MONDAY 26 FEBRUARY AT THE ORESTONE MANOR HOTEL
(by kind permission of Winfield our Scribe of the Year and assumed indulgence of the unknown George Dent)
They gathered, a suspicious little huddle, most clothed Shackleton Expedition style, befitting the sub zero temperatures. Established hashers still had vague and unsettling memories of the Maidencombe roped cliff trails of old and the Pillock responsible for numerous outrages in that godforsaken area. Newcomers thought it mildly entertaining - until enlightened...
The grand venue of the evening was the four star Orestone Manor Hotel and mightily difficult it had been in the arranging, more of the details later.
A WILD-EYED & GIBBERING IDIOT
Piltdown called the Circle to order and after the usual patter, summoned the hares. Strangely, Bobbiball seemed a little bashful in asserting his status of Master Hare of the trail and remember, post hash, that we are talking of the Hare of the Year. A wild-eyed and gibbering idiot (not Bobby, please behave) proceeded to give a garbled and unsettling vision of things to come on the upcoming trail. Begoggled and climbing rope clad, he palpably failed to instil confidence
The pack suitably unimpressed, pattered cautiously out of the safety of the Orestone car park into possible oblivion...
The first LS split appeared twenty metres later, precipitating the longs over the hedge and into the depths of Sladnor Park whilst the shorts sailed serenely down Rockhouse lane preceded by the self-styled Indian Scout - sigh.
NO CROSSES - FLOUR SHORTAGE
The longs, deliberately slowed up by a succession of non-crossed checks (the hares pleading shortage of flour) gave the shorts a sporting chance of getting to the first Regrope (sic) at one km into the trail. Master Hare Bobby had wisely decided to keep casualties to a minimum on this Night of Nights for TVH.
A second RG, some 600 metres later, was the point where hashers, long and short, were given the choice of getting back home unscathed or following He who should not be named on an attempt to scale the near vertical pass into the Hidden Valley - in darkness.
Small in numbers but giant in stature were the hashers 'who dared' to descend Watcombe Beach Road into the unknown.
WET JOHNNY WET JOHNNY WET JOHNNY
Spearheaded by Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, they reached the base of the climb and WJ, WJ, WJ (that ruddy song has immortalised you, blast it) was given the rope and tasked with ascending and anchoring the followers.
MISSING GOBRAS - SHIRLEY?
Up they came one by one, all spurning the assistance of the rope (I told you Bobby, if we old timers could do it, the young Lochinvars certainly could) including Beefy, disconcerted by the bellow of 'Good Boy, Beefy!', a trusting Wigwam and, waiting for clear passage, Ding Dong and her intrepid hound Brock. Conspicuous by their absence were GOBRAS U Bend and Piddler - come on lads, Shirley you didn't believe it was dangerous? All had departed into the wonders of the kingdom of the Hidden Valley when a light was seen approaching - Wide Receiver. Wide, always up for a challenge, had been misdirected (hands up, I was to blame) by a rogue arrow and was late for the party.
Delayed by that wretched rope, the hare, gasping for breath (give me a break, I'm decrepit) attempted catch-up, finally rejoining at the alternate summit route out of the Hidden Valley (original route through the rock cave overgrown).
Remarkably (Good Boy Bobby, it only worked), the longs and some shorts met up again at the bottom of the Goats Path and a quick RG was organised at the top (The Perch) to advise on the no man's land passage up to Ashley Priors Lane.
According to Beefy's data, the run was 'only' 2.6 miles but only 2 minutes over the advised 45 minutes for an Award's Night. Thank you Master Hare Bobby, I bow to your greater wisdom which I had so cruelly slagged off on the lay..
RIGHT ROYAL TREATMENT
Inside the Orestone Manor, hashers were right regally treated, enjoying Dartmoor Legend (specially ordered in) and a most delicious (agreed by all) lasagne, prepared and served by our generous host, chef and owner, Neil D'Allen. Eighteen diners gave an indication of the quality on offer with even Teapot a late booker after inspecting the fare. A pint of Legend and lasagne/trimmings for £6 in sumptuous surroundings is a rare night for TVH and our grateful thanks go to Neil, Laura, (Ding Dong) staff and of course Bobbiball for their hard work to make the Awards Night such a success.
and the 2017 TVH3 Awards go to........
Hasher - Piltdown Man
Harriet - Slip-on-me
Hare - Bobbiball
Trail - Badgers Holt, Slip-on-me & Pisswell
Newcomer - Shit Faced
On Down - The Park Inn
Pillock - Fukawe
Scribe - Winfield
ON ON to next week from the Palk Arms at Hennock chez Forrest Stump.
