Run #1807 from Newbridge CP, OD the Tavistock Inn with Poacher & 69
Still
faithfully recording, the tiny cam tumbled over and over in the savage
river current, dashing against smooth rocks formed countless aeons ago.
A
darker missive might have been composed, such were the unworthy
thoughts that percolated my restless dreams of Monday night. I relived
the awful moments over again in my tormented mind. 'I've got footage that you'd pay to see....Do I look like a Wally....Oh, it's gone, gone forever..'
Words
nearly fail me. Fate's fickle finger struck once more Monday evening
from the wicked wilds of Buckland in the Moor on the eastern tip of the
miserable moor. Oh pardon me my melancholic words, but I fear that I
have been made bitter by my tragic loss.
Nevertheless, I shall attempt to relate my sorry saga for those that were not there to bear witness to the calamity.
Being
somewhat inconvenienced, and snigger you not, my dim recall of those
at the car park of unrelenting doom herewith follows and my apologies
for the inevitable omissions:
The
Grand Master Himself and his faithful retinue of Parkies - T Humper,
I-Poo'd, Getting Wet, Never Wet, Just Cummin' and Spike; Beefy sans
equipment - another portent of doom, never happened before and he had
to borrow the GM's phone to operate; Forrest with a chariot packed with
relatives (of which denomination I know not) a tiny lad and, unless
Forrest was pulling my leg, a certain broad in the beam gentleman (you
never know if you may unwittingly cause offence and suffer repercussions
later) allegedly hash-named Blondie Wonder - I know, but apparently he
was thus nam-ed when but a tot...
I digress already, so back to the Players of this Shakespearean tragedy:
Soapy
& Melon Picker, Pork Torpedo & Hornie, Piltdown & Georgy,
Rambo & Doris, U Bend, Runner Bean, Ollie, SM Ellie, Wiggy, Bobby
Brawl*, Archangel, Coldtits, Hagen Daz & Budgie Smuggler,
Whisperer, Fukarwi, 3Sum, SatNav, Slip on Me, Only Here, Manpig,
Teapot, a returning Dan with Ned, Winfield, Wetfart, Linda, Able,
Hotlips & Zoot, various tiny tots and lastly, the authors of the
dastardly deed most foul - Poacher and his side-kick 69. The official
roll was called at four score so I haven't done too badly. BroadS was
recovering from his first half marathon at Bridport on Sunday but the
Penners and Pan Fart/Bush Baby are still missing in action - it's only
been a fortnight but we miss you already.
The
harbingers of doom continued to mount with Piltdown's pre-circle
announcement that the car park was fee paying until 8 pm (WHAT?) and we
could take our chances or cough up two squid. Not being a fan of
feeding meters, whatever their calling, I repaired my silver chariot
across the bridge and into the last free slot, reassuringly cctv
protected, before dancing gaily (I was still full of misguided hope)
back in time to hear the Poacher preaching to the unsuspecting - longs
that is as the shorts were to get off scot-free and reportedly had a
gay old time of it in the bogs and tick-laden countryside... Well,
slappeth my wrist, I am still drifting into melancholy and we haven't
started yet..
The
hares were determined to keep the show together - to the point that we
had barely covered half a mile after a quarter of an hour. We can all
agree what Poacher's reaction would have been if this had happened to
him on trail, but never mind, many liked the social togetherness and
'harmony' though the FRBs bit their lips and waited to be set free of
their shackles. Mention should be made of Hagen Daz's lamentable call
of on on when he had in fact only sighted two pieces of tissue paper - I
wouldn't have dobbed him in but there was one close by with a horse's
head hat lurking with narrowed eyes. I cannot name the miscreant as I
fear he has it infamy [sic - obviously].
Eventually
Poacher reluctantly relented and live laying, put the arrow down and
the FRBs fled - only to be hampered by an iniquitous 'fish hook' with a
3. For those unacquainted with the hash legend, it meant that the first
three hashers to reach the mark had to turn and go back to the end of
the line. HA! That'll be the day... Poor Whisperer (playing the game,
what a leg end) was heavily inconvenienced by the mischievous
mechanism.
At
the VP (was that you Wiggy atop the high rocks?) and pretty sketching
courtesy of 69, we briefly paused before legging it out into the
boondocks and a succession of checks with Beefy, Runner Bean, Ollie and
Fukarwi doing sterling service checking them out.
The
usual band of cronies - Fukarwi, Manpig, Runner Bean, Ollie, Beefy and
Forrest were joined by Dan (and muttley Ned) who looks like a natural
on only his second appearance. There was also a little lad prancing
alongside us but who he belonged to escapes me. Close behind, Pork
Torpedo and Pisswell were keeping up with the action.
