RAMBO'S BIRTHDAY HASH AND OF SWALLOWS, SWIFTS, AND HOUSEMARTINS

Run #1927 Monday 25th July from Ashcombe Cross junction

OD The Ship Inn, Chudleigh

 

HARES: Piltdown Man & Georgie Porgy

 

Who wuz there: Piltdown Man, Georgy Porgy, Shitfaced, Man-Pig, Smellie, Coldtits, Slip-on-Me, Rambo, Strap-On, Ernie, Wetfart, Teapot, Piddler, Bluebird, Bobbiball (pub only), Warm Front, U-Bend, Melon-Picker, Soapy, Pork Torpedo, Horny, Polyfella, Wet Johnny, Manopause, Pisswell, Buzby, Screech, Emperor Ming, Dobi and several other visitors from Isca and Otter Hashes who had turned up for Rambo's 69th birthday hash - thank you all for cumming.

 

THE CIRCLE

Determined not to let the venue deter anyone, Georgy Porgy, resplendent in hi-viz yellow, perched at the edge of the A380 on traffic warden duty. The Forestry Commission access road can comfortably accept 20 cars without impeding emergency access. However, as the car numbers ramped up, so did competition for spaces. Wetfart was the first to park elsewhere. As he later said, "At least I'm closer to the pub". But, perhaps, not as close as Coldtits. She had found a space about a third of the way along the trail!

 

With so many new faces, Shitfaced did not know if he was welcoming Teign Valley Hash or Haldon Hash. I don't think that there was anyone there from Haldon H3. Our visitors were from either Isca or Otter Valley hashes and had made the journey especially to run with Rambo on the day after his very special birthday. I wonder what that would be? There were no announcements so over to the Hares.

 

Things did not start well. There was a plea from the Hares, "Has anyone got any flour?" Crumbs, was there a trail to follow? Had it been laid in stones? No. George Porgy simply wanted to put an early arrow in for latecomers. The trail had been laid in full but they'd run out of flour at the very end. Returnee, Bluebird, came to the rescue with a half bag of Homepride's finest.

 

Georgy and Piltdown explained that there was a Walkers', Shorts', and Longs' trail - approximately 2, 3, and 5 miles. The Walkers' was partially unmarked and was substantially on road. "Just keep walking. You can't go wrong". Additionally, there were some frisky Jersey or Guernsey's calves in a field and there would be a Pimms stop.

 

THE TRAIL

It is said that the English language is quite difficult for foreigners to learn. I have to sympathise. Consider the following idiosyncrasies of the English language. A man waits a whole lifetime for a virgin to come along. Then, all of a sudden, two come along at once. Perplexingly, both virgins have been well laid - and on consecutive weeks. To cap it all, over 30 people claimed to have conquered the virgins and are now completely f****d. What on earth was going on?

 

Amazingly, for the second week running, we were on pretty much all virgin territory for TVH3 courtesy of Georgy Porgy and Piltdown Man. What a pleasant and unexpected surprise, especially so close to home.

 

So, where did we go? The Walkers, Shorts, and Longs all set off on one of the main tracks that run close to the southern boundary of Haldon Forest. After a couple of checks, the trail exited onto a narrow lane near Beggar's Bush.

 

At the first junction, the Walkers went right and embarked on a straight line to the Pimms stop. The Longs and the Shorts went left for a short while before arriving at a crossroads where two arrows guided us right and right again along an ancient track that was now a public footpath.

After about a kilometre, we came to the Long/Short split. Melonpicker was umming and erring which trail to take as was U-bend. Eventually, U-Bend went Long and Melonpicker went Short.

 

The Shorts' was a fairly straightforward trail to the Pimms stop. They continued due north along the footpath at the end of which they turned right and continued up through Waddon Brakes.

 

The Longs' took the western branch of the footpath and headed towards Chudleigh. A poor piece of checking early on had me at the back of the pack but it wasn't long before I caught up with Piddler, then Pork Torpedo, Horny and Smellie, and then - a roadblock. Some excitable calves had blocked the path. Walking slowly towards them, they eventually cleared the path and congregated around their barn. All except one, who, for some reason, remained on the track. It didn't seem shy at all and even licked the back of my hand - no doubt after the salt in my sweat.

