by Man-Pig
Run #1907 Monday 7th March from the Wild Goose Inn
HARE: Bluebird
Who wuz there: Bluebird,
Shitfaced, Forrest Stump, T-Humper, Ipoo'd, Piltdown Man,
Georgy-Porgy, Smellie, Only Here for the Beer, Melonpicker, Soapy,
Teapot, Wetfart, Beefy, Pisswell, Big End, Well-Hopped, Well Hopped's
dad, Wet-Johnny, Erection, Manopause, Man-Pig, Zoot, Hot Lips,
Cheerio-Beerio (recovering from 40th birthday), Rambo, Ernie, Fallen
Woman, Broken Man, Piddler, Jacqui (Red Rock Brewery), Wigwam (via
Zoom), Threesum, Ablesemen, Swinger, Polyfella, Strap-On and Mrs
Strap-On, Slip On Me and Land Ho invitee Scenic Route.
THE CIRCLE
After
an absence of two years, the Awards Night was back, but with a
difference. This year the awards would cover both 2021 and 2022 due to
the covid induced disruption over the past 24 months. Down, but never
out, 36 hardy souls who have endured the ups and downs of the past two
years turned up to endure Bluebird's trail. What could possibly go
wrong?
Normally the Wild Goose does not open on a Monday. However, as it was our Awards Night, they opened especially for us.
Additionally,
and in the absence of a chef, IPoo'd stepped in to furnish the Hash
with chip butties and, for a select few, the "secret sausages"!
Despite
a Hash exclusive evening, the Wild Goose's car park soon filled up with
Hashers arriving early to secure a parking space - including some who
secured parking spaces that were too small for their cars - Forrest! The
village hall car park was full too. I had been running a little late
so plumbed for the Coombe Cellars car park. This meant a third of a mile
trot back to the pub....just what one needs after the Grizzly!
Announcements
were thin on the ground so it was pretty much straight over to the
Hare for the lowdown on the trail. Inevitably, the trail would be short
in order to allow time for both the traditional Down-Downs and
highlight of The Awards.In true 'Allo! 'Allo! style Bluebird started by
stating, "I veel say theez on li wonce". The Walkers and the Shorts
would be .....well....shortish; 3.3 miles with a separate Walkers' trail
of less than 2 miles. The Longs was 3.8 miles. "Look out for
driftwood". This gave us an inkling that we would not be running inland
to Stokeinteignhead. The Bird went on to explain that he had written
verses on pieces of driftwood. If we could find, and recall, all the
verses there was a prize! The prize would be bucks fizz and
beer.....the latter being of no possible use to Cheerio Beerio.
THE TRAIL (or, time for a tide table?)
Left
out of the car park and back down past the pub to the Newton Abbot -
Shaldon road. No check so all turned right heading towards Coombe
Cellars. At the turn-off to Coombe Cellars was the Walkers and
Shorts/Long split. The Walkers and the Shorts turned left and down the
lane to Coombe Cellars. The Longs continued up towards Shaldon - but not
for much further. An arrow took us left and onto the entrance that
leads to Hearn's field. This is the field that hosts various village
events throughout the year. This includes firework night, classical
music, plays and even opera! Culture in darkest Devon! Tonight it was
eerily silent. Across Hearn's field to rejoin the Walkers and the
Shorts in Combe Cellars' car park.
The
trail then took us diagonally across the car park and onto the coast
path. After 100 yards or so, an arrow directed all hashers through a
five-bar gate and into a field. Here was the second Walkers and
Shorts/Longs split. The Walkers followed the route of the public
footpath. This is uphill and diagonally across this field before
entering into a second field. The public footpath follows the western
edge of the second field before rejoining the black stuff at the end of
Cross Lane.
We
have been across these fields several times in the past. In the summer
they are usually full of the Elephant Grass crop (Miscanthus), sometimes
7 or 8 feet tall. Tonight, the crops were just 2 inches high.
At
the first crossroads, the marks took all hashers downhill on a minor
road that leads into the western edge of Combeinteignhead.
Meanwhile,
back in the first field, the Longs and shorts skirted along the
northern edge for about 100 yards before arriving at a check by a
stile. Beefy checked further along the edge of the field which had now
swung south only to rejoin the Shorts. The trail, in fact, continued
over the stile and through 300 yards of woodland before dropping onto
the foreshore below Netherton House.Wet-Johnny, the appropriately named
Scenic Route, Erection, Manopause, Swinger, Polyfella, Piddler and
Melonpicker were in front of me and Beefy, Pisswell, Well Hopped, Big
End and Coldtits were behind as we scoured the foreshore for the
elusive driftwood. Driftwood providing the words that would secure our
rewards......hmmm, Bucks Fizz and beer.... but not necessarily at the
same time.
Now,
Bluebird is fond of referring to films and music that may have a
passing relevance to the trail when he pens the Words. As we gingerly
tiptoed along the edge of the foreshore, it soon became clear that we
were on an incoming tide. This was not helped by a quite chilly
westerly breeze. My thoughts immediately turned to Time and Tide by
Whitesnake. The Bird had got neither quite right. He had laid the trail
on Monday afternoon; a good 4 hours before high tide. Sure enough, all
the marks were laid above the high tide mark. However, trees, rocks and
other obstacles dictated that we all had to move ever closer to the
water's edge to navigate them. It did cross my mind that the Dead Sea
Scrolls, now recast onto driftwood, may well be on the high seas by
now.
