Words for #2126 with Piltdown and Georgy by Swinger

 

Alright you lot, gather round…

First of all—I’ve been nominated to do these words… for absolutely no reason. They asked for volunteers, and at that exact moment I was just standing there innocently fiddling with my hair… and somehow that counted as volunteering. So here we are. 

 

Now before I go any further—quick disclaimer. I’m German, and I still don’t really know who any of you are. Between real names, hash names, and whatever aliases you’ve invented after a few beers… I’m completely lost. So if I get anything wrong tonight—I apologise. But also… it’s probably your fault for having ridiculous names.

 

Tonight’s trail kicked off in glorious fashion in Torquay at the Kents Cavern pub.

We had checks. Lots of checks. Checks going left, right, possibly backwards, and at one point I’m fairly sure one went emotionally sideways. But fear not—because at the front we had Warm Front, Beefy, and Beeflicker, heroically doing all the hard work… while the rest of us demonstrated our core hashing skill: blind optimism and following whoever looked least confused.

 

The evening itself—absolutely stunning. Sunshine, warmth, and those ridiculous Torquay views that almost make you forget your legs are questioning your life choices. We cruised through Wellswood, past houses worth millions—definitely not stopping for a quick house viewing… just pretending we belong there.

 

Of course, it wouldn’t be a proper trail without a bit of chaos. Somewhere along the way, marks went missing… or we stopped understanding them… or both. At one point, Pisswell became absolutely convinced she’d found a mark… and strongly encouraged everyone else to taste what may or may not have been bird poo on the floor… just to confirm it was flour. Interestingly, she did not volunteer to try it herself. A true leader.

 

And actually… after tonight, I think Pisswell did deserve a down-down. Not just for the bird poo incident—but also for proudly introducing herself by her hashing name to a very wholesome local walking group. One of them asked what we were called… and as soon as Pisswell answered, the poor person in charge was already trying to move them along as quickly as possible. Can’t imagine why.

So naturally, we did what any sensible group would do—we cut the trail short. Meanwhile, the overachievers found the actual route and casually added another two miles. Show-offs.

 

There were also reports of “secret wees”… which in hashing terms means absolutely nobody was fooled. And on the way back, we encountered… let’s call him a local philosopher. He began with pasta for dinner, transitioned smoothly into prostitutes, and ultimately held a deep and meaningful conversation with a plant pot. Honestly...just another normal evening in Torquay.

 

Now, let’s not forget tonight’s intellectual challenge: counting steps. A bottle of prosecco was up for grabs for whoever got it right. The official number, as confirmed by the hasher, was 574… and who won the prize? Someone who didn’t even do the trail. Honestly, that feels very on-brand for this group.

As for down-downs… with the information I have—and remember, I barely know who any of you are—I only recall Pisswell and Roger the Dodger. Pisswell obviously deserved one… possibly more. And Roger the Dodger, clearly concerned for the wellbeing of a missing hasher, was ready to launch a full rescue mission… only to discover it was just someone off on a tactical wee. A true hero, nonetheless.

All in all—an amazing trail. Stunning views, just the right amount of confusion, questionable decision-making, and a reminder that no matter how well a trail is set, we will always find a way to make it slightly worse… and far more entertaining.

 

On-on! Weiter weiter! Prost!