldest Swinger & myself. Loftys lapdog for wearing open sandals, which actually had waterproof written on them! I called in the sheriff Shorty for having another new car. Also called in were the returners. Starting with Anya 49 missed, then Sporty and Rooster both missed 12 bloody terrible if you ask me! Then we had a young virgin, Sam was here name rooster and Sporty Spice made her come, and even she said she enjoyed it.
Just one more thing because I have mentioned credit crunch a couple of times, Vip tried to get away with putting Saturdays car parking ticket in her car again for use on Sunday. Well a little green man came round the car park checking and she got caught!
On on to Barnack folks
Hash Trash hash Number 631 Sun 19th Oct 08 Bourne Woods
Not an auspicious start for today’s hare, Bloodhound. Having admitted to being soft by cutting down the brambles that we love so much, he forgot what hash number this was and then failed to wear the nice orange t-shirt we had presented him with. Tut tut. Here we were at Bourne and, once again, there was another bunch of runners in town. There was a standoff as they examined us from across the car park like it was the OK Corral. There they were with their proper running gear and spangly shoes. There we were with our mud, our flour, our gay and mentally-deranged dog, and our secret weapon, Stella Artois.
This wood may not have been big enough for the both of us. We seized the initiative and off we went, stumbling uphill and breathing heavily. Many previously uncharted bits of Bourne Wood were visited along with some old favourites. Talking of old favourites, Doggers and Runny One felt the need to ease springs and, when challenged later, Doggers claimed to have been “holding my dog”, which can only be a euphemism. VIP felt the need to have a quick sit down, but she chose to do so in a water and mud-filled ditch, which we thought was odd. Her fine perked her up. Canary Boy grassed some sinners up. “Who was sitting down?” I asked him. “Squelchy and Di” he said, which sounded awfully like “Squelchy and I” to me, so it was Stellas all round, then. Paedophido was his/her usual happy self, running off into the woods, often following other walkers and their dogs. “Oi! Paedo”, we would shout in an attempt to bring him/her back. How those walkers must have chuckled as the accusation of being a paedo rang in their ears. Canary Boy was also impressed at Paedophido’s response to the call “on on”, and made the call in an attempt to demonstrate. That would be a false call then, and another beer for the big man, thank you very much. FNL took Happy Feet down one wooded path to show her how to find the trail. The first blob was on. “Ooh look,” says FNL (the teacher), “flour”. “On one!” screams Happy feet, which resulted in a Stella for Mummy.
At the circle, there were fines for slashers, the false callers, the grassers and the sitters. There was also a special fine for the Rutland Hash’s very own Posh ‘n’ Becks, Nudge and Scotty, who have begun to appear regularly in the classier magazines available in doctor’s waiting rooms near you. OK! Hello! Nuts! – they’ll take fees from all of them, as they stand there grinning at the paparazzi cameras. Scotty scrubs up well, mind. Finally, Anna (veteran of one hash and one Christmas Dinner and Awards Ceremony) popped across from the group of ‘proper’ runners to pass on her regards. Welcome back to the fold, Anna – could there be another subsidized Christmas dinner coming up? She expressed surprise that we still drink lager after hashing. Foolish girl!
On on to Fineshades.
Hash Number 630 Sun 12th Oct 08 Pickworth Great Wood
Hares: Oldest Swinger, Pirate, Manuel, Knickerdorfe,
What a load of rubbish, we ploughed through on the way out, Victorian rubbish none of your modern stuff. Stuffed i was, by Pansy Power who was baby sitting the pups on a short cut to avoid said rubbish tip. I was talked into going back to the pack, who had vanished quicker than your savings in an Icelandic bank account, gone without trace!
A quick long cut up around the old quarry and back down the road in hope that, it was a good short cut. Back check 2 in the hedge and distant calling could be heard in Clipsham quarry. There they were milling around on a check, on on back in the hedge again over a barbwire fence into a field, round field over fence you got it back in the hedge .Another checkonon right and into the woods up to a shiggy track, Squelchy became so, that rut was a little deeper than expected! Canary Boy was pleased as now he had something to do after the Hash, Squelchys washing. Now on the main dry track a quick left would of taken us on in, we went right and then a couple of checks later left. Some way down that track passed the normal fire tower it all got confusing having gone left I found a check , a quick pisst along came Pansy with pups and Squelchy. We waited at that check as the pack ploughed past, expecting them to do a loop and return to us.Oops they never returned and now it was pointed out that peadofido
At least I knew where we all were, not sure Pansy was convinced and bush tucker was mentioned, no chance only Stella and Walkers finest. Keep the faith with a pro short cutter, found the last check, jogged back down the trail met the pack complete with cute little doggy. The sun was shinning the On In was down hill, all was well with the world. So let’s get that Stella open and kid Swinger he had done a good job! No mate we were all impressed no not with the trail but that you are actually out of the woods! A lot of names have been required for some time and this was thrown open to the circle, Clive became" Dirty stop out” on account of his turning up to hash in his Saturday night trapping gear, as he came forward he pointed at Jane saying its" Her Fault” so Jane became "Her Fault”. Now to Claire our arch criminal who marked Empingham for the burglars Claire became "Swag Bag" and Charlie sporting a new hair style became "Vidal Baboon”. Then the doggers the sheriff got all confused and awarded me a drink for shortcutting” good to be back and Pansy Power got her 50 run T-shirt well done and don’t ever lead me astray again, a harsh lesson never follow a man pisssting in the woods!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hash Number 629 Sun 5th Oct 08 Wyndham Park Nursery School,Grantham.
Well, today’s hash could have been named after an 80’s pop group: Wet Wet Wet. Still, we were up north, so I guess that was to be expected. That being said, it would have been advisable to have worn sunglasses on arrival at the RV. A dazzling sight appeared before us, and eyes had to be covered to prevent total blindness. What was this bright vision we saw? Of course, Dogplop’s fluorescent-yellow Smart cabriolet! Ouch! His was not the only car that caught our attention, though. Nudge Nudge, as hare, wanted to make doubly sure that this would be a legal hash in view of the recent accusations against us as reported in the Daily Express and Independent (OK, slight exaggerations). We were, therefore, joined at the RV by a Community Police Officer. Let’s be havin’ yooo….
Today brought a small, but committed, crowd out. We did have one visitor, very appropriately attired….for fishing! Was he really wishing to join us, or had he just got washed in? He was covered in so many waterproof layers that I imagine he is still disrobing even as this goes to print. I never did catch his name, but he drove off in a lovely black car with Goldilicks by his side. I’m sure Shortie would have something to say about that if he knew!
Anyway, how about the hash? Well, off we went with our raincoats, gloves and even umbrellas! The sight of this was all too much for a little pooch on its Sunday morning walk. It leapt and bound all over the place – mainly up and down our legs. Goodness! Can’t these people control their stupid pets? Wait. Isn’t that..? It is! Paedofido!!! Petal was clearly sad to be missing a hash, so cleverly timed meeting us all while out with PP. How nice!
The rest of the hash was quite uneventful, excepting the false calls (VIP and Oldest Swinger); the waiting at the bottom of a hill knowing full well that there was a back arrow at the top (LRO); and the snitch (now, who was that again…?!). Oldest Swinger was all over the place today. Seeing things that weren’t there, not seeing things that were…His excuse? His hair gel. Oh my!
Although it was very, very wet, it was a most enjoyable hash. It’s a shame Bummer wasn’t there – there were lots of shortcuts and only one back arrow! It ended, as is usual it seems in Grantham, in a little shelter, surrounded by beer bottles, with our hoods up. Well, we do try to fit in!
Sincere thanks to Family Nudge for stepping in to the breach and laying the hash at short notice and in such horrible weather. Bless you!
Hash Number 628 Sun 28th Sep 08 Old Sulehay
We found it, eventually. The start was about three miles from where we expected it but, hey, it keeps the police guessing where the next suburban chalk-marked crime wave is. The Rutland Hash had made the press again, suspected this time of marking properties in Empingham with flour and chalk marks in order to identify them as potential targets. “If you see someone marking pavements or walls”, the Rutland Times helpfully advised, “dial 999 immediately and ask for the firearms unit. Better still, get the anti-terrorist squad involved. And a helicopter”. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, they say, but there is such a thing as getting banged up by the rozzers for slapping a blob down outside someone’s semi. We may stick to woods for a while until the furore has died down and the filth go back to doing what they should be doing, i.e. harassing hoodies and chasing chavs in Subarus. Gradually the hounds found the RV. Squeakers arrived, as glum as ever (she doesn’t do mornings) but perked up when she heard talk of a beer stop. I was a bit concerned, meanwhile, when the hare asked me where the beer comes from. The answer, clearly, is from a blend of water, hops and barley. Or from Asda. It depends upon your point of view. As we waited for the rest of the pack to negotiate most of Eastern England and to find us, Mutant 1 offered some advice regarding keeping warm on these cool Autumnal mornings: “you need to get some hot meat inside you”, he said, intriguingly. Since he was talking to a vegetarian at the time, I’m not sure what he was alluding to. I, for one, would not wish to chew upon Mutant’s little chipolata. Not again.
