DELAYED WORDS

 

The passing of Twin Buffers last Tuesday has postponed the posting of the words. A sad day for all who knew Audrey, hashers and Torbay AC runners. Condolences to Sam and Audrey's family members. We hope to see you soon, Sam x

TVH3 The Words for 10th February 2025

The Corner Flag, Devon Football Association, Coach Road, Newton Abbot

Run No. 2062 - "Bird Bath"

HARE: Wet-Johnny

 

Who wuz there: Wet-Johnny, Shitfaced, Man-Pig, Bluebird, Beefy, Pisswell, Pocket Rocket, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgie, Smellie, Beeflicker, Warmfront, Psycho, Cheerio Beerio, Only Here for the Beer, Ablesemen, Coldtits, Satnav, Roger the Dodger, Big End, Well Hopped, Erection, Fukarewe, Ernie, Strap-On, Strap Dancer, Sarah and long-time absent returnee, VD

 

Circle

Twenty eight.

 

Trail

So, what magic would Wet-Johnny conjure up for this week's trail? Wet-Johnny was faced with an unenviable task. Namely, to lay a trail that was wholly different from that laid by Beeflicker in the same vicinity last week. Wet-Johnny did not disappoint with a bit of virgin territory thrown in on the second Longs. I have never been down Deer park Road, St Michael's Road and West Point before in my life - well done.

 

And now, reluctantly, I hand over to the ag-ed Bird. I would advise those of a nervous disposition to be prepared for the worst. Get a cuppa (or something stronger), your t't' teddy bear and snuggle down deep in the duvet. Sigh.

 

THE SENILE & THE (NOT) SEDUCED

RAMBLING PROLOGUE

It was a strange day in the life of the Bird. Along these hallowed lines, I shall attempt to relay the story as best I can recall, given my great age and advancing befuddlement.

 

A normal day insofar they who do not comprehend the manic workings of the Bird-brain may struggle to assimilate what follows.

 

Looking after six rescue cats, an aged tortoise - rescued by my dad in 1970 walking down the road by Shaldon pitch and putt course - and a one-legged seagull who used my flat roof as a makeshift take-off and landing ramp, have combined to dull my senses so allowances should be made.

 

The day unfolded as usual. Feed all cats, a breakfast of toast and stem ginger preceded and followed by several cups of Rosie Lee before adjourning to the PC and operating my Betfair account in the fervent but faint hope of making a shekel or two.

 

Cometh 5 pm and the established ritual of destressing via several shots of Baileys substitute (Lidl's Dundalgan Irish country cream liqueur, attractively priced at £4.99).

 

Man-Pig had strongly advised that the Bird should get out of the cabin and make the hash. This email had been duly read and digested with a sprinkling of breadcrumbs.

 

In the words of Deano, 'Baby It's Cold Outside' and I had no intention whatsoever of venturing out, let alone going hashing. I hadn't run for some time and had just about decided that it was time to hang up my hashing Bluebird hat. 

 

'Will you Bury My Body at Sea, My Lord',

as the Out of Tunas will Shirley serenade when the time comes.

 

I hope you're still out there as I'm going to a lot of trouble here, and I'm just getting warmed up.

Collective muted groan from the cheap seats.

 

5:30 pm

I settled down into the armchair and poured another generous shot of the substitute.

Then things took an unexpected turn. I did not feel that good and closed my eyes for a few minutes that stretched into an hour. Coming to with a start, a morbid feeling of dread washed over the Irish Cream liqueur saturated one. I would expire this very evening in the armchair. Shaken, I stirred [Shirley sic - you're not paying attention, are you?] and made a quick meal.

 

It was 7:05 pm. “Late is the hour in which this Pillock chooses to appear. Birdbrain I name him' [ten points for that one if you don't have to Google it].

 

A feeling of near panic overcame the be-creamed Bird and he fled the homestead, forsaking any change of clothes - or shoes.

 

I gotta get out of this place, if it's the last thing I ever do... [no points, Shirley]

 

There will now be a short intermission. If no Ice-cream lady knocks at your door, kindly inspect the deep freeze for a choc-ice.

 

When will the windbag get to the point? (5 points awarded to you Disney lovers).

 

And now, Oh Dearly Shirley Now Deeply Distressed, herewith follows the trail account. Some will venture that certain events cannot Shirley have occurred but I have a reliable witness (crony) who will vouch for this unlikely set of words. HA!

 

At 7:23 pm, the silver chariot nosed into the Corner Flag's car park. The circle was convened but strangely quiet. Beefy stepped forward to welcome the ruffled Bird. The Grand Master announced the returnee and there was a smattering of unconvincing applause. I heard that boo.

 

Wet Johnny delivered the spiel, failing to give distances in case of disillusionment and duly dispersed the chilled huddle into the wilderness.

 

Cautiously did the Bird set out, not knowing what fate awaited him out there in the Abbot boondocks.

At the first turn up into the hills, First Contact (1996) was made with Smellie and Pisswell. I was slightly out of breath after overtaking a scuttling Coldtits and welcomed a breather.

 

The first realization of how ill-prepared I was for A Walk on the Wild Side (1962) came when we encountered a savage flight of steps that stretched upwards, seemingly to the very stars. 

