April 2nd # 1736 Haldon Belvedere - Hare Wide Receiver-OD Bishop Lacy- Scribe Bluebird
Singalong with me now: Oh, where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a hash it's been...
But back briefly to the Belvedere car park or rather a glorified lay-by. Teapot, he of the official roll call, announced that 30 hashers had assembled to hear the reliable dulcet delivery of the imposing Grand Master Piltdown.
Returnees Paraprick and the shy Rearender were seen as well as the Orestone crowd of Sybil, Ding Dong and their 5 star travelling quarters for two hash dogs, and all were made welcome.
Wishing Rambo well and speedy recovery from all present was given pride of place before all other matters and it was reassuring to see Doris at the circle, kindly delivered by Winfield.
The hare Wide Receiver (who had been in action the previous day laying an Easter Sunday trail which was to be revisited after suitable reinstatement) proceeded to give a hash marking tutorial. This was highly significant, as without the armament of back checks and the FRB nightmarish fish hooks, the trail could not have been the triumph that it ultimately proved to be.
Given their marching orders, the hash bandwagon, augmented by at least eight dogs, rolled out into Haldon forest.
Veering off left down what seemed a picturesque wooded trail, the pride of the TVH immediately encountered bog conditions. Helplessly did they flounder in the unforgiving morass, pristine and gaily coloured hash outfits quickly surrendering to the elements.
The GM, valiantly assisting harriets had to be rescued himself and many a lament could be heard - and this after only two hundred yards! It was only the start of an hour and a half of unabated joy for some of the longs ...
Struggling to keep up - filming can lose you a lot of ground - I had my only stroke of luck when the hash was seen coming back from the first of the hare's back checks HA! Mud bespattered and disgruntled, they drifted back from whence they had just come.
Manpig was espied suspiciously probing the adjacent undergrowth, and I joined him on a mini expedition to out think the hare and steal a march. It proved futile and the half mile detour was punished by a lung gasping lope to rejoin the hash.
By now the hash was strung out and several little pockets of rattled hashers were waiting calls back from scouts - being reluctant to commit themselves to unnecessary 'flights of fancy' into the darkening woods.
In my world of pain - you try legging it when you're 70 mush - I heard Teapot's bugle call and there he was, bold as brass and miraculously unmuddied. The old firm of Wet Fart, Teapot and 69 joined up and approached another LS split. This proved to be (for me anyway) the defining moment of the evening.
Teapot frowned. 'The short can't be down there.' Thus spoke the accumulated wisdom of fifteen thousand hashes. I was by now thoroughly disorientated by the twists and about turns of the trail (see Beefy's strada) and 'I don't know where we've been and I've just been there.' (Butch Cassidy you fools.)
The mini me hash was now joined by SatNav, Threesome, the shocking pink attired harriet (sorry forgot your handle again) and Paraprick with two dogs. A lurgified Wet Johnny WJ WJ - clearly a hasher barely alive - struggled in the distance.
We dillied, dallied and eventually sallied down the suspicious directed short trail. The resulting cry of anguish was heard by many a hasher (it's that Pillock again!). Another wicked back check had been planted some way down the path - ARGHHH.
Dimly, through a descending red mist, and what I feared was a heart attack, the words of my favourite limerick echoed angel choral style as I sank to my knees*.
It was the final straw, I had been bested and had become even more irrational than usual (is that possible?). The taunting arrow found as we retreated wearily from Moscow beckoned us into nightmarish, heavily overgrown, off trail woods. Fearing for the bedraggled Bird's sanity, supporters gently led him away.
The bitter irony proved to be that the best part of the hash was as indicated - the sweetie stop apparently some 50 yards away from the demented and now insane Bird. In any event, in my current physical condition, it would have been nigh on impossible to do what the longs ultimately did - 90 minutes criss-crossing the trails before arriving back at the Belvedere CP.
A few other vaguely recalled observations:
Threesome deftly accessing the terrain map on her phone. The three returning harriets + large white dog who had come along again after their virgin appearance the week before and who were always there (passed them many times) enjoying it all. A call to a headtorched 'person' completely off trail proved to be Shrivel Dick. Wigwam waiting forlornly for Bobby in the car park begged the question how a walker could be out that long? Forrest in the Bishop Lacy snarling 'I'm NOT going to give you the Moose Hat as a punishment!' (Punishment? Reward actually as only a moron would want to gulp down the beer without enjoying it so please everyone, keep punishing me.) Teapot at the bar asking for the DDs is told by the management (name hidden) 'We didn't know you were coming, you said Monday!'
Didn't try the new Hunters Brewery Bluebeards Revenge 5.1 abv but enjoyed the reliable supping ale Greene King IPA 3.6 abv and fairly priced as well.
A good evening as usual on the only Party Hash in Devon. Thanks Wide, you were a star and I doff my Auteuil limited edition racing baseball cap to you. And nice to see Paraprick again.
* There was a young man from Bengal
Who went to a fancy dress ball
He decided to risk it
And went as a biscuit
But a dog ate him up in the hall
No? Well please yourselves then.
The Offenders on the night were......
Wide Receiver for taking a ride? on Trqua's dog.
Wigwam for falling into a puddle as he left Bobbi's van!
Beefy for going so wrong at the checks he went round twice (see his map)
Trqua for tripping herself up with her large bulldog.
ON ON to next week and the Wild Goose at Combeinteignhead, hare Shitfaced.