(by kind permission of Winfield our Scribe of the Year and assumed indulgence of the unknown George Dent)
They gathered, a suspicious little huddle, most clothed Shackleton Expedition style, befitting the sub zero temperatures. Established hashers still had vague and unsettling memories of the Maidencombe roped cliff trails of old and the Pillock responsible for numerous outrages in that godforsaken area. Newcomers thought it mildly entertaining - until enlightened...
The grand venue of the evening was the four star Orestone Manor Hotel and mightily difficult it had been in the arranging, more of the details later.
A WILD-EYED & GIBBERING IDIOT
Piltdown called the Circle to order and after the usual patter, summoned the hares. Strangely, Bobbiball seemed a little bashful in asserting his status of Master Hare of the trail and remember, post hash, that we are talking of the Hare of the Year. A wild-eyed and gibbering idiot (not Bobby, please behave) proceeded to give a garbled and unsettling vision of things to come on the upcoming trail. Begoggled and climbing rope clad, he palpably failed to instil confidence
The pack suitably unimpressed, pattered cautiously out of the safety of the Orestone car park into possible oblivion...
The first LS split appeared twenty metres later, precipitating the longs over the hedge and into the depths of Sladnor Park whilst the shorts sailed serenely down Rockhouse lane preceded by the self-styled Indian Scout - sigh.
NO CROSSES - FLOUR SHORTAGE
The longs, deliberately slowed up by a succession of non-crossed checks (the hares pleading shortage of flour) gave the shorts a sporting chance of getting to the first Regrope (sic) at one km into the trail. Master Hare Bobby had wisely decided to keep casualties to a minimum on this Night of Nights for TVH.
A second RG, some 600 metres later, was the point where hashers, long and short, were given the choice of getting back home unscathed or following He who should not be named on an attempt to scale the near vertical pass into the Hidden Valley - in darkness.
Small in numbers but giant in stature were the hashers 'who dared' to descend Watcombe Beach Road into the unknown.
WET JOHNNY WET JOHNNY WET JOHNNY
Spearheaded by Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, they reached the base of the climb and WJ, WJ, WJ (that ruddy song has immortalised you, blast it) was given the rope and tasked with ascending and anchoring the followers.
MISSING GOBRAS - SHIRLEY?
Up they came one by one, all spurning the assistance of the rope (I told you Bobby, if we old timers could do it, the young Lochinvars certainly could) including Beefy, disconcerted by the bellow of 'Good Boy, Beefy!', a trusting Wigwam and, waiting for clear passage, Ding Dong and her intrepid hound Brock. Conspicuous by their absence were GOBRAS U Bend and Piddler - come on lads, Shirley you didn't believe it was dangerous? All had departed into the wonders of the kingdom of the Hidden Valley when a light was seen approaching - Wide Receiver. Wide, always up for a challenge, had been misdirected (hands up, I was to blame) by a rogue arrow and was late for the party.
Delayed by that wretched rope, the hare, gasping for breath (give me a break, I'm decrepit) attempted catch-up, finally rejoining at the alternate summit route out of the Hidden Valley (original route through the rock cave overgrown).
Remarkably (Good Boy Bobby, it only worked), the longs and some shorts met up again at the bottom of the Goats Path and a quick RG was organised at the top (The Perch) to advise on the no man's land passage up to Ashley Priors Lane.
According to Beefy's data, the run was 'only' 2.6 miles but only 2 minutes over the advised 45 minutes for an Award's Night. Thank you Master Hare Bobby, I bow to your greater wisdom which I had so cruelly slagged off on the lay..
RIGHT ROYAL TREATMENT
Inside the Orestone Manor, hashers were right regally treated, enjoying Dartmoor Legend (specially ordered in) and a most delicious (agreed by all) lasagne, prepared and served by our generous host, chef and owner, Neil D'Allen. Eighteen diners gave an indication of the quality on offer with even Teapot a late booker after inspecting the fare. A pint of Legend and lasagne/trimmings for £6 in sumptuous surroundings is a rare night for TVH and our grateful thanks go to Neil, Laura, (Ding Dong) staff and of course Bobbiball for their hard work to make the Awards Night such a success.
and the 2017 TVH3 Awards go to........
Hasher - Piltdown Man
Harriet - Slip-on-me
Hare - Bobbiball
Trail - Badgers Holt, Slip-on-me & Pisswell
Newcomer - Shit Faced
On Down - The Park Inn
Pillock - Fukawe
Scribe - Winfield
ON ON to next week from the Palk Arms at Hennock chez Forrest Stump.