Then we ran a hash, and then we came back again. During the hash, I became momentarily distracted by a momentary distraction and bumped into Oldest Swinger, who dived to the ground in an attempt to win a free hash. Luckily, he fell onto a gravel road where, if you look carefully, you can still find most of his skin. Just after that, some things flowed freely: sympathy (for Oldest Swinger) blood (from various parts of Oldest Swinger) and vitriol (for me (again)). Remember, dear reader, that I had recently been on the receiving end of one of Dolly’s ‘looks’. Cue more of the same. I seem to be blessed by bad luck, by big clumsy feet, by incredible accuracy with lumps of wet mud, or by a combination of all three. The hash was fab, especially when one considers that it was laid by a hound who had completed only five hashes previously. And those hashes had been rubbish! We did note that the course was covered in horse manure from start to finish. It also appeared that she had gained the support of most of the landowners of East Anglia in the project. “Get on moi land!” they had said, possibly.
At the circle, there was a feast of bacon and sausages provided by the hares’ little helper. Bugs, veteran of 218 hashes, was fined for having had a birthday. Pansy Power reached 50 hashes and was fined for that and for having a dog that is clearly mental, with a gay name. Pammy the hare described how she forgot to take flour out with her when she went to lay the hash. Luckily, the local store (for local people) had a single solitary bag left in stock. “Are you prepared to sell it?” she asked. “Oh yes”, said the storekeeper. “Then I’ll buy it”, said Pammy the hare. “How much does it cost?” “£4.28” came the reply. Somewhat stunned, Pammy fronted up with the cash, reluctant to show that she would normally pay about 7p for her wholemeal. Pure class! I bet that flour would have made a lovely cherry pie, but there it lay, scattered all over the woods, with bits of Oldest Swinger mixed in. Meanwhile, Dog Plop admitted that he’d bought a Smart Car. He was a reluctant to tell us that it was “electric” yellow. A yellow Smart Car! He’s changed. Now, there are three things that are smart in his family: Lynn, his new car, and Meg the dog. In sum: new cars, and flour priced at a million pounds a ton. Credit crunch? What credit crunch?
Hash Number 626 Sun 14th Sep 08 Wakerley Wood.
We’re regular visitors to Wakerley Woods, but today we feasted our eyes on sights that many of us hadn’t seen before, such as the pleasant little village of Wakerley, the glorious view across the fields toward Barrowden and the Luffenhams bathing in the autumn sun, Fresh As waiting patiently at ten past ten, Laughing Boy positively relishing that second hour, and Dog Plop running a back arrow. Strange times, indeed. We’d left behind the grim north and had arrived at Wakerley in the midst of an Indian summer. Nineteen of the usual suspects gathered expecting great things from our experienced hares, Bummer and Mutant 1, along with Patrick, a virgin. “This will be a confusing hash”, stated the hares, confusingly. Certainly the brief was complex, and intense. An unsuspecting virgin could be forgiven for thinking that there was a symbol every few inches, and that the hash was twice around the park bench and back for tea and medals (I hope Patrick is reading this because his email didn’t work – get in touch!). Patrick was bearing the hallmarks of an avid runner – proper shorts, some socks, and a massive wrist-mounted GPS homing device, emergency beacon and tea-maker. Astonishing. They’ll be putting cameras in phones next, you mark my words.
Proceedings began with a fine for Jane, who ‘copped off’ in Stamford recently and decided to spend Sunday morning with her new-found ‘bit of trouser’ rather than come hashing or, indeed, to bring the fit, young man along.
Back to the hash: there was talk of irate farmers, of shotguns, landrovers, and World War II aircraft. It seems that they don’t mess about with trespassers in Northants. Off we went, unperturbed by all this scary nonsense. Things got quite confusing at the first check, where it was pointed out that the hash required the laying of no less than three On Inns, that Mutant 1 had got lost and was only found using tracker dogs, and that the brambles were too dense for Bummer to wade through whilst trying to find shortcuts. Unbelievable. There was some great shiggy for us to wallow around in. Charlie squealed because her brand new Asics got muddy, and then she fell over. Bummer told an obscene joke, which Claire had to explain to Charlie, and which Squeakers had to explain to Runny One.
We burst out of the wood through a Reargunner-sized gap into the cornfields and made our way to what appeared to be part of an old airfield. Probing questions at this point ascertained that the hash was “not strictly legal”, and that we had to get a bit of a wiggle on. I’ve not seen Bummer move so fast since he was chased by an irate cow at King’s Cliffe (there’s a joke in there if you look for it). ‘Not strictly legal’ is an interesting phrase, like ‘not strictly alive’, or ‘not strictly heterosexual’. Anyway, I digress. Shortly afterwards we ran past the biggest pile of poo I’ve seen since England last played QPR. We ran through a river that seemed to live independently in the middle of a field, and then Charlie fell over. At the welcome beerstop, and having been inspired by watching the Last Night of the Proms, Mutant 1 went off on an anti-European rant and we were set fair for the afternoon, happy to bask in the sun and the raving patriotism. All good things come to an end, though, and we had to plod back toward the On Inn.
The fun wasn’t quite over yet, though.
Perhaps too much lager had flowed, but for some reason those paragons of good behaviour, Squeakers and Fresh As led many of us (including Old Swingy, Long Runny, Canary, the Squelchmeister and the On Pres – the On Pres!)on a shortcut. How naughty.
Bloodhound, meanwhile, was evacuated by ambulance and sent home to bed.
Claire, not be outdone by her daughter, tripped on a blade of grass and threw herself to the ground, smashing up her hands in the process. This meant two severe injuries in two weeks. Is she after a name, or does she like hospital food? Because the girls all had to hug Claire to make sure she was okay, the pack was split and arrived at the On Inn separately. Bummer nearly went into shock, believing that all the pies had been eaten. At the circle, Manuel, Jane, Claire and Charlie were fined for wearing indecent shirts, whilst Charlie, Claire and Diarrhoea suffered for sitting down. The filthy shortcutters copped one too.
Finally, we christened Charlie’s new shoes. True to form, and rather than drinking, she fell over again. On on.
Hash Number 625 Sun 7 Sep 08 Fermyn Woods or Brigstock Country Park.
So, was it Fermyn Woods or was it Brigstock Country Park?
I don’t believe our joint hares, Swollen Bits and Fast ‘N’ Loose, ever really decided. I don’t believe the unsuspecting hounds who turned up knew either. Most went sailing by and had to undertake hazardous u-turn manoeuvres. This was very dangerous and resulted in a poor start for the Swollen One, who had sent out hoax emails given dubious directions. There was clearly friction between the hares. We saw evidence of a hash clash from the start as we trotted off into town (for example: “This is his bit, not mine”, and “Don’t blame me”, and “Take it up with him”, and so on for the first hour or so). When will you hares realise that we don’t actually care? So long as we are not wading through knee-deep cow dung we don’t actually mind what we do or where we go (although VIP hasn’t been the same since that time in Oakham where she screamed “On On!” at the Remembrance Day Parade. Or was it a funeral? The effect was the same).
Anyway, off we went, straight into a downpour, meaning that we got soaked. As we crossed a footbridge we spied Charlie and Claire turning up, as normal, fifteen minutes late. Having plucked their running shoes from under a nearby car, they joined in just as those running the first back arrow arrived back at the car park to give them some ‘encouragement’. We continued around the nice little village of Brigstock (cue more tutting and rolling of eyes from FNL) and were exposed to the chequered and fascinating history of the Victorian buildings within (“See that one? They do some stuff in there”). Brilliant, Bob. We went past a pub called the Three Limp Dicks or somesuch and I sniggered like a twelve-year old. Eventually we found our way back to the footbridge and a hash halt. “Oh”, said the pack, “that’s really bad because we’ve been here before”. I think it’s clever laying, actually. I mean, how else are Shorty and Bummer supposed to catch the pack in time for the lager, pies and crisps without us running a massive loop back to where we began?
