INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU ON THE WHODUNNIT TRAIL

A rip-roaring ankle-deep rollercoaster of a tale

 

TVH3 The Words for 18th March 2024

 

The Church House Inn, Marldon

 

Run No. 2012

 

Shitfaced's Birthday Hash & Paddy's Day Hash

 

HARE: Shitfaced......or was it?

 

Who wuz there: Shitfaced, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Archangel, Forrest-Stump, Piltdown Man, Georgy Porgy, Smellie, Shay, Psycho, Beefy, Pisswell, Beeflicker, Squeaky Bum, Big End, Well Hopped, Ned, Roger the Dodger, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Ernie, Fukarewe, Coldtits, Pork Torpedo, Horny, Wetfart, Bobbiball, Miss Piggy, Mateus Rose, Rise 'n' Shine, Only Here for the Beer and returnee, after a jolly long absence, Flowery Twats; saving the best 'til last, it was excellent to welcome back Broken Man. It is lovely to see you again.

 

Circle

Shitfaced welcomed us all back to the upmarket Church House Inn, Mardon; specifically, long term no see returnee Flowery Twats and, additionally, a big clap to welcome back Broken Man.

 

This was Shitfaced's Birthday Hash combined with a celebration of St Patrick's Day - both having occurred the previous day. 

 

Accordingly, Hashers had been encouraged to wear something green. Shitfaced announced that the pub kitchen was closed but there would be some nibbles available after the run. Not for the first time, a fairer description would have been; "nibbles will only be available for the first back - be quick"; namely only the Walkers and the Shorts would reap the benefits of the Church House Inn's delicacies. Ho Hum.

Smellie needs Hares for 15 April and 29th April.

 

Wetfart updated us on Teapot's progress. Essentially, there is no change. Teapot is still in Newton Abbot hospital and continues to work on his mobility.

 

Back to the Hare for a description of the trail. Shitfaced said that there were Walkers', Shorts' and a Longs' trails. There was one Long/Short split so once you've committed to the Long, you're on it. The Walkers' trail was quite short, the Shorts' trail would be circa 3 miles and the Longs' 5. Most importantly, all marks would be on your left (or not as it turned out to be).

 

Trail

It was almost inevitable that a Shitfaced trail would require the enlisting of some outside help in the form of so called 'friends'. Tonight's trail was presumed to be headed in the same direction. 

 

But, not so fast.

 

I had popped into the Park Inn on Saturday afternoon to take in the second of the three Guinness Six Nations games being played that day - Ireland v Scotland. This would be the only match that I would be watching in the pub as the following day was the Grizzly - 20 miles of pure Hell....and that's on a good day. Shitfaced approached me and asked the inevitable:

 

"Are you free on Monday?"

"Not after 20 miles on Sunday".

"So are you withdrawing your availability?"

"Err, no. I never was going to be available on that Monday".

 

Later on Saturday, I get an e-mail from the flightless one. "It's OK M-P. I will come up with something". Another sterling offer by our young-at-heart 75 year old stop-gap Hare. Thank you. 

 

But, again, not so fast.

 

Just before the Circle, the Bird comes up to me and tells me that he couldn't help out on trail after all. Accordingly, it would be a 100% Shitfaced effort.

 

Now, call me a doubting Thomas but I was not expecting great things. My doubts were reinforced when Shitfaced said that he awoke that morning with the Mother of all hangovers. On the upside, however, there was a good chance that the trail would be short and we'd be back in a rather nice, quiet old pub PDQ. 

 

It was, therefore, with some astonishment that I'd listened to Shitfaced confidently stating that the Shorts would be 3 miles and the Longs 5. I certainly had my doubts about that.

 

The trail took us out of the car park and then right and right again up the narrow and tortuously steep hill past Marldon Church - unsurprisingly called Church Hill. 

 

Beeflicker was FRB but not by much. Shay was on his heels.

 

Amazingly - marks. There was a trail after all. The trail took us right and up Ipplepen Road and then an arrow had us bear left and up a couple of stone steps to follow the footpath that leads across the fields onto Smallwell Lane.

 

The weather couldn't make its mind up whether to rain or not. There was the occasional light drizzle but this hadn't affected us in the pub car park. Marldon lies in a fairly deep valley and is protected from the wind. 

