THE MARK THAT NEVER WAS & CHALK IT UP TO EXPERIENCE

Run #1972 Monday 5th June from the Park Inn with Shitfaced and friends

 

Who wuz there: GM Shitfaced, Piltdown Man, Beefy, Coldtits, Smellie, Beeflicker, Slip on Me, Pork Torpedo, Hornie, BB, Wet Johnny, Erection, Strap-On, Strap Dancer, Forrest, Pollyfella, Miss Inn'. Pub only: Becycled Bobby and T Humper (darts stand-in for the GM).

 

Preamble

Depleted the circle Shirley was for various reasons. Pisswell was on her cycling Grand Tour of Ireland; Man-Pig was Greece bound; a few others were early summer breaking, and there was a niggling doubt whether some had gone to the Wolborough Inn - despite the updates on the FB and web page.

 

There was one other possible reason - hashers tend, like elephants, to remember unfortunate experiences. The most unfortunate one was the eleven mile long constructed by one of the Grand Master's 'friends' in the not that distant past. With Man-Pig away, there was only one other 'friend' left...

 

The lay

The long trail was commenced Sunday afternoon and had gone swelteringly well up the Hamelin Way until the way [sic as a parrot] was barred by an impenetrable hedge necessitating a backtrack across the fields to get back onto Edginswell Lane... sigh. There were enough old flour marks to open a bakery so chalk arrows would be utilized - clever these Chinese, almost fiendish.

 

I didn't know where I was half of the time, and I'd just been there.

 

It was hot and getting hotter by the time the Old Windmill was sighted, and then a nagging pain in the heel halted proceedings. A blood blister on the heel was the cause and the ref's whistle was blown. Limping heavily, the doom-ed hare proceeded down Moles Lane - scene of the exploding flour bag on a previous disaster.

 

The stage was set on Monday for Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events to unfold.

Cheerio Beerio plus her two mini helpers set out to lay the short trail. Cheerio knew the long was laid in chalk arrows and would follow them until veering off to lay her trail in flour. There was, however, a fatal flaw to the plan...

 

The same day, the Bird sallied forth in his chariot to complete the long. This was much more fun than slogging away on foot. An arrow placed at the top of Windmill Lane, drive round Whilborough Road to put another arrow in at the bottom and then into Compton Mill Lane. Drive round - you get the picture now. 

 

Tethered the chariot on Bickley Road beneath Kerswell Downs and muled the rest down to the carved seat above the Expressway. OH in place, legged it back down the road to collect the chariot. Home James and the job's a good 'un. Or so I thought...

 

The Grand Master coordinated the operation from the pub and, deludedly concluded that all was well. He put the last piece of the jigsaw in place with a walkers' loop and adjourned to the Park to await the pack. I awaited Cheerio as I wanted to know if she had put the L/S mark in but, unfortunately, Cheerio could not make the hash and I was left with a nagging doubt.

It was summer and the Bird's plumage was befitting the gay day, and suitably bedazzled were the bemused locals in the Park. Park 'n' Ride, thine host, was completely outshirted and readily ran up the white flag. No, don't stop me now, I'm in full flow..

 

Circle

Hashers arrived in dribs and drabs until fifteen forlorn and deeply suspicious souls reluctantly circled up to await their fate.

 

The Grand Master announced the upcoming menu for any survivors and then attempted to describe the main course - the trails, amid silence from the already subdued audience.

Their suspicions were not allayed when the Last of the Pillocks grandly announced that the long would be in chalk arrows - displayed upon various stones or fencing along the way.

 

Pork Torpedo was not impressed. 'What if the stones are turned round?'

 

Smellie was in two minds whether to go long or short. 'How far is it really?'

 

The last words from the hare were: 'Remember, the short is in flour but if you only see arrows, you are in Indian territory...'

 

The Grand Master waved the gallant little band on their way with encouraging words: 'Keep going on up through the village' before muttering 'they're all going to go wrong..' Prophetic words indeed.

 

The trail

Though desperate for a beer, the Bird put duty first and legged it down from Kerswell arch onto the Torquay road to head 'em off at the garage by the Hare and Hounds. On the corner were neat and clear flour marks signalling the L S and W. Excellent, Cheerio, safari so good.

However, the pack had come a right purler at the mini roundabout by Fluder and Southey. The FRB's had pushed on up Fluder whilst the shorts and walkers described ever decreasing circles, awaiting signs from above.

 

And that was the last I saw of the Ghost Hash, Oh Dearly They Should Have Known Better, and gleefully didst the Bird fly back to the bar for a pick me up or three.

 

An hour later, Beeflicker arrived, and he brought tidings of great joy. 'Great trail, arrows clear throughout!' Experienced FRB's Pollyfella and Wet Johnny were close behind and also reported no problemos muchachos.

 

Miss Inn' also got round but then the music died.

 

Two days later, Smellie staggered into the tent with five Apache arrows stuck in her back. Her final words were: 'Indian ambush, there were hundreds of them, we didn't stand a chance...'

 

A grim-faced Strap-On, complete with stetson neatly pierced from side to side with an arrow, strode, cowboy-style to the bar and laconically drawled: 'You effin' idiot BB!'

 

Pork Torpedo hadn't wanted to go long and neither had Hornie. They had faithfully followed the beguiling arrows until encountering Otter Nurseries, less than a mile from the Devon Dumpling - and then they got a bad feeling.

 

Fearing retribution, the Bird prostrated himself and begged: 'Mercy Percy!'

 

Strangely, the shorts, including Coldtits and Beefy, navigated the short trail of some three and a bit miles with no difficulty but could not be sure where the delineation of the two trails occurred. Oh well, I shall have to chalk it up to experience. No? Well please yourselves then.

 

The down-downs

The author of the disaster was immediately awarded a DD along with a voucher for 50 Pillock Points (redeemable at next year's Awards Night) for yet another fine mess.

 

After a bit of finger-waving, Smellie castigated the GM for changing the OD twice and the Jester's hat was foisted upon the joint hare.

 

In return, Shitfaced, who was clutching the Hashit Shirt, decided that a harriet who hadn't wanted to do the long - had, in fact, albeit unwillingly, dunnit. Step forward, Hornie, please.

A final DD went to Pork Torpedo, summoned by RA Forrest. His crime? Calling Forrest's chariot 'past it'. Well, it would be, seeing as the last owner was Boadicea! B' boom!

 

Birdlogue

My thanks go to Man-Pig for the long trail, for it was his expertise that was wholly responsible for its construction. As I said to Beeflicker, Pollyfella, WJ and Miss Inn', it was a very good trail which included the best bits of previous Man-Pig trails.

 

Thank you so much, Cheerio and girls, for laying the short trail on Monday. I was stretched and pretty tired by then and you have my gratitude for stepping in to help.

 

Lastly, my apologies for the missing L/S split which I was responsible for putting in. My only excuse is that I am a Pillock!

 

ON ON to next week when we will be at the Devon Arms, Teignmouth for a Forrest special. Details to follow.