Over the footbridge we went and you could feel the tension lift as FNL finally got back to her beloved woods. She seems to dislike towns. Perhaps she’s a gypsy? We climbed a big slippery muddy slope, and then some big boys made me throw mud and it hit Claire and it was bad and I got into trouble and Squeakers said I was stupid and Nudge Nudge said I might grow up one day. Dolly gave me one of her looks, but it was the big boys that made me do it, Miss, honest it was. Just then the hash got all confusing. There was flour everywhere you looked and we were literally tripping over halts and checks. I think there may have been another ‘issue’ between the hares at that point. Round and round we went, doubling back on ourselves and running in our own footprints. The trail was so tight, you could see your own back as you jogged along. It was most odd, particularly since we were at the edge of a massive, yet seemingly unused wood. There was lots of dog poo, though, which made me snigger again. We left some of the girls behind to start dusting and tidying up the playpark, whilst the men did another lap. Eventually confronted by the car park we expected an On Inn but no, there was a sting in the tail in the form of another leg and the inevitable back arrow. Finally, we made it back to the beer whilst FNL, having spent hours supping cheap cider in the back of Swollen’s little white van, sprinted off to make sure that the facilities were adequate.
The circle was concise and to the point. The hares were chastised, the sheriff (Nudge Nudge – none finer) did his thang, and fines were issued to Fresh As for dog-poo related items, to Gilbert, Charlie and Claire for poor punctuality, to Laughing Boy for his socks (I still don’t know why) and to yours truly for missing four hashes, and for mudslinging. Lin and Lofty’s Lapdog were welcomed back. It’s always good to see old friends, and to throw things at them, I say. Finally, a hot chocolate and a fruit fudge slice brought people back to life. All we needed to do then was to find our way home. I’m sure I could hear the hares kicking off again as we drove away...
Hash Number 623 Sun 24th Aug 08 Callan's lane Kirkby Underwood
Scribe: Nudge Nudge
Hares – Mutant 1 and Rear Gunner
An overnight downpour set the scene for the days hash. Mutant 1 marshaled the cars of the hounds into the postage stamp car park and briefed the pack on the delights to come; river, mud, slippery stiles, dodging the racing cars etc.
The pack set off down a straight inducing track only to be met with check back to the RV and into Callan’s Wood to negotiate brambles, a covering of branches, leaves and other debris. A shout of “hare in front” could be heard as Mutant 1 disappeared into the undergrowth and found himself unable to outmaneuver an obstinate tree which left him rubbing his forehead but, unperturbed, he briefed the pack on the route of an old Roman road on the edge of the wood.
Recovering in the middle of wood, the pack could see a hoodie trotting in their direction. Anxiously looking for the trail, the pack saw it was Scissors Charlie and Claire blaming each other about their late arrival. Having grown to 20, the pack set off to wetten their running shoes in the unavoidable mud, more mud and deeper mud; much to the delight of Adam. Numbnuts for some reason disappeared, presumably to examine the undergrowth, and was later seen some distance behind the pack. The skating track across the field did not slow down Swollen Bits who honoured the back arrows to the confusion of Short Straw who wondered what the sign meant. Oldest Swinger set off in the direction of a church in the distance shouting On On with Jamie pointing to three blobs on the ground.
A welcome respite on a road saw Scotty temporarily lose interest in the trail to examine furniture for our feather friends. Rear Gunner ushered the short cutters, followed by the main pack, towards Temple Wood for a welcome Beer Stop and attentive wasps! Talk of the river dragged the pack deeper into the wood with the knitting circle of Laughing Boy, Nudge, Swinger and Dogplop deep in conversation at the rear. The paths seemed to merge into a swamp with a covering of water; nice!
Back at the circle, the sun decided it was time to appear with Goldilocks ensuring that the Sheriff, Short Straw, received his fair share of the down downs!
Hash Number 621 Sun 10th Aug 08 Leadenham
Scribe: Short Straw
Leadenham – Mom and Pop Canary’s House
Hares – Canary Boy and Squelchy
Hounds @ Mutant 1, Oldest Swinger, Knicker (something), Diarrhea, Lil’ Squirt, Dog Plop, Laughing boy, Swollen Bits, Nudge Nudge, Scotty, Just Jane (?), 2 sons, friend and Hubby (VIRGIN) and Short Straw 16 strong If I forgotten your name (oops, get a Hash Handle and I’ll remember most likely)
It was a glorious morning, Sun shining with a nice breeze then the Hash started and it all changed clouds came rolling in wind picked up and it threatened to start raining. So the Pack was off 10:00 sharp like usual (yeah right).
Mutant 1 in the lead, Swollen Bits and Oldest Swinger close behind and distancing themselves from the pack then 100 ft later and the 1st countback and the pack was back together. We saw the front of the parents house so CB must have wanted us to see the back because we were on again but ranging all sorts of forks in the field. On-On and the next check was the Total station. Check it out. Well Shorty and friend and hubby went south the rest of the pack went north. ON-On and shorty and friends have to turn around and catch up. Another Check at Quarry Rd and what with the pre-brief (or lack of) most of the pack headed for the hills to look for those promised scenic views.
Was that rain felt? Shorty pulled out his rain poncho just in case (worry we wouldn’t need it). Made it ½ way up the hill (who said Lincoln doesn’t have hills?) and then CB started pointing out the Cathedral (it was like one of those drawings you have to stare at to get the picture to show up) pictures were taken in case CB wasn’t pulling everyone’s leg and off we were again. Yippee get to dodge Horses and the presents they left behind. Mutant 1 off in the lead and like a dumb pack of dogs everyone is following him. Have we not learned that he is completely BLIND and can’t spot flour if his life depended on it. Well of course he ran past trail by about 500 yds so CB has to set everyone straight or I mean to say back down the darn hill (now dodging presents). It was a such a good spot to stop the one of the wee fellows decided to water the hedges with a full viewing audience. OOH wee a future Chipendales or Full Monty dancer in the making.
Check it out. Off goes Mutant 1 (what does he eat for breakfast) in the wrong direction of course but hey someone has to check. So ½ the pack follows Mutant 1 and the rest go the correct way. Over the hill and thru the wood. Yadda yaddas. Next check takes us to the top of an old railway (long since gone) Check it out. Mutant 1 goes (guess) yep the wrong way but then so does Shorty only shorty doesn’t holler ON-ON like a certain OAP. Can we get a re-naming? Wrong Way Harry sounds about right. Damn, Up another hill (kill the hares) thru some more fields and finally back on the road again. Ooh wee back to civilization, get to the crossroads and get back on trail. Couple of turns and Lo and Behold, CBs car with BS next to it (that’s Beer Stop for you novices). Ah we can almost forgive him his sins for the nice cool refreshing brewski. On-Out Came too soon. Mutant 1? Need y’all even ask. He’ll catch up. Next Check CB and Squelch show kindness on a few and offers them a shortcut. Real Hashers don’t need permission for short cuts ya just take them. Well some hounds have no patience and started checking prior to the call (Bad Mutant) Sheriff are ya keeping track? NEVER FOLLOW MUTANT. CB must have thought we were all bakers since he lead us thru the wheat fields (AWAY from the start). Thru the fields and Down the hill we finally get to head up Towards the end. Just had to end the hash on an UP Hill Moment. Huffin’ and Puffin’.
Break out the beer and break in the circle. Mutant 1 not wanting to go wrong any more suggested to Shorty that he run the circle Yankee style (big mistake) (is there enough beer?)
Hares in the Circle, lovefest going on here. Mutant 1 brought some truth with a rubbish comment. Shorty commented that if it wasn’t good enough for CB’s wife (LRO) to show up then it wasn’t good enough for us. FRB, a tie between Swollen Bits and Oldest Singer as Mutant 1 slowed to a walk with 10’ to go and ya can’t have an FRB without a DFL, Nudge Nudge and Dog Plop. 1st time Rutlanders, Lil Squirt and Friends (Hubby virgin). The beer was flowing now. For a liar, Nudge Nudge doesn’t talk much during circle but he get’s it out of his system during trail. So the King of the knitting circle was brought in and anyone who talked more than 5 minutes with him. That pretty much only left 2 people to sing. Shorty was breaking out the new songs and only Mutant 1 was able to contribute a non-std song. Shorty threatened down-downs in the future for non-new-song-singers. Well we had to bring in the kids because they still can’t remain on their feet for an entire trail (I blame the mother) and for the liberal watering of hedges. OOPs apparently Virgin had volunteered to do the down-downs for the kiddies. I’m sure a few more down downs were done but the Sheriff was getting thick and about to finish until it was pointed out that Virgin was wearing some monster pontoon NEW shoes (hold 3 stellas, easy) well we blamed his Mrs. But still made him drink and he liked the FUNK taste so much he refilled and did again. May the Hash go in peace. Wait we had to salute the cooks so Mom and Pop CB were brought in and we learned where CB learned how to drink.