 

At the end of the footpath, a check had been kicked out to the left. We ran downhill through the tiny hamlet of Waddon (about 5 houses). Another kicked-out check at Waddon Barton had me catching up with Strap-On as we headed for Brimley Corner and another kicked-out check.

We were now heading for Hams Barton where I encountered Pisswell. An arrow took us into a beautiful field of corn and the opportunity for a rest on a bench (kindly marked as such by the hares) beneath a young oak tree.

 

However, rest was not on the agenda. There was a Pimms stop to get to. The footpath crossed a second field, recently cut, before exiting onto a lane in front of Lower Upcott farm. A sharp left and up to Kerswell Cross. A sharp right and the steep climb to Kerswell House where I caught up with Manopause. Shortly thereafter, I came across Dobbie who had just checked out a false trail.

 

The correct trail took us down a track that rejoined the public highway system at Mistletoe Farm. Here we caught up with Bluebird who was apologising to farmers if we had disturbed their cattle.

 

Then the climb. Oh, what a climb to get to the Pimms stop but well worth the effort. The Walkers and the Shorts were already there along with the FRB's, Polyfella, and Warm Front.

The Pimms was excellent, embellished with fresh fruit - yum yum. Piltdown was concerned about Smellie's whereabouts as we thought she might have been at the back of the Longs. In fact, we had quite a few Longs to wait for; Manopause, Pisswell, Smellie, Pork Torpedo, Horny, Piddler, and, finally, U-Bend arrived. All accounted for. The final 3/4 mile was fairly straightforward and, apart from one left turn, was a straight run back to the Forestry Commission access road.

 

Beautiful views and new territory with a quality Pimms stop to boot. Well done Hares.

 

We have not finished with you yet, so get a cuppa and we will continue with:

 

FARMER SCROGGINS & A PINK GIRAFFE

The Bird was Stir Crazy (1980) and desperate to escape the log cabin in the combe. A brief excursion down the road to ye olde taverne had resulted in a charge of riotous affray when he threw his beer - oh dear - at a local.

 

I gotta get out of this place!
If it's the last thing I ever do… (apologies to Eric)

 

The Ashcombe junction was just in range via Shaldon Bridge and oh, what a gay day, the Bird sallied forth in his silver Chariot of the Gods (Paperback: Erich von Daniken).

 

The massed ranks of an Otter and Isca raiding party arrived to aptly Support Your Local Sheriff! (1969) on his attainment of the magic hashing number.

 

Lean and mean looked the Otter boys and the Bird's eyes narrowed, anticipating a right royal burn-up.

 

Pleasantries dispensed with, the triple hash set off in search of what were to be pastures new and eventually High Anxiety (1977) for some for their encounter with that mighty herd of red-eyed cows...

 

But first, there was a jolly maze of forest paths to navigate. The hares had been liberal with the opening checks and the FRB's were thwarted in their collective endeavours to escape the pack. Warm Front appeared, crashing through dense undergrowth from hard a starboard and Man-Pig was intent on exploring highly dubious paths into dense foliage.

 

An Otter FRB found the escape route onto terra tarmac and the game was Shirley at least a foot long. ON ON, you wally brains!

 

I was pleased and not a little surprised that I could actually stay in the game early doors and it was only later that I discovered that the trail was a game of two halves: Two and a half miles down and most unfortunately - two and a half miles up... sigh.

 

Back to the action and two or three Otter FRB's had fled the scene and the Bird was causing a tailback in a narrow lane as other speedsters queued up to pass. And pass they did, a flying machine with a tiny muttley in tow; a pink giraffe; a green striped zebra, and other assorted blurs.

 

Manopause was on a good one and on we surged.

 

We heard the sound of hooves first and then, moments later, the mighty herd of Jersey cows - as forewarned by Piltdown - stampeded across the path in front of us in a huge cloud of dust - Yeehah!

 

Manopause had a deja vu moment - he had been in an identical situation on a previous hash - and stood stock [sic Ha!] still until the herd finally stopped Rollin' rollin' rollin'. No? well please yourselves then.

 

Many an adventure ensued, Piltdown cruised alongside in his orange chariot, mildly surprised that the Bird was still going, Warm Front and Pollyfella were glimpsed from time to time and Manopause kept trucking. The checks were cunningly placed and kept the FRB's within eyesight. 

