HARES PISSWELL & SLIP on ME Scribe Soapy
An evening Hashing is the catharsis for silly workaholics
Running round on open moorland sweating off your bollocks!
When you get home from day in office or driving in your van,
an evening out with ‘special’ friends, for running (if you can).
Bring along your mates, your dog or wife and join this jolly farce,
no more lazy nights watching TV, just sitting on your arse.
Don’t worry if you are not a runner - just walk or just pretend
The fact is you’re out in the fresh air, exercising with a friend.
A prime example of a good night, was from Hollwell farm on moor
Pisswell laid the trail with help from Slip on me, I do recall.
About 50-odd, (yes very odd) folks parked their cars on verge,
gathered chatting, kissing, hugging ‘til a circle did emerge.
Piltdown gave his usual spill - for this he is endeared,
asked who was buried in the church yard? – (answer Tony Beard)
A figure of 8 described the trail, which no one understood,
But off we set to follow flour, (which we would have if we could!)
Along the narrow stony paths, through bracken, gorse and bramble,
front-runners sped their way up hill, walkers took gentle amble.
Up and up (and even more) we climbed up and over Great Tor Rocks,
the marks were clear, she started well – Pisswell, bless her cotton socks!
Gravity assisted, down the other side we made our way,
we met another group of runners “On on” I heard them say?
At bottom of the hill we found a clapper bridge cross a brook,
so Bluebird made us pose on top and a photograph he took.
From here the trail was hard to find amongst the undergrowth,
and as for sweet stop and champagne - alas we missed them both!
Our figure of 8 was more like 9 or ten I start to think,
as through the sphagnum moss my blimmin’ trainers start to sink!
We got completely muddled now with no flour blobs on the floor,
then Shit Faced checked his phone and said “we’ve all been here before!!”
So we took the right path slightly uphill, 3Sum had a plan,
but as she rounded corner saw the back of Piltdown man!
He was also lost with Georgie in the bracken getting thicker,
so we followed yellow markers, the way we thought was quicker.
Whortleberries and the foxgloves led us through a gate up on a bank,
Piltdown shoved it open, so his brute force we must thank.
Hot and sweaty were our bodies, our feet were tired and sore,
On Down was The Rugglestone Inn at Widecombe in the moor.
A bit late we knew, but chef did well and served us tasty food,
Wide Receiver did the Down Downs and we listened as we chewed.
Forest was awarded two - for loosing, then the finding of his shirt,
Slobadog drank hers from bag designed for picking up ‘dog dirt’!
It was 3sum and Doris’s birthdays so we sang the birthday song,
all the right words but the tune and order - was completely wrong!
The eve was nearly over, old guys with prostates went for wee,
'Normal person’ gets a shock when Piddler touched him on the knee!!
OMG but where is Cold Tits? She’s still out there on her own!
Completely lost and getting dark used the torch upon her phone.
Thank you to the Hashers who left their beers to look for her,
the police were called, but didn’t go to the place that last we were.
When she turned up they were relieved, they said “We’re chuffed to bits”,
But were puzzled by the name of friend “You sure it is Cold Tits!”
Thank goodness she was safe, but let this be a lesson to all us all,
maybe on arrival we should write our names, and GM do Roll Call.
I’m sure this will be a hash we will reminisce for different reasons
Dartmoor is a lovely place but give respect in all the seasons.
Thanks to Pisswell and Slip on me for a trail we will remember
So invite your family and friends to join and become a member.
On on soapy x
An evening Hashing is the catharsis for silly workaholics
Running round on open moorland sweating off your bollocks!
When you get home from day in office or driving in your van,
an evening out with ‘special’ friends, for running (if you can).
Bring along your mates, your dog or wife and join this jolly farce,
no more lazy nights watching TV, just sitting on your arse.
Don’t worry if you are not a runner - just walk or just pretend
The fact is you’re out in the fresh air, exercising with a friend.
A prime example of a good night, was from Hollwell farm on moor
Pisswell laid the trail with help from Slip on me, I do recall.
About 50-odd, (yes very odd) folks parked their cars on verge,
gathered chatting, kissing, hugging ‘til a circle did emerge.
Piltdown gave his usual spill - for this he is endeared,
asked who was buried in the church yard? – (answer Tony Beard)
A figure of 8 described the trail, which no one understood,
But off we set to follow flour, (which we would have if we could!)
Along the narrow stony paths, through bracken, gorse and bramble,
front-runners sped their way up hill, walkers took gentle amble.
Up and up (and even more) we climbed up and over Great Tor Rocks,
the marks were clear, she started well – Pisswell, bless her cotton socks!
Gravity assisted, down the other side we made our way,
we met another group of runners “On on” I heard them say?
At bottom of the hill we found a clapper bridge cross a brook,
so Bluebird made us pose on top and a photograph he took.
From here the trail was hard to find amongst the undergrowth,
and as for sweet stop and champagne - alas we missed them both!
Our figure of 8 was more like 9 or ten I start to think,
as through the sphagnum moss my blimmin’ trainers start to sink!
We got completely muddled now with no flour blobs on the floor,
then Shit Faced checked his phone and said “we’ve all been here before!!”
So we took the right path slightly uphill, 3Sum had a plan,
but as she rounded corner saw the back of Piltdown man!
He was also lost with Georgie in the bracken getting thicker,
so we followed yellow markers, the way we thought was quicker.
Whortleberries and the foxgloves led us through a gate up on a bank,
Piltdown shoved it open, so his brute force we must thank.
Hot and sweaty were our bodies, our feet were tired and sore,
On Down was The Rugglestone Inn at Widecombe in the moor.
A bit late we knew, but chef did well and served us tasty food,
Wide Receiver did the Down Downs and we listened as we chewed.
Forest was awarded two - for loosing, then the finding of his shirt,
Slobadog drank hers from bag designed for picking up ‘dog dirt’!
It was 3sum and Doris’s birthdays so we sang the birthday song,
all the right words but the tune and order - was completely wrong!
The eve was nearly over, old guys with prostates went for wee,
'Normal person’ gets a shock when Piddler touched him on the knee!!
OMG but where is Cold Tits? She’s still out there on her own!
Completely lost and getting dark used the torch upon her phone.
Thank you to the Hashers who left their beers to look for her,
the police were called, but didn’t go to the place that last we were.
When she turned up they were relieved, they said “We’re chuffed to bits”,
But were puzzled by the name of friend “You sure it is Cold Tits!”
Thank goodness she was safe, but let this be a lesson to all us all,
maybe on arrival we should write our names, and GM do Roll Call.
I’m sure this will be a hash we will reminisce for different reasons
Dartmoor is a lovely place but give respect in all the seasons.
Thanks to Pisswell and Slip on me for a trail we will remember
So invite your family and friends to join and become a member.
On on soapy x