OOH wee bring on the grub, CB provided burgers and sausages and then he tried to be healthy by tossing some lawn leavings. Everybody topped up (more than once) thanked the host and went home for a well deserved nap.
Remember it only had to be 10% true to be HASH TRASH
Hash Number 620 Sun 3rd Aug 08 Fineshade woods
Fineshades has changed a bit since we were last there (in Sept 06, by the way). It now has a café, and toilets (roadtested the latter – very adequate), some ethnic straw sculptures (every wood needs some) and a pretty car park and a £2 parking fee. The wood has changed too. It has lots of hills in it, and we tried those all out. In fact we tried them out twice, since each one comes equipped with its own back arrow.
It was hot and we were sweaty. Pammy was particularly glowing, since she came sporting her new engagement ring. Apparently she pulled on the red dress run, which just goes to show how important it is to dress up properly on such occasions. A Stella to start and a Stella to finish was the best I could come up with at such short notice. What a nice hash it was – minimal shiggy, no cuts or bruises, and a complete buffoon as a sheriff. Normally the sheriff goes about their business quietly and discretely, only playing their cards once back at the circle. Oldest Swinger, however, acted the muppet from start to finish. If he wasn’t sheriff he would have had his own box of Stella to drink.
Dog Plop returned from his hols sporting slightly pink legs. Perhaps he should stand close to the barbeque next week in an attempt to get a tan. He may singe off the hares that he doesn’t shave, though. On On.
Hash Number 618/619 Sun 27 Jul 08 Clumber Park
Hashes 618 and 619 were our summer away weekend held at Clumber Park. Twenty-five of us hashed on Saturday, and twenty-four on Sunday (delete Family Nudge, Bloodhound and Cristina, and insert Family Rooster). Base Camp was the centre of our world. It accommodated twelve; the remainder were in Riverside Campsite in Worksop, in a caravan in the park, and on day release.
Hash 618 began at 1630. It was hot, but the sun was beginning to set. I’ll spare you the details – suffice to say that it was two and a quarter hours long. With a circle, a barbeque and a night out to be had, you know you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. There was a mountain of Belgian fighting juice to drink, so there were fines aplenty – too many to recall. A highlight, however, was the return of Cristina after an absence of 50 hashes. A lesson for me there – I hadn’t yet deleted her from the list. With the circle complete, we all sat and eased our aching legs. LRO (bless him) wheeled out the barbie and we scoffed dead pig ‘till midnight. Fortunately, Happy Feet resisted Short Straw’s recommendation to jump from the first floor windows.
Overnight antics were as follows:
· LRO moaned and groaned about some unknown dream ghoul who was infesting his mind.
· Fresh As A snored and snored and snored and snored and (you get the picture).
· As a result of 2 above, VIP took sanctuary by sleeping in the lounge.
· We all sweated a lot.
· The Riverside Campsite saw some ‘action’. More moaning and groaning in evidence.
· Charlie swamped the bed (possibly) and so agreed to be a hare.
· Canary Boy forgot to turn off his alarm, so everyone was up at 0715.
Three brave souls set off at 0730 to lay number 619. They were met on their return by fair harriette maidens bearing tea. The away team and the day release party duly arrived, and off we went at 1030. Hot hot hot. After another one hour forty-five in the sun, we all safely arrived back at Base Camp, many bearing ice-creams. The balance of the wife-beater was consumed, although many wisely elected for girly lemonade instead. Post-hash breakfast was served, consisting of bacon and sausage baps with bits of leftover pork thrown in for good measure. Thanks Bazza – we ate like kings. The ceremonial (and brunch) over, the team mucked in and we had a cleaning frenzy (good work, everyone, and thanks to you all). I think a good weekend was had by one and all. We certainly enjoyed it. Many thanks for the gifts presented to the organizers but, as said elsewhere, you are such a fine bunch, and it is an honour and a pleasure to make you all tired and sweaty.
Hash Number 617 Sun 20 Jul 08 Ring Haw
Today was a bit of a complaints day, and a naughty hares day. The complaints first: we started the circle too early, but we started the hash late; we stood around for too long and we started to get cold. At the same time, it was too hot. There was too much running, and yet there wasn’t enough running. Too dry, too wet, too hilly, too flat. Too many back arrows, and yet not enough. I expect the grass was too green for some folk. There was shiggy, but only on Charlie’s shirt. Laughing Boy, somewhat unusually, noted when an hour was up, then moaned constantly to the end. There were reports of “bees in bonnets” which is a 1950s phrase (used by Swollen Bob, since you asked) meaning there was dissing, friction, and some sh*t going down. Yo dig?
And what of the naughty hares? One of the hares was laying his 125th hash, but was not dressed in obligatory orange. The situation was rectified using a shirt plucked from somewhere very dark and nasty (and I don’t mean Shorty’s boxers) and was duly presented, pre-hash, with a rousing accompaniment and a bottle of wife-beater. In an attempt to get the hash over and done with, we put all the hares in the circle and forced them all to drink. Anyway, the shirt still wasn’t worn, and more consumption of Belgium’s finest fighting juice resulted. Was this evidence of dissing of tradition and - if I dare use the word – rules? What did the other naughty hare do? He made us run up and down very short but steep hills, carved from the very earth as if by some giant being with a digger thingy. Then he laughed at us, sort of like a maniac. Let’s dwell on those hills for a moment. Some interesting techniques for getting up them were on show. Most scrambled up, mountain-goat style. Liam the Merchant Banker went up sideways, crab-style. Squeakers went up very slowly, with no style. FNL took one look and retreated to go up the easy way, big girly-girl style.
It was Scotty’s first hash! We suspect she had new shoes on (Nudge Nudge buys her a new car every week and now new shoes too!) because they were cleaned at every hash halt, sometimes by Scotty herself and sometimes by Dolly who, at the click of Scotty’s fingers, would drop to her knees and do the honours like some child slave thingy. Scotty could, of course, have cleaned them in the fantastic water crossing. Like most of the lightweights, however, she elected to take the ‘footbridge’ option. Some brave souls waded through the fast-flowing torrent. I spotted Laughing Boy being soft too, and with a casual flick of my toned and muscular leg, soaked him. How unfortunate that he turned out to be sheriff. Make mine a Stella.
There was flora and fauna in abundance, which we like. We saw Shetland ponies, sheepsies, cows, horses, wabbits, naughty hares, and ickle piggy-wiggies. Which reminds me - has everybody decided what they want on the barbie next week? Mutant 1 was amused by them being Iron Age pigs. He tried and tried to make us laugh at the little joke, but we weren’t having it. When asked what the attractive plant things near a hash halt were, FNL confidently stated that they were called ‘flowers’. I think she teaches small children, and sometimes forgets that she’s not at work on Sundays. Dog Plop, meanwhile, was doing everything he could do to get fined as much as possible. I don’t think he had an all-action afternoon planned. Charlie took on Bummer in a fruity fruit-shoot shooting match. Whilst the advantage was hers for reasons of target size, both took hits and smelt of oranges for the rest of the day, which makes a nice change. At the circle, we drank some beer, we sang a bit, and we ate our own weight in Jaffa Cakes (as recommended by sports nutritionists). Rather like hashers, they have a smooth dark exterior, and a soft tasty inside, possible made of wobbly jelly. On on.
Hash Number 616 13th July 2008 Easton On The Hill
Scribe: Canary Boy
The morning after the night before as they say. But I have to take my hat off to you lot what a turn out, over thirty runners after a red dress pub-crawl the night before. Only heard of one who launched her stomach contents behind a tree what’s that poor old tree done to you! You know who you are, not mentioning any names. Squeakers.
So it was On On, Oh no it wasn’t, where’s the hare gone? She was found hidden behind some cars in the field with the mornings newspapers, that’s what we thought they were but no it was just flour in the bag, for a minute I thought we were going to have to deliver a few papers on the way round, but all she had done was sneak off to complete a brief. It must have been an interesting brief, as Claire entered the circle with a huge hand print of flour on her left cheek her excuse was ‘I was getting my mobile out of my pocket’! Was our virgin hasher, the culprit, we will never know, his name was John or Chalkie to his mates he seemed to enjoy himself anyway even though he had to wait an extra 24 hours to hash with us, but that’s another story.
After all the fun of the brief we set off, over the stiles across the cornfields and back into the village? We went past the church and found On Inn. Wow shortest run we have ever done! Whoa shouts Claire you should have turned left at the church! Doh! Maybe a bit longer then. Going through the church a nice gentleman asked Goldie what we were doing, to which she replied it’s like a treasure hunt, we are looking for treasure! He said I hope you are not going to bury anything in this graveyard.
