Run #1843 Monday 7th September from the Wild Goose Inn with Birthday Gal T Humper
With a barely concealed snarl of rage, Bobby Woll
wrestled the Panzerkampfwagen into the tiny village car park, ignoring
the large overhead sign KEINE PANZERS HIER*... Yes, Oh Dearly Dismayed,
the Rottenführer was still Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...
A fine turnout as follows:
GM Shitfaced, T Humper, I-Poo'd, Strap-On, Archangel, Manpig, Beefy, Piltdown, Georgie P, SM Eliie, Wigwam, Coldtits, Wetfart, Beefy, Fallen Woman, Broken Man, Slip on Me, Plonker, Artful Dogger with Reuben the pooch making his hash debut, #69, Forrest, BroadS, Able and two virgins - Jane (GM's auntie) and Joey (another TBGS recruit brought along by Artful) and, appearing post-run but having run, was SatNav making a grand total of twenty seven hashers true.
With the glad tidings dispensed, the GM handed over to the Official Hare for the evening - T Humper.
One L/S split, a long of five miles, a short of four and a walkers' exercise of one and a half was on the menu.
However, Oh Dearly Confus-ed, the local Bird had
been enlisted to mule the flour around the long. The trails had been
laid on Sunday and such was the madding crowd gadding about, it seemed
like a good idea to send a live hare out to live lay some sections of
the trail... Sigh
A smattering of head torches were on show, though
Beefy was prematurely advised by He who shall be Nameless that they
wouldn't be needed...Double sigh
Thus the hashers of war were let slip and the wiles of the trail beckoned - but back to them later, Oh Dearly Hang on a Sec...
The bandana clad Wiggy and Forrest spearheaded the
serried ranks of intermingled shorts and walkers as the live hare,
carrying a 1.5 kg of flour, legged it up Slackery en route for the
river. Time was of the essence, as the greyhounds would Shirley devour
the Bird if he tarried Larry.
Meanwhile, back with the charging longs, a turbo
charged Plonker had lit the FRBs up and with eyes narrowed and red visor
down he led the warriors up the rise en route to Stoke. Half a mile
later, the OH marker was sighted - arrowed towards them and mighty were
the wails that echoed down the valley. Oh Yes, Oh Dearly Hold Your Hands
Up, the Bird brain had Blue-footed booby** bird boobed.
The longs had failed to see the faded grey cat
litter marks turning into the footpath after two hundred yards. Yes, I
know (now) it should have been a check but didn't want it there when the
trail came back on itself.
But never mind, shades of The Bard, methinks I do protest...
Cut
back to the hash vanguard and gaily didst the prancing Bird continue
his guileless fool's errand, liberally dispensing flour as if it had
gone out of fashion (it was ruddy heavy mush, if you must know).
Amongst the elephant grass
The hashers hurtled past
Confronted with the L1 L2 impasse
The legion stood aghast...**
For those that were there - if they care, the L legend explain-ed:
L1 = A Walk on the Wild Side and L2 = Sod it, let's just get on with it.
The
first L1 took the intrepid disposed onto the now overgrown but former
footpath skirting through the woods beside Netherton House before
merging with the Templer Way.
The second L1 had been intended as a 'beat the tide' section but proved to be a gentle meander along the sand into Hearn Field.
IN TRAIL
Fallen
Woman did well to get round the multi-terrain short of over four miles
as did Piltdown, Georgie and Coldtits, who had to rush back for the
mother-in-law back at the homestead. We were blessed with lovely weather
and timely sunset with great views over the Teign en route.
By
Arch Brook VP (as identified in flour) they paused to wonder before the
brave stumbled up the Teignharvey 'road' Stoke bound. The tarmac
worshippers' prayer was answered with the plunge down Forches Hill and
the road run in back to the Goose. Goodbye, that's all he wrote.
By the way, how did you all fare with the 'water jump' just before Forches Hill? Pretty nasty if you were going too fast!
Finally
released from his floury impost, the Bird fled, fearfully looking over
his shoulder for the pursuing horde which never appeared.
Yes,
Oh Dearly I told You So, a few did make the car park in the fast fading
light but darkness reigned when the longs finally completed their
journey. My apologies all you longs - my error, not yours.
Opening just for us, the Goose was welcoming and the whisper had already gone out - They've got Legend!
The
'bring your own grub' route was generous indeed by the management and a
table was set for the de luxe confectionery and birthday cake for T
Humper and Forrest - Happy Birthday to both!
I had brought most of a Mediterranean
Vegetable Quiche (left over from Dear old Mum's meal) which was sampled
by so many that I was left with a tiny morsel.*No Panzers here!
**Yes, a real bird - I did not know that.
***It looked so good when I typed it after 4 pints of Leg End. Now I'm not so sure Shirley.POSTSCRIPT
Well,
after completing five hashes after the End of the World darkness, the
dread news on Tuesday sent shock waves through the hashing fraternity.
GM Shitfaced collapsed on his sofa in a beer-induced coma after unwisely
communicating with a demented Bird - sorry about that GM but I was on
the liquid of life as well.
As
for the words, they were not possible. A dread malaise took hold and
morbid were my thoughts. But better late than ... sorry everyone.
So, finally, in the words of the Prophet Gerry, singalong with me:
Hold your head up high
And don't be afraid of the dark
And don't be afraid of the dark
At the end of a hash
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
There's a golden sky
And the sweet silver song of a lark
Hash on through the wind
Hash on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Hash on through the rain
Though your dreams be tossed and blown
Hash on, hash on
With hope in your heart
And you'll never hash alone..
With hope in your heart
And you'll never hash alone..
The punchline quite simply: FIVE HASHES AND NO FUNERAL
ON ON to Monday 14th September from the Rugglestone Inn, Widecombe in the Moor with Hare Pisswell.
No comments:
Post a Comment