 

However, as soon as we embarked along the footpath, we had lost the protection of the valley and were exposed to strong winds as we passed Marldon Tor. Dead ahead were the red lights of the TV transmitters. 

 

The footpath was wet and had turned into frictionless mud.

 

Frankly, I'd had 20 miles of this the previous day and I was less than impressed to be doing it again.

Nevertheless, on the upside, I was thinking to myself, "Crikey. Shitfaced has done well here. Especially being a solo effort with a major hangover".

 

At the end of the footpath, almost opposite in fact, there was another footpath across a field. This I recognised from a previous trail - probably Piltdown Man's and George Porgy's. 

 

However, tonight the marks took us right and west along Smallwell Lane. FRB's now consisted of Beeflicker, Shay, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Big End, Well Hopped, Flowery Twats, Beefy, Pisswell and Man-Pig. 

 

It was 7.45pm on a Monday night and we were on a very minor road in the back of beyond. 

 

Nevertheless, I was surprised how much traffic there was on the road. Hence there were numerous times when we had to halt our progress and squeeze into the hedge to let cars go by.

 

At a kink in the road, we came to the only Long/Short split, but many had overran it as it was marked on the right .....hmmmmm. 

 

Nevertheless, my respect for the solo Hare's effort was increasing; "My Word this is a good trail. There you go Shitfaced. You can do it", I thought to myself, "No need to enlist the assistance of your "friends"". I could see some torchlight disappearing up the Shorts' trail towards Aptor Farm.

 

A loose shoelace meant that I was someway behind the Longs. As I attempted to catch the Longs, a sole torch beam was coming towards me. "Back check?" No. It was Big End. He had pulled a muscle and was now making his way back to embark on the Shorts.

 

Eventually, I could see torchlight in the distance. "I wonder where we're going", I pondered. 

 

At Weekaborough Oak Cross, I recognised where we were. We had been past here before on a Wet Johnny trail. 

 

Although there was no check, Beefy had checked out due south; an obvious choice but to no avail. Surprisingly, there were calls of "On-On" from dead ahead. I knew that if we continued along this road we would arrive at Red Post Cross on the Newton Abbot to Totnes Road. 

 

Where on earth was the Hare taking us?

 

The marks were good. In fact, suspiciously good. Beefy, Pisswell and I were now running together. We examined the marks quite closely. We were pretty sure that Shitfaced must have laid this by car. 

 

However, the marks had neither the tell tale signs of the splatter pattern of flour dropped from height, nor the tail of flour that would result if having been dropped from a moving car.

 

There was something else odd about the marks. They were quite dark. In fact, all of the marks that we'd seen were a tad too dark to be flour. They looked more like cat litter. Now, who lays trails in cat litter? The Bird, comes to mind.

 

Had the Bird lied to me? Were my eyes deceiving me? Was it flour after all? I didn't have time to bend down and analyse the marking material as the FRB's were now way ahead.....in the wrong direction as it turned out. 

 

Beefy and I carried on due west past Weekaborough Oak Cross, an alleged hanging site from the middle ages but no ghouls around tonight. We were still looking for marks on the left. 

 

Fortunately, Beefy spied a mark on the right. It looked like and "L" with an arrow head. A slippery farm track headed downhill to Higher Weekaborough. I recognised this from a Wet-Johnny trail.

 

Now my suspicions were well and truly aroused. 

 

I was incredulous. No way was this a Shitfaced trail. It was a bloody good trail. It had all the hallmarks of having been laid by a seasoned Hasher but Bluebird had sworn that he'd played no part in tonight's trail. 

 

Unbeknown to us, we were the only Hashers on trail. Beefy stole a lead on me on the slippery descent, Shay should have been behind me but had disappeared and the other FRB's had missed the mark altogether. As a result of which, they were now merrily going round in circles at Red Post Cross.

 

At Saxon Manor barn, we arrived at a T-junction. Immediately in front of me was a mark. To keep this on my left, as per the Hare's instructions, I would need to turn right. Intuitively, I was inclined to turn left and I am sure that I could hear Beefy calling from that direction. 

 

I followed the Hare's instructions and then took a right up towards Lower Weekaborough. No marks. I returned to Saxon Manor Barn just as the Longs arrived from their jolly out to Red Post Cross. Aha. There had been a mark on the left all along.....plus a mark on the right!