Chances are there is no more room left to bury anything else in there! Lots of beer sweat, and sluggish movements and we had something nice to look at, and I don’t mean the harriettes it was the landscape! After taking in some nice views of the castle cement works and a lovely views of Stamford it was time to roll back in for the weekly bollockings from the sheriff.
Sheriff Short Straw enterers the circle, cutting a long story short I ended up needing a driver to get me home. Don’t know how many down downs were dished out but hey it’s a privilege to be awarded one so just remember that, when you are asleep on the couch on Sunday afternoon.
Anyway it was a good trail and we thank Claire and Charlie for their efforts.
Just two more things to add, where did on pres stay Saturday night, Did he not go home and change? It just seemed to me he was wearing the same sexy garment again on Sunday.
And finally who’s nicked my drinking vessel!!!
Pseudo-Hash Number 615 Sat 12 Jul 08 Stamford
Approximately 22 of us gathered at the Danish Invader. Advantages: a large car park. Disadvantages: possibly the scruffiest pub in town. It is also the furthest pub from the town centre, which would cause issues nine hours later when I had to walk back, alone and in a frock, with the rest of Stamford, drunk, following me. FNL was a latecomer, having assumed slightly foolishly that the Red Dress Pub Crawl would be somewhere close to Stamford. Anyway, the rules were announced, the origin of red dress activity was revealed, Hash Flash took the first of several hundred snaps, the whistle was blown, and off we went. From the Danish Invader we proceeded to the Hit or Miss, the Jolly Brewer, The Green Man and the White Swan.
The Hit or Miss helped us to identify our chosen charity through its connection to a local boy suffering from Xeroderma Pigmentosum, or XP (the Support Group for which would eventually profit by £200 as a result of the day’s antics). Meanwhile, fines were awarded to more latecomers, to those failing to wear the correct dress (a red one) or indeed any dress at all. The fun increased. We’d started off as a reserved bunch of shy introverts, not quite knowing what to make of one another, but as the beer began to flow, off came the shackles. The Green Man provided an opportunity for some ad-hoc pole dancing, and the White Swan began a trend by donating the cost of our drinks to our newly-chosen charity. Walkie-Talkie and Careless arrived, quite late. Fine. We bumped into an old hasher in the Otter’s Pocket. Fine. VIP and her kinky boots arrived late. Fine. She did catch up well, though, to be fair. More charity donations turned up. “Do you have big jugs?” the bar staff were asked, in an attempt to buy beer in pitchers. Whoops.
On good form now we made our way across the road to the Millstone. Mutant 1 and Reargunner arrived - very late - so we fined them. Pammy the Pole Dancer arrived a) very very late and b) not in accordance with red dress regulations. So we fined her twice, in Guinness. On Pres, as appears traditional, was doused in said beer. Meanwhile, overheard in the urinals was the teaser “Where do I hang my handbag?” I can’t remember much about the Golden Fleece. It may have involved beer. It all got a bit blurry after this: The London Inn to the Black Bull to the London Inn to the Black Bull. We sang, we danced, we drank, we laughed, and we did press-ups. Tempted to pole-dance, Jane spotted something long and hard but observed that it was “too big – you can’t get your hand around it. Perhaps two hands...?” Fully fired up, we unleashed ourselves on the sleepy hollow that is St Mary’s Vaults. We turned the back bar red, Long Runny One chatted up the locals, and Pammy came over all hot. “Can you poke me out of the window?” she asked. Anything to oblige, offered the hounds.
Pubs in Stamford were chocker by now. We were still dressed in strawberry frocks. “Just act as if you’re normal”, advised Mutant 1, who has worn a few dresses in his time. The hash-based pole-dancing club were outed. “Oh yes”, exclaimed Pammy. “We have a session in my garage every Wednesday”. On went the manic dancing. Stamford locals didn’t get a look in. The music was thumping. We looked like the worst Eurovision act ever, probably from Kazakhstan or somewhere. More beer, more charity, more swapping of clothes,more dancing,some snogging even... Eventually last orders were announced.We tumbled into the street,bleary eyed,with our lippy all smeared.Tired slightly shabby,but happy and dressed to the nines we mooched off to our respective crash spaces. On and on and on and on...
Hash Number 614 6th July 2008 Exton
The hash this week began in the picturesque village of Exton. At least, the village green with its surrounding cottages were picturesque; after that it all got a bit ‘samey’. From the start we were warned about the long legs. What we were not told, however, was that these long, straight roads had a hash halt every couple of metres. Some of these were cunningly hidden in dried up puddles and even in little potholes. Hare Nudge Nudge should be in the running (excuse the pun!) for the smallest ever hash halt. Mutant 1, meanwhile, had an agenda of his own. It is fair to say that Harry has done quite a few hashes. Why then, was he calling “on one” long after the on on had been called. Was he behind the group? Had he not heard the call? No! He was at the front and was the one who had called “on on” in the first place! Mind you, at least he had remembered what to call after seeing three blobs. VIP was obviously saving her voice and graciously ran on past the third blob, allowing others much further behind to make the call. Mutant the Sinner then lost the plot completely and proceeded to call when there were no blobs in sight, and failed to obey the rules regarding the hash halts. Yes, he is fast, but how on earth did he manage to get back to his car, change and down a couple of pints before the rest of us had even found the On Inn? Oh, I see, there was no ‘On Inn’. In fact, come to think of it, there weren’t even any blobs after the final hash halt. Had the hare run out of flour? Had the hashers suddenly developed white-blob-blindness? Had a curtain-twitching Extonite sought advice from the police about the safe removal of a strange white substance? Who knows?! We had been advised that certain semi-nomadic types have been known to place flour beside houses that may be worthy of a ‘second look’, and that the hash trail had therefore caused some concern in the village. I wonder how many of the good folk of Rutland and surrounding counties we have worried in our time by sprinkling several tons of MacDougall’s up and down the roads. All of them, probably. Hundreds of burglar alarms have possibly been bought and fitted on the strength of perceived Sunday morning rural crime waves. Mutant 1 expressed his personal, yet somewhat extreme, views on the matter. I’m sure I saw a small, black moustache begin to grow as he spoke, and I believe his right arm began to twitch and straighten. It was all quite worrying. At long last, and after a great deal of effort, Canary Boy managed to pull on a hash. Unfortunately, it was his hamstring he pulled, and not a dolly bird. However, the act brought a pained expression to his face and made him limp, so the overall effect was the same.
And so to the circle which, in view of everyone’s impeccable behaviour, was unusually short. Bummer wasn’t even fined for shortcutting. Now that is newsworthy! Happy Feet and Squelchy were called into the circle for being caught in a field together, but I’m not sure that Bummer’s comment about boosting numbers was really appropriate. Fresh As and Dogplop were accused of talking bollocks (or should that be talking to bullocks? I’m not quite sure). Swollen Bits was seen offering his nuts to all and sundry – no change there then – and Fresh As and FNL were keen to boast their knowledge as teachers by clearly explaining what a ‘kitty’ was. Don’t worry folks, your children’s education is safe in their hands.... There were no virgins to embarrass, although, according to Mudplug, there were a couple of ‘nearly virgins’. (I’m still trying to get my head around that comment, but it’s probably best that I don’t dwell on it for too long). We did have two returners though, namely Careless and Walkie Talkie (our Arab contingent), as well as an old blue box which hadn’t shown its face for a long time. As the rain started to fall, all that was left to do was remind everyone about the red dress hash on Saturday, starting at 16:00 hours at the Danish Invader. Surely it is worth it just to see a group of otherwise normal (debatable?!) men dressed in pretty frocks. Count me in!
Hash Number 613 Sun 29 Jun 08 Greetham
Our hares today were Nudge Nudge, Scotty, and Mudplug. That’ll be the previous winners of the Marathon award combined with a hare who has a reputation for long, hard ones. The chance of being back at the On Inn after 45mins was pretty slim. Bloodhound got ahead of himself and turned up at next week’s RV, gathered his thoughts, cursed his map reading, found us, joined in, and then began to regret it. Laughing Boy remembered to dress himself before going out, but forgot what he was going out for and omitted his hare attire. Tut tut. Off we went past the ‘sportsmen’ on the golf course (I don’t have an issue with them, but anybody who dresses like a clown, wears one glove and has the other flopping about on their backsides, swinging imaginary clubs at imaginary balls, thinking that they’ll get fit by poncing about in an electric car needs to take a long hard look at themselves. No offence.) and then past the pretty little lakes (golf courses are, in my humble opinion, a waste of a perfectly good park) across the little streams, up hill and down dale (I mean, what’s all that birdie, back nine, bogie rubbish about anyway?). Numbered back arrows were in abundance and, cunningly, the hares managed to run at position x, where x equals the number beside the back arrow plus one. That’s so clever! People began to tire, to walk, and to sit, which meant we subsequently ran low on lager. Mutant 1 fell in a hole and hurt his ankle, which now happens at 1045 every Sunday. Perhaps he has shares in Tubigrip? Dolly was so tired she was unable to skip. She then forgot that she was dealing with English people and referred to a hash halt as an ooh stop. Whatever works for you. Goldie seized the high ground and refused to give it up even though the trail went elsewhere. Perhaps she thought we couldn’t see her shortcutting in her electric neon fluorescent yellow hi-visibility running top. At the chicken farm, Nudge Nudge asked the farmer what time the chickens came out to play. “Yes”, said the farmer, looking blank. “No”, said NN. “What time do they come out?” “Yes”, replied the farmer, using the only English word he knew. He wasn’t Greetham born-and-bred, methinks. Anyway, chickens duly arrived. One appeared to lay an egg, which fascinated Happy Feet. I don’t think it was an egg. I wouldn’t stick my little soldier in it, eggy or not (yes, okay, well spotted, FNL).