 

Coursing through a bleached meadow, a flour inscribed 'REST' was espied in front of a bench. Shamefully do I admit that I actually considered the invitation but Manopause was still in close attendance and I was a man, Betty, and struggled onwards.

 

Beyond the seat of eternal rest, a knot of Otters paused at a check awaiting info from Warm Front and Pollyfella.

 

Cards marked, orf we jolly well went. Young Dobbie was kept entertained by tales of yore and patiently did he endure.

 

And there, around a bend, Farmer Scroggins was standing by his farm gate and he wasn't smiling. 'Arrr, have ye all stopped yer shoutin' yet?' 'Oh hello, Farmer Scroggins, nice evening isn't it?' replied the twittering one. 'I'm terribly sorry about that and yes, I think they'll be quieter now.' coo-ed the featherless one.

 

'By the way, are they Guernsey's or Jersey's?' 'They be Jersey's, arrrrrrr!' 'How do you tell the difference?' 'Arrrrrr, Guernsey's have a pinker nose, arrrrr.'

'Thank you kindly, Farmer Scroggins, and once more, sincere apologies for the noise.'

'Arrrrrr, they be dairy, arrrrrrrr!' And with that, Dobbie and the Bird took their leave of Farmer Scroggins ... Arrrrrr!

 

The Wong Wei Man-Pig had finally caught up and the trio commenced the climb to the Pimms. Oh my, it wasn't that steep but it was a good mile and over three hundred feet of ascent.

 

Man-Pig insisted on showing us who was the boss and ran the whole flipping lot. Young Dobbie (67) and the Bird (89) played the walk a hundred, jog a hundred game though Dobbie's jog was quicker than the Bird's and he wasn't best pleased at being dropped by the two youngsters.

 

Goblets, tankards and beakers were laid out at the Pimms stop and being pretty nigh spent, it was pleasant to tarry with the throng, especially as the pub was not an option.

 

Thank you, Piltdown and Georgy for a fine trail indeedy and it was glorious to be able to participate on the long once more - touch wood it's not famous last words.

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

The Ship Inn does not do food so some Hashers had gone to the Co-Op to get scoff. Others had planned ahead and brought their food to the pub. Rambo, as promised, arrived with a birthday cake which was distributed to all and sundry.

 

Man-Pig welcomed all to the On-Down for run no. 1927, especially our visitors from Isca and Otter Hashes.

 

First up to dish out a notional award was last week's Pondlife - Coldtits. Confusion abounded about last week's nomination so Coldtits ended up drinking the half pint of water herself.

Next up was the dyslexic Smellie. Again no tangible award to hand out so just a story. After some thinking, Smellie awarded her down-down to Piddler for poor parking. A note for the "Poor parker".

 

Piltdown discreetly reminded the RA at this juncture that the Songmeister was present. Next up were the joint birthday boys and girls, Rambo and Coldtits. However, Coldtits was not giving anything away about her birthday; just saying that it was close to her sister's and they were a year apart.....hmmm. The Songmeister comes up with "Old McDonald had terrets" instead of the usual birthday cacophony.

 

Two halves left. Surely to the Hares? But wait. George Porgy doesn't like beer and Slip-on-Me actually has an award from a fortnight ago! Slip-on-Me awards the horned hat to Warm Front for getting her back on trail whilst Piltdown Man gets the last half pint for a trail well laid.

 

NEXT WEEK

King William IV, Totnes with Hare, Wet Johnny.

 

Oh. Were you wondering what the reference to swallows, swifts, and housemartins was all about? I walked to the pub with a couple of Otter Valley hashers (apologies, I do not know your names).

 

There is an alleyway between the car park and the main road through Chudleigh. We've all been through it many times. However, I have never noticed grey nesting boxes attached to the gable end of one of the buildings. A peculiar design of nesting box as the access is from underneath. These are specifically for swifts. And, sure enough, as we looked up approximately 20 swifts were flying above us. 

 

There ensued a conversation about the differences between swifts, swallows, and housemartins. Apparently, the parents take their offspring on several aerial familiarisation flights in the vicinity of their nests before they migrate south for the winter. This ensures that the offspring return to the same nests that they were born in the following summer. Amazing!

 

On-On to next week.