 

All the Longs were now back on trail and our numbers had grown to include Pork Torpedo and Horny. Smellie, Fukarewe and Ernie were also on the Longs but I don't recall having seen them. 

 

We were headed north towards Comb Fishacre. The Pig had to be called back after overshooting a pair of arrows on both the left and the right...poor battery life was to blame....on the pacemaker, not the torch. 

 

At the entrance to Combe House, we embarked on the long, slow and slippery climb to the top of Tanyard Lane. Crikey, it was hard work. 

 

We were nearly at the crest when we came across a huge puddle that spanned the whole track. If anyone had managed to keep their feet dry up to this point (highly unlikely), this would be their nemesis.

 

It was at this point that the evidence became overwhelming. 

 

THIS WAS NOT A SHITFACED TRAIL!

 

There are times in your life when you really don't want to stray from your hopes and beliefs whatever the cost and no matter how irrefutable the evidence is. 

 

A case in point might be when you finally have to come to terms with the fact that your partner really is cheating on you. You simply don't want to believe it. 

 

I so, so, so wished that this had been a Shitfaced trail, laid alone and whilst nursing the Mother of all hangovers. Hasher of the Year, Best Lay of the Year, all the accolades would be yours. 

 

But proof, if further proof were needed, came when we turned right and along the 500m of muddy track that took us onto Ipplepen Road. This was further compounded by the next arrow - a right turn down Aptor Lane - another ankle breaking mudslide in the dark. This trail had been laid by a professional, and on foot.

 

The Pig had had enough. "No Aptor Lane for me tonight. I know where I am. I am tarmacking it all the way back to the pub".

 

The icing on the cake was the distance. A wholly unpalatable post-Grizzly slip slide of 5.9 miles!

 

Down-Downs

Now, there is more than one doubting Thomas in the Hash. Just before the Down-Downs, cash changed hands. 

 

At the Grizzly, a (very) well known Hasher had bet Man-Pig a whole English pound that Bluebird would not fulfil his promise of laying the evening's trail. The final piece of evidence was when the RA asked Shitfaced what he'd laid the trail in? "Flour" was the alleged Hare's answer. Pete Tong. Wong answer. Not a graded grain of finest flour had been spotted over the previous nigh on 6 miles.

 

Forrest was the evening's RA, and it was straight into the first award. Smellie had the Turd Hat for being "Back on the game" last week. It was a bit of a long-winded story but the hat went to Horny for her perseverance in sliding her way around the Longs....amazingly without falling over but with a lot of describing a catalogue of ailments that had befallen her. 

 

Unfortunately, we had the Songmeister with us. He came up with a ditty about a rag tag slag bag with a barrel etc etc. I will not be singing this particular Hash song to Mrs Man-Pig on the grounds of self-preservation.

 

Next up was Forrest himself to be sure. He had the Hashshit shirt. He had also brought his two dogs with him, Winky, Woo and Perry. 

 

Now, unknown to most Hashers, whilst they were out on trail, Squeaky Bum had given Forrest's Winky a good rub down and a massage. Another song from the Songmeister: Old McDonald had tourettes....

 

It was fantastically slippery out on trail. Inevitably, there were going to be some fallers and collisions. This came to a head (who said "head"?) with the coming together of Smellie and Shay. I don't know who was on top of whom or if Shay had been saving up his pocket money for a dirty night. 

 

Nevertheless, Shay got Shitfaced's Paddy's Day stove pipe hat, a red false beard and a half pint of water. The water was subsequently upgraded to a half pint of beer after a stewards' inquiry. "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy".

 

On the subject of slipping and sliding, at least one hasher had taken a fall in the mud early on. This left him looking like he'd shat himself. Well, that's how Forrest described Flowery Twats' behind after he ran past him. We have not seen Flowery Twats for the best part of 10 years. Hence a Down-Down was long overdue. Over to the Songmeister.

 

Last, but not least, it was a return to tradition and a Down-Down for the Hare. But who was the Hare? The RA eventually gave it to the birthday boy. Trail? What trail?

 

Finally, a big "Thankyou" to the Hash for the beer.

 

Well done Bluebird for coming to the rescue once more. You are a star.....or you would be if you could differentiate between your left and your right!

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is our Awards' Night. This will be held at the Park Inn, Kingskerswell. The Hare is Beeflicker.

 

And the moral of tonight's trail is that if something sounds too good to be true - it probably is!

 

On-On to next week, MP.