Back at the circle, the hash was assessed. “Nice and long”, said Squeakers, but she may have been talking about the hares. “Nice long legs”, said Bugs, but she may have been talking about the hares too. “Too wet”, said someone else, probably not talking about the hares at all. Happy Feet said that it was typical of post-modernist externalism, stating that hashing is “the new black”. I suspect she may be eating the wrong sort of cereal.
Squeakers was Sherriff, and she fined people for taking photos, for looking at her in a funny way, for talking, for breathing heavily, and for running in a provocative manner. Blimey, she’s harsh. Jordan (another of Jane and Claire’s seemingly endless supply of small children) was toasted as a virgin. Bloodhound’s birthday was celebrated with lashings of cake and ginger beer. Diarrhoea and the Septics (which sounds like the worst rock band ever) were fined for being filthy returner types. Diarrhoea then paid for his lost property in lager, but got a bit emotional and drove off, quite slowly, without it. FNL got all impatient and gave him the horn.
My final comment?
If aches and pains are an indication of a successful hash, then it was a humdinger. I’m in bits today. On on to Exton.
Hash Number 612 Sun 22nd Jun 08 Burton Le Coggles
Scribe:Long Runny One
Today’s Hash had a French theme, well some of us made an effort! With the On On out of the village and up a farm track, with the lack of flour, the hares continued to lead us up this farm track missing the opportunities of the woods and to get us away from the wind. Maybe the wind blew away the flour?!
On On still no flour but we found the beer stop (well done)!
Sporty Spice got a puncture and let me carry her bike through a rape field. Where’s her dad? (And me with the bad back). Most of us behaved (did anyone see Bummer do a short cut?) but for Dog Plop (yes he did a back arrow) pinching from the kids, a bike from Sporty, and a drinking mug from Bugs, he should have been hung draw and quartered.
Squeaky needs to read the Hash Bible as racing is not allowed (Bugs, Adam and Stella)
Happy Birthday to Einstein 21
Swollen bits only 48
Congratulations to Knickerdorfe she is a lucky women nearly as lucky as Oldest Swinger Happy Anniversary!
Welcome to the Virgins Adam and Liam.
Looking forward to the next Long Windy Hash without flour! Your Long Runny One
P.S: Bobs lost his onions on the way around if you can get them back to him as his wife’s making a stew. Thanks!
Hash Number 611 Sun 15th Jun 08 North Luffenham
Well, it was a very special birthday hash today. Or was that last week? Laughing boy had been told that he must be there for Mudders’ birthday. As important as our On Pres is, and as much as he likes wearing dresses, he isn’t the queen and doesn’t get umpteen birthdays a year. So Laughing Boy, despite not bothering to turn up, you didn’t actually miss Mudplug’s birthday last week. Come back next April! Anyway, Hash 611 was hared by a centurion. Well, two 50-year-olds to be precise. As is usual for Rutland HHH, we were late in starting. Mind you, we did have two virgins. Not that we can blame Clive and Pammy, though. Rather, it was the walk back to the house to get the flour to then brief the virgins that actually caused the delay. Well done VIP. Senility setting in early is it?! Finally we were off! We had barely gone 20 metres when a sight that was to become all too familiar lay before us – the dreaded back arrow! Mind you, at least we could actually see that one. Many of us were left wondering if the hares were just using the same checks from the last North Luffenham hash. Or was it, perhaps, that there had been some celebratory drinking going on before the trail was set? There really is a check there, honest! As we raced every which way across fields, the call of “hare in front” was heard. Yes, it was true, but that was actually the only way of knowing where we were supposed to be going. Of course, the sheep may have eaten the flour….
And so we continued, forwards and backwards, missing checks and being sent off into fields by arrows which were, in fact, “just blobs”. There was much buffoonery along the way. Bloodhound’s little sidekick, Einstein, came out to play, and the two of them could be seen rolling around in the grass. Meanwhile, at a check (that could be identified) Mutant 1 rather surprised VIP by asking her if there was “time for a bit of sausage”. Whatever next?! Approximately 34 checks later (who was counting, Bloodhound?), the clearly marked ON INN directed us, literally, up the garden path. The perfect setting for a super spread of tortillas, cake, strawberries…and champagne! Not that cheapo stuff. Oh no. Only the finest for the beautiful birthday girls, VIP and Hash Harlot. They didn’t even have to use their bright yellow mugs, either. Instead they were able to drink from real glass flutes. Blimey! But then, they deserve it, don’t they? On Pres took the birthday girls back in time, to the days when Abba won the Eurovision Song Contest (or was that Arsenal?), and the Osmonds were number one. VIP came over all unnecessary, and started to thank everyone for making hashing such a wonderful experience. Blub, blub. HH remained quiet, but then she was drinking far more slowly than her comrade. Or perhaps it was because she had been stunned by the missile strawberry fired at her by CB. Still, better than it being shoved down your trousers, eh Harlot? And so, the fine food and drink started to disappear, the singing became more of a slurring and Di’s beautiful cottage reverted back to its picture-postcard setting. Thank you hares, and the High family, for such a fantastic hash and an excellent spread. Let’s just hope that someone told the virgins that we don’t have champagne every week…
Hash Number 610 Sun 8th Jun 08 Kings Cliffe
It was a beautiful sunny, quiet morning in Kings Cliffe, well it was until a bunch of rowdy Hashers turned up for a trip round the village and fields.
The hares this week were F N L and Swollen Bits they tried to sort out some kind of brief, as we had a visitor all the way from the smoke (city hash) he was known as Anal Condom I didn’t think it was polite to ask why he was named that way.
Anyway we welcomed him with a nice cold beer, then on to the brief with very very neat and tidy hash symbols, and you could tell a teacher had drawn them! However when it came to the history lesson we were told there used to be 19 pubs but now there are only 1 pub left that sounded like she may be needing a teacher all to herself lovely grasp of our language. So off we went down lanes over fields through some whopping great puddles which Squelchy had a great time soaking anybody who was unlucky enough to get in his way (sorry vip).
On was the call so off we went through some more fields where we saw a few inquisitive cows and a young bull. Most of us were wearing those RED 600 shirts, yes you guessed it! Charge! They came full pelt towards us. How we sprinted across that field leaving the kids behind as bait! Everybody made it! Off we went again over bridges, which was different, we normally don’t bother with bridges just wade through the rivers! Long Runny One tried to chuck F N L in the drink but that’s just normal practice for L R O, He does like to wind folk up you know. Long runny one’s hound Meg even helped the hares by curling in one blob of her own, how she found the time with all that none stop barking I will never know. After passing a few stinging nettles and a few more hash halts we heard the wonderful sound of ON INN!
So that meant it was time for the circle sheriff C B step forward, first for a beer was FNL, next blob is on or normal check or what ever? Blonde moment? Anal Condom, running on check, on three twice means at least one beer. I suppose that could show all the signs of an insufficient brief? Ok get the hares back in the circle! So that’s how it carried on best finish now. (I could go on all day!) Thanks to fnl and swollen Bits for a good hash anyway.
So it’s On On to North Luffenham for strawberries and cream.