A
blur of rocky, fern strewn descent was negotiated with Beefy struggling
with the settings on the GM's phone to get footage until the gentle
babbling sound of water alerted us to the proximity of the Dart. And
yes, there it was to our left and a shout from a scout [sic] struck
horror into my soul: 'River crossing!' My heart sank [double sic] as I
recalled the Galmpton creek disaster and the death of my Acme cam (great
evening that). On closer inspection, however, it didn't look that bad
and over we all waded without much trouble... BUT... we were only
halfway across, an island strip dividing the river and the second span
was the main one with faster flowing currents - oh dear, oh dear,
remember that bad feeling I had before the run, Dan and Fukarwi?
The
crossing looked a little gentler upstream and with a fearsome (some say
stupid) battle cry of 'Do I look like a Wally!' I attempted a solo
crossing. All went well until there was barely five metres left and
that's where it went horribly wrong. A slight slip and in a vain attempt
to keep the cam dry (no waterproof housing) I lifted it aloft as I
went chest high, then the current swept me away and the cam slipped from
my nerveless grasp to be lost forever in the black depths of the Dart.
'GONE,
GONE, GONE!' came the anguished cry but the others had their own
problems and barely noticed. Beefy was having a torrid time keeping the
GM's phone from the same fate and assisting Pisswell at the same time.
Pork Torpedo was making slow headway across a little further down and
Runner Bean, Manpig, Forrest and Fukarwi watched helplessly from the
other side as the saga unfolded.
It
did get a little more serious as the current carried me into the
middle of the river and the fast moving white water. Possibly sensing
the danger, Ollie entered the river to make sure I wasn't swept away to
join my cam in the hereafter. I would have been very worried if it
hadn't been for some strong hashers close at hand.
Well,
worse things happen at sea and eventually, we all made it safely to the
other side and it was a pleasant but soggy run back to the chariots. A
trail to remember indeed!
Our
On Down at the Tavistock Inn fully lived up to the alarming Trip
Advisor reviews and I can only say that the gentleman serving us was
unable to comprehend what hashing was all about. Arriving a little late
as parking was limited as Soapy had warned, hashers were queuing
outside the entrance and there were disgruntled shouts as I called to
Bobby to get me a pint (thanks Bob). The Ringwood brewery offering of
Boon Doggle was a strange one, I wasn't even sure it was a beer but once
sampled, it could have been a mistaka to mix with something else.
All
beers were at a reasonable £3.70 agogo and when the Avocet was
finished, the solitary bartender was unable to get another on tap such
was the madding throng.
Teapot
was not happy with his visit to the bar to ask for the down down
drinks. We appreciated that we would have to do the awards outside but
the management apparently would have preferred if we hadn't done them at
all and the Hash had to pay for the drinks. Suffice it to state that
we would not be going back to the Tavistock Inn anytime soon. However, top marks for the hares arranging a visit,
something
different wasn't it? A lovely old inn and management aside, most
enjoyable to sup a pint within its atmospheric walls .
There
may not have been a welcome at the inn but TVH were unfazed by it all
and partied as usual outside on the terrace. The trail will be
remembered by me for some time and the hares can justifiably be proud of
their efforts.
Poach
and 69, despite my ramblings and rants, done for effect as you probably
know, I really did have a high old time of it out there. What an
adventure to treasure for my remaining days. The cam was on its way out
anyway so an upgrade will be welcome. Thanks lads!
WINFIELD'S WISDOM & AWARDS
The
pair laid a devious route with plenty of false trails almost leading
us through bogs, then on up with many great views and down, to the
river Dart, which Bluebird managed to drop his camera into while
crossing!. On after to the Tavistock Inn where the real "Basil Fawlty"
was reluctant to serve anything!
But a great evening in spite of all of this with the Awards presented to ....
No 69 Joint hare held responsible for all of the shiggy etc!
JUST COMING for trying to kill the ticks by peeing in the bushes.
SLIP on ME saying "i'll have some of that"...but not meaning a DD!
BOBBIBALL renamed "Wee Bobbi" at the Away Event.
50 Runs Badges awarded to T.HUMPER and I'POOD
Finally the young Hashers were named
CHECKMATE and GOLDEN BALLS
one who chose our RA to drink up for him!
Well done the Hares!
* Bobby's bloodshot eye prompting a comment that he had been in a fight.
ON ON to next week and Brixham Rugby Club TQ5 9ED (Wigwam & Bobbiball)
