Shirley
the end of the world is nigh, Oh Dearly Barely Afloat and the soggy
short straw theme for the hares continued unabated from last week.
Hashers
monitored the weather carefully to see if they should 'risk it' but the
lure of a Wiggster Oktoberfest at a brand new venue eventually overrode
concerns of a drenching at Newton Abbot on Sea.
The
first sign of Water, Water, Everywhere* was the plethora of warning
lights that blinked alarmingly on my chariot's dashboard after
snorkelling through flooded lanes en routey. The lads (69, Beefy and
actual motor expert Pan Fart) gave the reassuring verdict that it
probably wasn't terminal and by now it had actually stopped raining, Oh
Hallelujah chorus hit me with your rhythm stick, hit me.
The
entrance to the Taphouse proved elusive and we peered into windows
searching for signs of life. The dimly lit alley was a muggers' paradise
and only shadowy figures could be counted but the roll of forty two was
mighty encouraging - including virgins two. Whether these are the forty
two is another matter, but I have tried:
Grand
Master Shitfaced, Piltdown, Georgy, Winfield, Doris,T Humper, I-Poo'd,
3Sum, Pan Fart, Bush Baby, virgins Martin, Lou, Big End, Well Hopped,
Fishbait, Small Fry, Gaga4It, Wetfart, Teapot, Artful Dogger, Plonker,
Beefy, Fukarwi, Prickly Bush, Wide Receiver, Manpig, Pork Torpedo,
Hornie, Wigwam, BB, Melon Picker, Soapy, Wet Johnny, Archangel, Able,
69, SM Ellie, Zoot, Nikki, Mark, Broads and Only Here for the Beer,
A
star-studded cast of FRBs lurked in the darkness and I decided that
this was not the night for the winter warmers and stripped off for
action, Oh Dearly Once More Unto the Breach...
The
riddle of the entrance was solv-ed when two young ladies appeared and
entered the premises - for a few seconds we thought they were yon
virgins for our edification but sadly not..
Soapy
had some On On car stickers and two virgins were indoctrinated by the
venerable Teapot before the author of the Oktoberfest was summoned.
Despite getting a right royal soaking laying in the afternoon's deluge,
the Wig-Meister had created three trails and a SS on some far flung
promontory way out in the boondocks. The long was estimated at about
four miles and the charge of the French cavalry, Crecy style, across the
playing field duly commenced the action.
A
devious check-festooned alley chase ensued and resulted with Plonker,
Artful Dogger Wet Johnny, Manpig, Beefy, Wide. Big End and Well Hopped
being shepherded back by the hare who had indeedy headed us off at the
pass: 'You're on the wrong trail!' were prophetic words and would echo
in my ears very shortly.
The
fire station would decide my destination and fate - Wet Johnny was
alongside as we smashed across the roundabout and my tunnel vision
espied a procession of hashers turning down onto the river bank.
Braking hard, I nearly ran into Teapot: 'I've never been down here
before!' Round the corner and an awful sight revealed the serried ranks
of the shorts and walkers completely blocking the narrow path. As stated
at the DDS, sincere apologies for the unruly intervention, shorts and
walkers all.
Meanwhile,
the 'genuine' trail saw the FRBs and longs who had read the script,
cascade around Jetty Marsh Nature Reserve. Career their names with
pride for they Shirley knew what they were doing unlike the befuddled
Bat and, as I learnt later, Manpig, who also wove an errant passage
around the maze of paths. We cannot blame the absence of marks as they
endured throughout - oh yes, dear Wiggers, you did your job well.
With apologies to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, I give you The Charge of the Lone Long Hasher
“Forward, the lone long”
Was there a hasher dismayed?
Not though the hasher knew
Someone had blundered.
His not to make reply,
His not to reason why,
His but to hash and die.
Into the Towpath of Death
Hurtled the lone long.
No? Well...
Still
convinced that I was on the long and the shorts/walkers had been
planted to give us a laugh, I weaved through with that gent Piltdown
moving aside to aid my passage. But never mind, back to the hash
proper..
Artful
Dogger had a nasty surprise when he ran into a large dead bird (no
jokes please) just hanging around (from a bridge) and immediately Thomas
Cooked (I know, they've ceased trading but so had Artful Dogger after
the unwelcome encounter) a TB and cholera booster jab.
Lost
count of the traversed bridges and on clearing the Penn Inn roundabout
I thought my luck had changed when I saw a group of runners ahead and
somehow convinced myself that SM Ellie was with them. Quite an effort
to reel them in only to discover they were Teignbridge Trotters.. long
sigh.
Met
the shorts head on (again) with Wetfart reminding me that 'You're a
Pillock, Bluebird!' and was despairing until a eureka moment as the long
trail mystically opened up ahead.
By
the time I had reached the SS, they had shut up shop and moved on.
Another sigh. Came across Melon Picker and Soapy in a huddle and found
out later she had suffered a cut on trail.
The joint was rockin', going round and round by the time the longs trickled
into the Taphouse. After all his mighty deeds, Wiggy and Mrs S were at
last relaxing and enjoying the fruits of his considerable labour - both
the trail and cooking the various Oktoberfest offerings - and all at a
bargain three sovs agogo.
Our
delectable hostesses, Alyssia and Naressa dispensed the beer: Ground
Control and Red Rock Drift Wood being tipples of choice.
That
alternative song-meister Wetfart got the après downdowns ditties going
with renditions of 'I'm a lumberjack' (my hat and Fukarwi's jacket
inspired), 'And them good old boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye' and of
course a revamped 'Bobby Woll, Bobby Woll...'
Newbie
Martin, brought along by Pan Fart and Bush Baby, though not fully
getting to grips with the run, had no difficulty understanding how the
On Down and beer drinking went. The lad is a natural, I'm telling you.
Chief RA Manpig was in scintillating form and a good time was undoubtedly had by all who braved the biblical end of days flood.
To sum up, an unpredictable and excellent evening, courtesy of our Wiggy.
*The Rime of the Ancient Mariner ring a bell?
WINFIELD'S ADVENTURES
Memories
of #1814 into Darkness and Floods from The Maltings Taphouse Newton
Abbot with Hare Wigwam. On-On headed the large pack after a very wet and
stormy afternoon.
A
remarkable trail for L,S & W around Newton Abbot with the Longs
heading on,while the Short turned to the river, where Wigwam had only
just handed me the Stollen "sweet stop" instruction when my head-torch
died!
I
attempted follow Melon Picker as we wove our way along the river bank
in the dark with the raging flood water only inches away! I did manage
to him keep in sight just! as we finally reached the chosen "Stop"
under the 380 road bridge, beyond which the way was totally flooded!
Not
long after this as I reached the footbridge I discovered the car fob
was missing from my pocket This could have been a disaster but
fortunately after a short search back, there it was on the path thank
goodness!
Back
at the Taphouse a warm welcome, good drinks and for some good food,
although after my delayed experiences a packet of crisps was all that
was left, but good enough!
Awards for the evening were presented by Manpig to....
Wigwam for that dodgy river bank trail!
Fukawe who mistook Hornie for his partner!
Winfield for nearly losing his car key!
Piltdown being a gentleman, as Bluebird forced his way past along the towpath
Wet Fart who took a short cut AGAIN!
To Nickie a naming now to be known as..T T. something to do with tickler !
A great evening well done Wigwam!
On
On to next week - definitely at The Lord Nelson Kingskerswell (TQ12
5JB) Hare: Shitfaced. route available to guide you from home now on
South West Hashing Diary.