Hash Number 609 Sun 1 Jun 08 Wymondham
In contrast to the previous day’s antics, it was a slightly subdued crowd of 22 that gathered on a cool, overcast morning at Wymondham. Many were nursing aches and pains from yesterdays hash and volleyball, but still they plodded off bravely. We braved the field of the killer sheep, we got chased by mad cows, and through mud and rivers we went. Gemma and Charlie showed early promise by ignoring the footbridges and taking the short, wet routes. Jamie, meanwhile, needed no encouragement. Happily we trotted around the pleasant village of Wymondham, until we came to a stile. Happy Feet, refreshed from her short cut, was near to the head of the pack. She’s six, and so she takes a little longer to get over barriers. FnL, meanwhile, was keen to get on. Not content to wait, she set about climbing over the adjacent barbed wire fence. What she didn’t know was that the ground fell away on the far side, a bit like Becher’s Brook at Aintree. I don’t think it’s a secret that FnL is quite tall, and much of that is leg. However, she met her match in a four feet tall fence, and no amount of tippy-toe action could prevent her snagging herself in an unusual, but entertaining way. Bummer volunteered to help, rubbing his hands together with glee, but was beaten in the rush by Claire, who cleverly unhooked FnL, allowing her to rush off blushing. What a shame she already has a name. And so to the circle. Yellow RHHH mugs were in abundance, some painstakingly marked with their owner’s names. How nice to see. Mudplug wasn’t allowed to drink from his. Instead a yard of Stella was brandished, which was a lot of fun to drink, believe me. We dispersed with our feet wet, our legs aching, our bellies full of beer, and our shorts ripped to shreds. Brunch, for some, followed in a cafe fit only for dwarves. Add an aching head too, then. On on.
Hash Number 600 Sat 31 May 08 Wakerley Wood
At long last the 600th hash arrived. The crowds gathered at Wakerley and grew and grew, up to 41 hashers. Most folk were met by Pansy Power who, lacking internet connection to the outside world, turned up at 10am and had the opportunity to walk the woods, and most of Northamptonshire, before the trail began. The grass had grown and had been ignored by the authorities and so it was up to Bummer and LRO to dust off their mowers and give the usual site a short back and sides. Well done chaps! Gemma and Charlie got off to a great start as virgins, Smutley and Diarrhoea joined us from our old mates, the Quorn hash, and Numbnuts and Games Mistress flogged down from Lincoln to come and party. Out of the blue, Gill arrived for her annual visit. What is it about the sunshine, beer and outdoor cooking that attracts her once a year? Early questions to the hares, Bloodhound and Fresh As A, included the teaser “Is there any hot laying going on?”, whilst a hare was heard to comment that he’d “done the virgins”. Under the control of our MC Mr B, a chorus of the traditional bum-titty song signalled the off, and away we went. Hash halts in tight areas gave rise to mob behaviour, mud-slinging, and bad jokes. For an hour and a half we trotted gaily along. Squeakers (bless her), on hearing that Mutant had sustained his annual Wakerley Wood injury, commented that he did look “much worse than normal”. Petal, the gay dog, savaged a small child - twice - whilst her parents looked on laughing. “She must be really tasty”, they said of their daughter, as her face was chewed off. After the little girl was airlifted to hospital for her rabies jabs, ‘Petal’ was christened ‘Paedophido’. I certainly won’t be messing with it, or calling it gay, again. Bloodhound achieved 350 runs, Giggles managed her 100th, and there was a special celebration to mark Mutant’s 450th hash (of the 600 run to date). Goldie revealed the new RHHH mug, on sale for a pound, then proceeded to hand them out like, well, handouts. Don’t ever go into sales, Goldie, is all I’ll say. Mutant started to come over all stiff, so out came the patio furniture and table cloths and we did ourselves proud with a spread worthy of a royal garden party. A significant amount of Belgium’s finest was seen off and, during the mixed, all ages, all abilities volleyball, Geoffrey Quiver threw himself around like a seven-year old, Laughing Boy played his own private game, Squeakers got all serious, and Rooster revealed that he is, in fact, a big girl. VIP left early to get her hands on some other bloke’s sausage at a rival barbie, and we all finally packed up and allowed Wakerley to be quiet once more, as well as slightly cleaner and better maintained. You all did very well!
Hash 599H Sunday 25 May 08, Navenby
Scribe: ‘Mutant 1’
The RV was the car park opposite Odling & Sons butchers shop, everyone found it easily unlike the previous two weeks although some found it later than others, didn’t they ‘Blakey’.
The pack set off punctually at 1215-1220 ish, Mutant plus five or six others following a trail northwards up the High St then reversing at a check back (8) by which time the cunning yanks had carefully wiped out all the blobs on the way back. After covering at least 5 miles extra we caught up with the pack. 1225 and ‘PP’ had stopped for her first natural break,
‘Fresh as’ had shed three layers and ‘Scotty’ was already ahead of the pack and going for bust. After a really dull and boring run around half of Lincolnshire brightened only by an excellent beer stop, I found the ‘On Inn’; at this point ‘Blakey’ joined the hash. There are some scurrilous rumours going about suggesting me and ‘Oldest swinger’ missed a hash halt, how reallllllllly hurtful.
After the hares were chastised and some of the wrong doers were fined for their misdemeanours (Trench foot) set a new decibel record for a junior belch.
HASH 599G, 18th May 08, at Castor Hanglands
And so to Castor Hanglands. This is a very pleasant little wood that we don’t go to much because it’s a dog to find. Hence we were all (well, nearly all) late. Early fines resulted, and Laughing Boy staggered off into the hash a little tipsy. More of this later. Castor Hanglands, you’ll probably be aware, is a favoured haunt of the butterfly catcher, the twitcher, the rare Myxarium nucleatum, and now the not-so-rare Rutlandicus Hasheratum Stella.
A great run was expected since the combined laying experience (snigger) of the hares amounted to 221 hashes. How wrong we were. Twenty-five hounds with a combined age of 1,253 years (Laughing Boy was there, remember?) set off. The FRBs were ably accompanied by Mutant Hare, the SCBs by Bummer Hare, and the DFLs by Reargunner Hare. Up and down wooded paths we went, across bridges, into shady glades, over fences, up hills, and down hills. Checks were frequent, and welcome. Newby Claire went off prematurely, but we’ve all done that at some point, eh Bazza? Runny One (he’s not so long now) and F’n’L always checked out together, even skipping back from a false trail hand-in-hand like young lovers on one occasion. How sick. Shiggy appeared. Some tippy-toed around it, but the usual suspects stuck with the old shortest-distance-is-a-straight-line law. Much splashing and cursing resulted. Happy Feet found her voice and started calling. Shortly afterwards, she called wrongly, and discovered drinking. Laughing Boy noted that his hour was up, but since he was a bit tiddly by now, he’d forgotten when he started. Of course, Laughing Boy often forgets his own name and where he lives. Over a cow field we went, Hash Harlot screaming and sprinting in the opposite direction for fear of being trampled, perhaps by snails, whilst F’n’L went off in search of stallions again. Some people were fined for badness. Real criminals got to sit on the seat of pain. I got wet, but that seems to be the law. Swollen Bits (‘My other car’s a Porsche – honest it is’) drove off in a Smart Car. That credit crunch must have hurt him. As he drove off, and by way of an assessment of the whole thing, Dog Plop carried out a drive-by shooting. Those Oakham types have gone bad.
Well done, hares, but must try harder next time.
HASH 599F, 11th May 08, at Maxey//Helpston??
Scribe: Geoffrey Quiver
Upon arrival, the Oldest Swinger was seen heading in the opposite direction to the rest of the Hash – not a good start for the Hare. Eventually an RV was established just off the railway line.
The Safety Brief was angling for compliments, but unabated we were directed to the On On – half a mile up the road - the road we had all recently been fully acquainted with!
Laughing Boy was spotted arriving late, having been equally confused by the directions (well that was his excuse but it seems reasonable). Off at a pace we headed across the Lincolnshire flatlands. Cries of ‘Hare in front’ abounded as we followed directions of the flour. But non mes amis – not the intended trail. Clearly Long Runny One was suffering in the sun, ‘follow me’ he cried as he waded across a deep muddy ditch – we didn’t! The teddies were definitely out of his cot and wet he was too. This was shortly followed by another local route amendment, well the flour definitely didn’t lead us to the river crossing ‘Hare in front’ was heard again. Somehow though, this one looked refreshing and only a small minority elected for the distant yet safe bridge crossing. Around the corner lay the Lincolnshire flatlands hill – well a dyke bank actually and the obligatory back arrow at the bottom – much amusement and captured for posterity by Short Straw. Reunited and with very soggy feet we tramped around the lake to a very refreshing beer/shandy stop. Pace restored and rickety fence crossed we experienced the longest checkback ever attempted – Stamford to Deeping (or so it seemed) just as well the Tallington crossing had re-opened for some. With the field now well and truly spread, we emerged from the hedgerows on to the bank to complete the loop and a hot and sweaty jog back to the temporary RV.
On Pres was desperate to head to Stamford (Bridge), probably wished he hadn’t bothered and the Hares were duly chastised. The Sheriff decided they got off too lightly and called them to account with due punishment. The non swimmers were identified and duly wetted, and Giggles was reintroduced to hashing after 23 consecutive non hash runs.
