Run #1852 Monday 7th December from the Canal CP Teigngrace with Screwed & Bella
𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒃𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒘𝒏𝒆𝒅
𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒓 𝑰'𝒎 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒎𝒏𝒆𝒅
𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒔 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒕𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝑺𝒐𝒂𝒑𝒚'𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌
𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒎𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒌
Yes,
Oh Dearly Dry, starv-ed of the liquid of life, inspiration was absent.
Delusion, already alcoholess fermenting, became rampant as I thought of
exotic excuses to explain the absence of words this week.
But
what would they Shirley think, the loyal and trusting fabled few as
they drifted away - perhaps a little disappointed, who knows? So
(Cruise) without further Much Ado About Nothing:
𝑶𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉, 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔, 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆;
𝑶𝒓 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒃 𝒖𝒑 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅...
That's
better, I think I can continue now Shirley, so read on my one faithful
reader and rejoice (or despair) that all is not now lost:
A
lone chariot with Manopause at the wheel was tethered in that wild and
lonely Canal car park out in deepest Teigngrace. There was nothing else
to do and Manopause became aware of a chariot describing complicated
manoeuvres out on the highway. Twice it passed before finding the
entrance. It could only be one hasher, and He who should not be nam-ed
finally nosed alongside.... sigh.
My first natter with another hasher for some time and merry was the discourse until they arrived...
And arrive they did as they had FB pledged.
They trickled in from the hills and the valleys; from town, village and hamlet seeking redemption and solace.
Tricky
seeing those in attendance but finally think I have everyone including
dear Coldtits who arrived late but not as late as Archangel who started
his run on Tuesday morning but play the game he Shirley did, eventually:
GM
Shitfaced, Teapot, Piltdown, Georgy P, SatNav, Triple Jump, Gaga4It,
Steph, Pisswell, T Humper, I-Poo'd, S M Ellie, Able, Well Hopped, Big
End, Wet Johnny, Erection, Manopause, Beefy, ManPig, Deep Throat,
Grinder, Artful Dogger, Wide Receiver, Slip on Me, Natalie, Coldtits,
BB and Screwed with Bella.
Had
it been but thirty five days since we all gathered by the river*? It
seemed more than that to our close-knit and hash-starved band.
𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙙 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙩
𝙊𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩
𝘼 𝙢𝙖𝙟𝙤𝙧 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙨
𝘼𝙥𝙧𝙚̀𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙡 𝙬𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙠!
𝙊𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙬𝙚'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙗𝙗𝙤𝙧𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙣𝙙
𝙏𝙤 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥 𝙤𝙣 𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙
The
Grand Master reminded us how to circle up and offered up a question**
(with no promise of a rewarding beer as there wuz no beer to be had) to
the chilled cohort patiently waiting with frosty breath. Hares were
requested for upcoming trails and then Screwed was asked to elucidate
the intricacies of this, her virgin lay.
Three
trails to satisfy all tastes and abilities: A walkers' pick me up
(hopefully not) of two miles or so; a short of three plus miles and a
long of five or more miles. We had previously been warned of mud, mud,
glorious mud, so were prepar-ed Shirley.
The
last but certainly not least instruction was 'No checks out there!' and
we were summarily despatched into the Teigngrace mud.
All
of five yards of terra tarmac and then it was skatey-skiddy time
off-road. A Torbay AC club outing up front as Deep Throat and Grinder
formed up with Wide Receiver and Wet Johnny and stretched the
metaphorical rubber band ahead of a clod-hoppered and one-eyed Bird,
Artful
Dogger, complete with doggy Reuben, were getting organized and a
combat betrousered Beefy was starting to gather up a head of steam [sic
naturally].
Holding
the reserve head torch in one hand was not a good idea as soon it could
not be operated owing to the finger numbing cold, glove time already
Eddy?
Some
way out, deep in the boondocks, a bugle was sounded - yes, Oh Dearly
Impressed, Teapot was out and about, determined to get an infusion of
hashing.
Soon
we were spread out and some were isolated, but the trail twisted and
turned along the canal banks and, as others, I found entertainment and
contact with other hashers along the way.
Wide
Receiver was a hundred or so yards up the track and pottering along,
enjoying the scenery but even at his leisurely pace, it took a sustained
160 BPM*** effort to gain contact.
Passing
by the ancient railway track, Wide pointed out the strange 'rocket'
lying close to the disused railway. It was a veritable and unexplained
mystery and we tarried awhile with Coldtits. But what's this? The
appearance of Erection who had been like an itch I couldn't scratch for a
couple of miles astern. Abandoning Penner buddy Manopause (unfit and
presumably on the short?) Erection was evidently rockin' and rollin' en
routey.
The
trio set off again across the fields speckled from afar with twinkling
urban lights and the terrain was rugged and shoe-suckingly muddy but at
least the hands were warm again.
We
were never far from the beautiful, the beautiful river [sic] but Deep
Throat ('On a mission' according to WR) got closer than anyone, nearly
careering into the icy depths at his frenetic pace... sigh.
Piltdown
and Georgy (out and about again after fall) plus hash doggy moved over
obligingly away from the electric fence as we overtook and soon we
turned for home.
The
FRBs were waiting and tales of derring-do were bandied about. ManPig
and SM Ellie had somehow contrived to miss the long and a stewards
enquiry ensued to determine the whereabouts of the river bridge and
whether all had gone over it.
But never mind, we hashed and we had fun - full stop.
*There's almost always a river nearby at our hashes.
**When did the canal close? Apparently in 1937
***Beats Per Minute - anything over 150 is heart attack area for the Bird.
𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗣𝗧
Reflecting
on the evening, there was great satisfaction derived. We had the usual
excitement of the pre-circle gathering, then the trail itself which was
excellently marked throughout and on horse racing going I would describe
as 'heavy'. For a virgin trail lay, Screwed (with Bella) discharged her
duties like an old hand, checking the marks beforehand, monitoring on
trail and waiting for all hashers to return.
There
was a few minutes of discussing the trail afterwards in the car park
before Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow, our craving for the TV hash
assuaged for now.
The
temperature dipped markedly as Manpig and I waited for the safe return
of Coldtits and an air frost glazed the tarmac and remaining cars,
freezing my car boot lock solid. A Winter's Tale indeed this night but
so well done Screwed - and the gallant Bella of course. A great deal of
effort and well-received by all who took part.
𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧𝗦𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗣𝗧
BroadS (knee injury) had wisely opted out to be on the safe side but why weren't you there 69 and Para?
𝗢𝗡
𝗢𝗡 to next week from the Parish Centre CP Church End Rd,
Kingskerswell, Newton Abbot which is about 50 metres up (towards Newton
Abbot) from our usual car parking space in Church Meadow. Trail lay by
our hasher on the spot, ManPig! Take care everybody.
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