Beefy's recording of his route at Belvedere
Singalong with me now: Oh, where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a hash it's been...
But back briefly to the Belvedere car park or rather a glorified lay-by. Teapot, he of the official roll call, announced that 30 hashers had assembled to hear the reliable dulcet delivery of the imposing Grand Master Piltdown.
Returnees Paraprick and the shy Rearender were seen as well as the Orestone crowd of Sybil, Ding Dong and their 5 star travelling quarters for two hash dogs, and all were made welcome.
Wishing Rambo well and speedy recovery from all present was given pride of place before all other matters and it was reassuring to see Doris at the circle, kindly delivered by Winfield.
The hare Wide Receiver (who had been in action the previous day laying an Easter Sunday trail which was to be revisited after suitable reinstatement) proceeded to give a hash marking tutorial. This was highly significant, as without the armament of back checks and the FRB nightmarish fish hooks, the trail could not have been the triumph that it ultimately proved to be.
Given their marching orders, the hash bandwagon, augmented by at least eight dogs, rolled out into Haldon forest.
Veering off left down what seemed a picturesque wooded trail, the pride of the TVH immediately encountered bog conditions. Helplessly did they flounder in the unforgiving morass, pristine and gaily coloured hash outfits quickly surrendering to the elements.
The GM, valiantly assisting harriets had to be rescued himself and many a lament could be heard - and this after only two hundred yards! It was only the start of an hour and a half of unabated joy for some of the longs ...
Struggling to keep up - filming can lose you a lot of ground - I had my only stroke of luck when the hash was seen coming back from the first of the hare's back checks HA! Mud bespattered and disgruntled, they drifted back from whence they had just come.
Manpig was espied suspiciously probing the adjacent undergrowth, and I joined him on a mini expedition to out think the hare and steal a march. It proved futile and the half mile detour was punished by a lung gasping lope to rejoin the hash.
By now the hash was strung out and several little pockets of rattled hashers were waiting calls back from scouts - being reluctant to commit themselves to unnecessary 'flights of fancy' into the darkening woods.
In my world of pain - you try legging it when you're 70 mush - I heard Teapot's bugle call and there he was, bold as brass and miraculously unmuddied. The old firm of Wet Fart, Teapot and 69 joined up and approached another LS split. This proved to be (for me anyway) the defining moment of the evening.
Teapot frowned. 'The short can't be down there.' Thus spoke the accumulated wisdom of fifteen thousand hashes. I was by now thoroughly disorientated by the twists and about turns of the trail (see Beefy's strada) and 'I don't know where we've been and I've just been there.' (Butch Cassidy you fools.)
The mini me hash was now joined by SatNav, Threesome, the shocking pink attired harriet (sorry forgot your handle again) and Paraprick with two dogs. A lurgified Wet Johnny WJ WJ - clearly a hasher barely alive - struggled in the distance.
We dillied, dallied and eventually sallied down the suspicious directed short trail. The resulting cry of anguish was heard by many a hasher (it's that Pillock again!). Another wicked back check had been planted some way down the path - ARGHHH.
Dimly, through a descending red mist, and what I feared was a heart attack, the words of my favourite limerick echoed angel choral style as I sank to my knees*.
It was the final straw, I had been bested and had become even more irrational than usual (is that possible?). The taunting arrow found as we retreated wearily from Moscow beckoned us into nightmarish, heavily overgrown, off trail woods. Fearing for the bedraggled Bird's sanity, supporters gently led him away.
The bitter irony proved to be that the best part of the hash was as indicated - the sweetie stop apparently some 50 yards away from the demented and now insane Bird. In any event, in my current physical condition, it would have been nigh on impossible to do what the longs ultimately did - 90 minutes criss-crossing the trails before arriving back at the Belvedere CP.
A few other vaguely recalled observations:
Threesome deftly accessing the terrain map on her phone. The three returning harriets + large white dog who had come along again after their virgin appearance the week before and who were always there (passed them many times) enjoying it all. A call to a headtorched 'person' completely off trail proved to be Shrivel Dick. Wigwam waiting forlornly for Bobby in the car park begged the question how a walker could be out that long? Forrest in the Bishop Lacy snarling 'I'm NOT going to give you the Moose Hat as a punishment!' (Punishment? Reward actually as only a moron would want to gulp down the beer without enjoying it so please everyone, keep punishing me.) Teapot at the bar asking for the DDs is told by the management (name hidden) 'We didn't know you were coming, you said Monday!'
Didn't try the new Hunters Brewery Bluebeards Revenge 5.1 abv but enjoyed the reliable supping ale Greene King IPA 3.6 abv and fairly priced as well.
A good evening as usual on the only Party Hash in Devon. Thanks Wide, you were a star and I doff my Auteuil limited edition racing baseball cap to you. And nice to see Paraprick again.
* There was a young man from Bengal
Who went to a fancy dress ball
He decided to risk it
And went as a biscuit
But a dog ate him up in the hall
No? Well please yourselves then.
The Offenders on the night were......
Wide Receiver for taking a ride? on Trqua's dog.
Wigwam for falling into a puddle as he left Bobbi's van!
Beefy for going so wrong at the checks he went round twice (see his map)
Trqua for tripping herself up with her large bulldog.
ON ON to next week and the Wild Goose at Combeinteignhead, hare Shitfaced.
Beefy's recording of his route at Belvedere