Hash Harlot is co-ordinating the Salad/Pud balance for the 600th ‘Bring your own meat’ BBQ. So any more offers, please contact HH or see her next week at Castor Hanglands.
HASH 599E, 4th May 08, at Morkery Wood
Puff pant puff pant puff pant puff pant oh blimey it’s a Mudplug hash puff pant puff pant puff pant back arrow puff pant back arrow puff pant shiggy slip slide eek messy puff pant puff pant puff pant swamp splish splosh yuk puff pant thank the lord a beer stop slurp slurp off we go puff pant puff pant burp puff pant puff pant back arrow puff pant puff pant back arrow puff pant puff pant puff pant on inn phew puff pant burp puff pant stop relax.
Nearly two hours. Whoops.
To the circle. Hurrah!
Mudders and Long Runny One were fined for being created. Each had an iddy-biddy birthday cake, in a glass. Dolly messed her pants so we got fined. Goldi won a colouring-in competition so she got fined. Pansy Power has a dog with a gay name so she got fined. Our virgins were fined for sitting, and for weeing (hopefully not at the same time) and for being downright virgins.
Then we ganged up on FNL. She was fined for having a hissy fit, for failing yet again to wear hash attire, and for being a DFL FNL. How poetic. I think she likes the attention.
Final mentions: 1. For LRO, who claims that he would run through walls for this hash. That would explain his looks, then.
2. To Swollen Bits, who zoomed off in his Porsche, the flash git. If only he was as fast on two legs….
HASH 599D, 27th Apr 08, at Greatford
Scribe: Dog Plop
The Hash gathered at Glorious Greatford, sponsored by Canary Boy and Squelchy who was looking a bit fatigued (young lad). The Hashers formed the circle for the standard history introduction to find out about sand and gravel, stood in the Pub car park, which is the oldest building in the village (at least should it be there when we get back). Some old friends met up at this point as Rudolph had dropped her dog biscuits, Ben and the Chicken Killer had been re-united after a long absence.
Canary Boy had to lay out the hash symbols for our new guest Hasher Jane, (who hashed in Spain) a bit of come down to Lincolnshire.
Off we went on our happy journey through this fine village, coming across some alternative accommodation, pointed out by Oldest Swinger at the very large retirement home for those of us who are in receipt of pensions. (Mutant 1/Dog Plop/Gump)
With this in mind Canary Boy had set a trend for a gentle hash and wonderful views. Once onto the open plains we were heading toward some old haunt called Braceborough and the church looked very familiar. So it was (ON ON) we went across more open plains until it was dyke crossings. Happy Feet was not happy with this, but she was persuaded with the assistance from Dog Plop and Squeakers. But as per normal Long Runny One was loitering on the back arrows to attract Dog Plop but he was having none of it.
Soon it was ON IN and the pub served wonderful half pints and coke. The circle formed and the usual fines were handed out. Except for one, it was MUTANT 1 ones birthday (dressed as 118 man) also returning Hashers were Gump/Rudolph/Rooster
So ON ON to HASH 559E - Morkey Wood by Mudplug
Hash 599C, 20th Apr 08, at Bedford Purlieus
Fresh back from a warm corner of the Med,to a damp and gloomy Bedford purlieus wood.
The brave and daft of Rutland Hash began to gather,slowly. By 10 ish i suspect tipping over the twenty.Hares LRO and Geoffrey Quiver assembled the throbbing masses,ok the shrivering few,their were some Long lost and indeed a new face Claire from Easton on the hill who had phoned me two years ago,confusing those instructions,take the trainers out of the box,place on the feet,and the scarey bit your now ready to exercise.Seems fair back in the box for two years!Geoffery gave us history of the place,part of the old Raf Kings Cliffe,then geography its knowhere near Bedford and as for purlieus not a clue.Perlieus "an area on the boders of a royal forest".
On out was the cry and by the On in some were almost crying!A few zig zags were laid to confuse any smart arse that may know the woods.So i did the zigs and short cutted the zags.Meanwhile somewhere ahead Mutant1 was rampaging on seeing only trail that fitted to his personnel inter cranium sat nav.After yet another claim of their not being a falsie and running on Mutant was hauled back kicking and protesting to be shown three blobs, with witnesses hands went up,maybe youve got me.So anyway on we went and nearing the end of this muddy excursion, trail went left out of the pond from the last check.Mutants sat nav kicked in along with myself and Fresh as, we taught them trail checking hares and pissed off in.Well, it was not long it was runny in places and who was it who nudged me that puddle?Remember their is plenty of winter left yet!
Well done Hares,On on to Greatford
Hash 599B, 13 Apr 08, at Bourne Woods
Scribe: Short Straw
Well, this was a great day and it was going to be shared with many others. Apparently the hares, Bloodhound and Dog Plop, failed to realize the local Orienteering Societies were also plodding around the woods. Car park attendants waving big hands welcomed us, and the hounds gathered for a non-chalk talk. A group grope was taken and Bloodhound pointed the direction of the on-on. Through the muck, through the mire, and over gullies we ran to our first check. Dog Plop must dream of being a Royal Marine Drill Sergeant because as soon as everyone gathered, he was off shouting - check it out, normal check, stand still, hurry up, move out, lie down, bla bla bla. And not a please in sight. This was to be a pattern that would be repeated throughout the day with Bloodhound looking on like a proud parent.
Past the ambulance depot we went. Laughing boy was still going strong so we didn’t stop. Dog Plop continued to bark at us. We left business cards at each of the orienteering checkpoints and eventually found the finish line. Too bad it was the orienteering finish, where small children stood crying and where adults wandered off to download, apparently. I noticed that they wear nice shin pads to protect their milky-white legs, the big girls. The hares still had plans for us. The car park beckoned, the on inn was located and an audible moan of relief was heard. At least that’s what I think it was.
The circle was started and we celebrated Bloodhound’s 100th outing as hare. Down-downs were awarded to Mud Plug, Rear Gunner and Quiver for false calling, to Shorty and Numb Nuts for hashing smarter not harder, to Diarrhoea for questioning Fresh As’s regularity, and to Dolly for wearing more clothes than a catwalk model. Shorty was punished for slandering the hares in an e-mail and for being born.
In sum, it was a great trail, and fun was had by all.
Hash 599A, Sun 6 Apr, at Castle Bytham
With two lawyers as hares, how could we go wrong? By following them quite literally up the garden path, that’s how. Whilst I’m convinced the start of 599A was legal, I’m sure I heard the sound of a sniper rifle being loaded in number 23. This was a splendid hash in splendid weather, although Mutant 1 and Squeakers thought it was cold enough to get Tourettes in their fingers so they wrapped bodge tape around their wrists to keep their poor digits warm. I fear it didn’t work and they only succeeded in looking like the oldest clubbers in town. There was disappointment as we were promised loads of shiggy, and it didn’t materialise. Nudge’s traditional Vauxhall Corsa-based beer stop was also a no-show. Perhaps Dolly has nicked his car? We did get blood, though. Vision in Pink made a bid to be re-named Vision in Crimson by exposing her varicose veins to some vicious blades of grass, and deposited half a pint or so of A Pos in some farmer’s crop. I feel it will be another week in trousers for Nurse Unpronounceable, and I might just lay off the local carrots for a while. Fresh As hashed in seventeen layers of clothing, whilst Mutant 1 ran in just less than one.VIP reported being buggered half-way round,but we didn't see her slow down at all.
And so to the circle in the flowery wooded glade. It was a lovely morning for drunken buffoonery, and I fear there was much twitching of curtains in the village as we saw Flourgrader and Bryn off the premises for the last time. Tired of the flat, he and Bryn are off to chase sheep up Scottish hills. Of note, a past-GM of the Kowloon hash joined us with Mrs past-GM for an impromptu down-down from the ‘special’ Nash Hash glasses. Perhaps we’ll see them again once their D&V wears off. My little chap popped out, on went the holy dish-dash, and we had a double baptism. Farewell Bob and Yvonne, and hello Swollen Bits and Fast ‘N’ Loose. Swollen Bits, topically, had a bit of a throb-on and FNL thanked us all heartily by chucking her Stella all over VIP, whose leg stung even more as a result. With friends like FNL, who needs enemies? Squeakers handed out loads of life-expired Easter Eggs and we all munched choccy like poor kids at playtime.
There was one last lesson for us all. If the entire circle is fined, the down-down song goes all bubbly and gurgly at the important drinking bit, rather like Hash Harlot does after one too many Chardonnays. It was fun, though, rather like Hash Harlot is after one too many Chardonnays.…..