 

I had now joined up with Manopause and Ernie and this, I hoped, would be the party that would lead me to the Promised Land (2023).

 

Ernie, back from a Caribbean pick-me-up, marked my card as to where we might be Ace Ventura-ing.

Manopause called us back when we had overshot a cunningly placed arrow leading back down to sea level. Ernie gently reminded me that it was Erection I had been gaily chatting with and not Manopause - though Erection had not bothered to correct the silly old fool.

 

'It must be down the muddy path into Decoy woods' Ernie confided. So was it spoken and so did it come to pass. Pisswell unexpectedly appeared in front of us. Unexpected as she had not overtaken me since our Brief Encounter (1945) half a mile back.

 

Ernie was right about the mud and it got worse - much worse.

 

Ayeeeeee.... and the Blackhawk Bird was Down (2025 you fools). An intense white light enveloped the stricken one. Complete unnerving silence. And then a voice from above spoke. 'I don't think he's dead.'

 

Sympathy was in short supply. 'I think he did it on purpose,' Pisswell uttered and proceeded to take a photo, doubtless to titillate the hash. Oh, how cruelly the afflicted were mocked (5 points).

 

Shaken but not stirred (I know, I've already done that one), the Bird vented his wrath on a following hasher. 'Who is this idiot?' Pocket Rocket joined with the mini hash and off we set once again.

 

A check. 'I reckon Wet Johnny has been seduced by the Shirley 1 in 3 hill up to the Totnes Road, 'Shirley it's hard a starboard!' triumphantly cried the senile one, unaware that it had already been done the previous week. Sigh.

Not long for this life, the Bird passed on vital knowledge which Shirley would be lost like tears in the rain (15 points). Espying a cross, the demented one revealed the secret that had been so bitterly suppressed by hares everywhere, perhaps for good reason.

 

'If you consistently run through a cross, you have a 66% chance of being 'on'. Remember, oh dearly deluded, the cross is where the hare does not want you to venture...'

 

Back to reality, Pisswell led the charge left and deep into Decoy woods. With no marks manifesting themselves at a junction, the expeditionary force backtracked to find the check already kicked out. Whatamis...

 

A regroup cum sweetie stop at a long short split. The dazed Bird was in no mood for throwing in the towel. Psycho and Warm Front watched in awe as the mud-soaked apparition lurched over the gate and tottered onwards screeching the Bird battle cry: '

 

YO-OOOOOOO!'

 

Pisswell was flying and not for waiting. 'That's nice! It's not a race you know!' lamented the biter now bit. Only Ernie was left of the lost battalion. Manopause or Erection, whoever it was, had saluted and baled out of his blazing Messerschmitt 109.

 

We looked back. We were the last of the longs. It was an ill-omened night and we had no way of knowing how far Wet Johnny would take us into The Badlands (1973).

 

The threadbare armchair now seemed an attractive proposition.

 

I had no idea where we were - and I'd just been there (5 points) and left the navigating to Ernie who had forecast a barn en route which duly appeared portside.

 

Even taking two sneaky diagonals across the fields failed to make any telling impression on Pisswell who, from a distance, weirdly seemed to be skiing uphill. Delirium had set in.

 

Time seemed to have been suspended. A look at the watch revealed that we had only covered two miles. No way Pedro (no points). So much had happened. Perhaps it was a strange dream and I had never left my armchair...

 

A sparkling vista of lights unfolded below us as we swept round a corner.

 

'What do you think, Ernie? Is it Torquay or Newton Abbot? enquired the ancient bird.

 

'Look, there's Romany Jones cafe, we must be heading for the Barn Owl and perhaps up Zigzag quarry! exclaimed Ernie The Navigator (1988).

 

The Bird had ceased caring. It was chilly, he was weighed down with liquid mud and somehow fate had conspired for him to be marooned miles from home.

 

'How far back?' queried the Bird. 'Oh, about three miles - as the crow flies...'

 

As the intrepid hashers descended, a lowland mist enveloped them and they were lost from view.

Some said they made the Barn Owl for a swift half and regaled the bar staff with their adventures. Another unidentified source reported seeing a little old man being chased along the Newton Road by a tall runner, though a hastily despatched police car failed to find them.

 

Somehow, against all the odds, they careered back into Decoy woods and following the excellent marks, eventually staggered into the Corner Flag car park. Honey, we're home! (no points)

 

Yes, it had been quite an adventure. As for the claim that the Bird had taken a tumble on purpose - you try staging a purler when you're eighty-three mush!

 

I am indebted to my companion, Ernie. Without him, I would have struggled to find the trail and get back.

 

'The sun is setting, it's time to go

I've tarried too long Lord let me go...'

 

by kind permission, The Out of Tunas.

 

Down-Downs

Hash shirt to Bluebird for falling....and getting very lost

Horned Hat to Ernie for saving Bluebird (should be a RSPCB award)

Checking Chicken to the Hare (who's driving) so the Awarder, Psycho is nominated to take the DD. Additionally, there is a story about Psycho and a gender change!

Final half to Pocket Rocket for being "stupid" and commandeering all of the remaining sweets.

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is from River Dart Country Park followed by Ashburton Arts Centre and FREE FOOD!

 

On-On to next week. MP and the Bird