SAD SAGA AT GALMPTON CREEK

#1744 Bank Holiday Monday 28th May from the Manor Inn at Galmpton

(Emergency scribe BB as Winfield & SMellie absent and George not to be found)

I felt a gospel refrain coming on as we entered the familiar sloping car park of the Manor Inn at Galmpton - come on, singalong with me now:

Yes, we'll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the hashers at the river
That flows by the throne of God.

Some four and twenty including two visitors and a rare appearance by Poacher gathered in the Manor Inn car park on a truly beautiful Bank Holiday evening.
Now I am only allowed out but once a week so I had made the effort to live up to my full hash handle of Bluebird Magnifico. The only surviving records of the ill-fated evening (Beefy) show how fine I looked. A new blue and white cap, a Jim Dandy pink striped summer shirt splendidly coordinated with my Beetlejuice black and white striped trousers and set off with my finest fake Ray-ban sunglasses and going out trainers - oh my, what a splendid fellow.

No Teapot or Winfield and so the GM was earning his salary by taking the roll. All done and Piltdown advanced to higher ground to relate the parable of the General Data Protection Regulations to the mini massed ranks below. A rolling of eyes and a gnashing of teeth ensued throughout and mightily grateful were the assemblage at the conclusion of the forced feed.

Normality - if there is such a thing at TVH - was restored at the summoning of the hare designate Mouldy plus the late addition of U Bend (his pub after all, dearly beloved). The double act related, as best they could, the array of choices available on the run but our combined intellect was, as usual, insufficient to grasp the complexities of the operation.

And the On On is that... the pack, spearheaded by that FRB of legend Poacher, spilled out of the car park, past the bemused betabled punters and through the chicanes of the quaint and decorative roadworks towards the creek...

Two checks into the run and two scouts had been sacrificed for the greater good of the pack - both Piltdown and Man Pig making crossed fists from afar - apparently a new hash signal for 'it's blasted not down here'.

Up a long drag from Galmpton and the longs were thin on the ground indeed, reportedly numbering but five hardy souls: Manopause, Man Pig, Beefy, Poacher and my good self. A shout from Beefy showed the way back down the fields to the river though Poacher had missed the turn and suddenly appeared stage right, legging it back into the lead after going a good quarter of a mile off trail.

Through a gate, over the road and there it was, Galmpton creek and Dartside Quay (see their facebook page).
I had a bad feeling when I saw U Bend standing on a grassy outcrop beckoning us forward to the mandatory water crossing.

I called for a piggy back, determined not to spoil my finery. Beefy, gent that he is, took up the task. I dimly recall turning on the cam to record the crossing and off we went. Shallow at first, the depth gradually increased and the bottom no longer discerned. Then Beefy slipped and over we went - consigning me and my trusty Acme cam to the murky green, diesel diluted depths of the creek. Oh horror, oh disaster - I looked at the cam on surfacing and saw a green screen with blue and orange stripes just before it blacked out for ever*. My cries of woe echoed around the creek 'Why me, oh why me?'

The sweetie stop was close by and Mouldy kindly offered me the remaining smarties as consolation before we continued the adventure.

Up we went through the fields and it was still a lovely evening, despite the dreadful ducking. The longs had gone beyond recall and I meandered with the gentle hashers (Soapy, Melon Picker, Shitfaced, Slobbadog & Laura et al) leisurely taking in the scenery.

Mouldy was on station at the next long/short split and sternly directed me onto the long whilst the gentle hashers continued their peaceful way on the short.

From then on I was alone but it was worthwhile when I happened upon the glorious vista high above the Dart and the log and site of a photo op of ours in the past.

It was too good an evening to be inside and the hash repaired to the garden to eat, drink and be entertained by the down downs.

Man Pig RA'd the proceedings and rewarded both hares with a drink for their efforts - fine trail it was lads, thanks indeed. Next was Able for her upcoming birthday (today) and she had a cake to hand out for the occasion. Hotlips (Hashit shirt) then proceeded to berate an unfortunate hasher for 'sex on the hash' or more specifically 'mounting' a hasher. The awful truth slowly dawned, it was me, bugger. Melon Picker found it hilarious, I'll get him back later. To add injury to insult (sic) there was no beer but baptism by water … sigh. Last up and receiving the Order of the Moose was Beefy for somehow missing the trail and confusing a cross for a dot ? Never mind, that's hashing, TVH Party style.

* The cam, though dried out overnight is still deceased but fear not, I had already sent off for a higher spec cam the day before.

On On to next week and the Jolly Sailor at East Ogwell with Zoot & Hotlips