Nevertheless,
the doubting Thomas in me was stymied when we came to the end of the
timber jetty at Netherton Point. On the first plank, written in yellow
chalk, was inscribed the legend: "Jetty of Fear". One down, two verses
to go.
By
the skin of our teeth, Beefy, Pisswell and I managed to keep our feet
relatively dry. But the tide was coming in fast. Back in the pub I
learned that Well Hopped, Big End and Coldtits had not fared quite so
well. [Note to Bluebird - buy some Tide Tables].
Almost
obscured, to our left was a gap in the woods. This is the end of
Hackney Lane, a track that leads down to the sewerage treatment works.
It
was high time that we turned inland, lest we grow webbed feet. A quick
investigation of the track, by torchlight, revealed marks.Up Hackney
Lane to the first junction where the stone and soil track gives way to a
tarmac lane. For some reason flour had been superceded by green chalk
and chalk arrows pointed us to the left and a steep downhill past
Tuckett's Farm. What goes down must Shirley come up. And so it was. A
short, but steep, uphill to the crossroads at Cross Lane to rejoin the
walkers' trail.
From here it was pretty much downhill all the way back
to The Wild Goose.PS we never did find the other two verses but Wet
Johnny at least got two out of three. We all missed "Putin's Pipeline"
situated immediately in front of the large yellow sign by the gas pipe!
THE DOWN-DOWNS
Summoned
first to the oche, Erection built a fine tale of woe to ultimately
saddle Swinger with the Baby Bat Hat. Her crime? Scolding Manopause,
Erection and the hare (who were having a nice little chinwag) for being
slowcoaches. Grrrrr.
ONLY FOOLS AND HORSES
Wetfart
strode to the front amid 'neighs' carrying the revered Homing Horse
Head hat. An eloquent address indeed ensued, befitting a Roman senator,
and even it's recipient was taken aback when he was awarded the horse's
hat for being such a fool. B' Boom!
PIDDLER'S PROBLEM
Piddler
was next but had a problem - he had put the hashit shirt on the bar and
some rogue hasher had purloined it - the swine! After enduring a
torrent of heckling, the shirt was located in the Idiot's prize bag and
He who should not be nam-ed had to explain that it was Forrest who was
the culprit. The story unfolded that Forrest had cunningly squeezed
between two cars in the CP only to find he couldn't get out... sigh.
Down down please.
CHEF SUPREME
ThreeSum
produced the Jester's hat and a very well-deserved drink was given to
I-Poo'd for her cheffing duties on this, our Night of Nights.
As a precursor to the main event, the Driftwood Challenge
prize was awarded to Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny, Wet Johnny for
discovering the elusive legends: 'Jetty of Fear' on the (very) rickety
wooden pier; 'Putin's Pipeline' directly in front of the large yellow
signage and 'Safari So Cruise' which even the hare had difficulty
finding. Well done WJ!
THE CHERISHED AWARDS
Amid
trumpet fanfares and ticker-tape, our MC Hammer Shitfaced got the show
on the road - after strategically placing a smartphone to broadcast live
to hashers' homes all over the planet - well Poland at least.
PROPER PLANNING INDEEDY
The
amount of planning and preparation, the toil, sweat and tears all came
to blinding fruition for this so eagerly anticipated event after
languishing long in the Covid induced wilderness.
THE AWARDEES
Best newcomer: Cheerio Beerio
Best Hasher: Beefy
Best Harriet: Well Hopped
Best Hare: Pisswell
Best Hash: Forrest
Scribe: Man-Pig
On-Down: Jacqui at red Rock Brewery
Pillock of the Year: Bluebird
All round good egg (formerly the"Crusher Award"): Shitfaced
POSTSCRIPT
A
brilliant night and greatly enjoyed by all - including the live
streamed. After agonising over the wisdom of going round the Teign
foreshore (I thought it would be tight), I decided, like the young man
from Bengal to risk it and went as a biscuit only to find that Big End,
Well Hopped, Ned and Coldtits got gobbled up in the hall by the furious
incoming tide. My sincere apologies to you.
To
be honest, I had not even considered getting any award on the night
and was truly (most pleasantly) surprised to get my beloved Pillock
shirt once more.
As
for the awards, weren't they amazing? It was only getting back home
that I discovered the work and expense that had gone into their
delivery. The names of the winners were printed on each shirt (usually
only the category) and there was a fine quality parchment with gold
etched names accompanying the carton which enclosed a personalized beer
glass - whoa!
Our
Grand Master - he of the manufactured Staff of TVH - had also burnt
the midnight oil, producing bases for sundry horse shoes - the
successor to Wigwam's yellow ducks (yes, Wiggy, they are still fondly
recalled!).
Oh Yes, Oh Dearly Beloved, your Mismanagement certainly did you proud. HURRAH!
NEXT WEEK
The
Park Inn, Kingskerswell with "Hare" (fellow cronies assist),
Shitfaced. It is Shitfaced's 40th birthday and the Hare (well, Hare's
Dad really) will be laying on a complimentary birthday barbeque. Bring
an empty tum!
And finally, it's goodbye from Man-Pig and goodbye from me until next week. ON ON!
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