TVH3 The Words for 24th February 2025

The Claycutters, Chudleigh Knighton

Run No. 2064

Short, Flat & Dry?

HARE: Poacher

 

Who wuz there: Poacher, Man-Pig, Beefy, Pisswell, Pocket Rocket, Judge Mental, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgie, Smellie, Beeflicker, Warmfront, Psycho, Forrest-Stump (non-runner, all bets refunded), Miss'ing, Wet-Johnny, Melon-Picker, Soapy, Roger the Dodger, Well Hopped, Ernie, Strap-On, Polyfella, Sarah, Bobbiball (non-runner, all bets refunded) and special returnee, Squashed Balls & friend (my apologies, I did not get your name & I am assuming that you are a relative of either Squashed Balls or Twin Buffers?)

 

Circle

There was only one announcement - and it was an important one. Squashed Balls was in attendance to advise details of Twin Buffers' funeral. It will take place on Tuesday 11th March at 3.30pm. The venue is The Church of Saint Mary Magdalene, St Marychurch, Torquay. All Hashers are invited and Squashed Balls has specifically requested that attendees do NOT wear black. After the service, there will be a wake at a local pub.

 

I had not checked the weather forecast before venturing out. I don't think many others had either. Soon after arriving at The Claycutters the heavens opened. Fortunately, it was only a short burst which had finished by the time that we started running. If the trail hadn't been wet before, it was certainly going to be wet now.

 

Super Hare, Poacher, stepped into the Circle to brief us regarding the trail. Some of the information offered was accurate; some of it not. The accurate bit was that it was muddy and we were going to get wet. The Shorts' distance of circa 4.5 miles may or may not have been that accurate. Poacher's statement that he did not know how long the Longs' trail was might have been a little white-lie. I think a lynch mob would have gathered if he advised that we'd all be exceeding 8 miles.......albeit, only if you followed Warmfront. Finally, a warning: "You will be crossing a main road. It is slippery. Be careful". I foresaw an army of squashed frogs. The legacy of a failed attempt to cross the A38. Just what on earth had Poacher planned for us this evening? Time to find out.

 

Trail

"Short, flat and dry?". Anything but.

Out of the Claycutters' car park and across Homelea/B3344 heading towards Soapy & Melonpicker's residence - but not so fast. A partially washed out check holds up the pack. Poacher lingers before adding a splodge of flour in the alleged correct direction. A lot of meandering around River Valley Road, Harveys Close and Bellmarsh Lane before Wet Johnny finds marks on Belmarsh Lane, "On-On".

We cross the small footbridge over the Teign. It is in flood and flowing fast. Warmfront doesn't fancy her chances if she falls in. She doesn't. There is no discernible check on the other side of the footbridge and the Pig finds a dot of flour to the left and thinks he is "On". He is not as the next mark he finds is a cross. Back the other way and under the flooded underpass below the A38. 

 

Poacher is moaning. The FRB's have run straight over a fishhook and haven't come back...what fishhook? We follow a flooded track and cross the B3193 at The Old Mill House and follow the FRB's into and across two fields, over a stile and then up a broad and muddy track towards Gappah. But what is this in front of us? It is the Longs on a reciprocal bearing.

"Arrrrh! They've seen the second fishhook", exclaims the Hare.

 

Eventually, we leave the slippery, muddy field and get onto Gappah Lane and the Long/Short split. The Shorts head right and towards Gappah whilst the Longs go left for a short while until a public footpath sign attracts them into a steeply sloping field. Over another stile where Miss'ing very nearly falls. Across a more level field and over another stile and onto road. An arrow has us straight across the road at Winstow Cottages and along a broad farm track and through a galvanised steel gate. This is the last mark that we see for sometime.

 

Warmfront is at the head of the pack and is within sniffing distance of her husband's culinary expertise. Guided more by her nose than the marks, she leads the Longs on a merry dance, off trail, past Lawell House and back into Chudleigh. Here Beeflicker says, "I haven't seen any marks for a while". Nor has anyone else.

 

U-turn and back almost to Winstow Cottages....MARKS!

 

The trail now passes some oak trees in the middle of a field and we follow an indiscernible track to another galvanised gate that is almost blocked by felled timber on the other side. Clamber over the gate we go and, indeed, more flour is spotted. We are in woodland now. The track is broad but muddy and slippery; the tale of the entire trail. 

 

Upwards we climb, acutely aware that we are heading past Chudleigh Rocks and towards Castle Dyke Fort i.e. we are moving further away from the "On-Down". Polyfella consults his Strava....4.5 miles. Ooooo.....errr. it's going to be a long one.

 

Eventually, we arrive back onto tarmac and an arrow has us turn back on ourselves heading southwest along Gappah Lane. To our left, the lane is flanked by a stone wall. This is the edge of the Ugbrook House estate - Lord Clifford's residence - a rather nice country pile. Man-Pig, Beeflicker, Well Hopped, Polyfella, Judgemental and, amazingly, Psycho are at the back of the Longs.

 

We reach a check that has been kicked out straight ahead towards Gappah. We are certainly going to be running over our previous tracks - and, indeed, we do. We recognise the entrance to the steep field (surprisingly no-one is foolish to go around again) and very soon we arrive at the solitary Long/Short split. From here on we are on the Shorts' trail back to the pub.

 

At Gappah, I am sure that we will take the first right, past Gappah Brake and drop down onto the B3193 opposite the junction at New Bridge. PeteTong. 

 

Judge Mental spies an arrow on a lump of straw in the middle of the crossroads. We are destined to carry straight on along Gappah Lane. This is going to be a long one. At least it is downhill. It also comprised two artificial lake crossings where the lane had flooded. On the upside, this should wash away some of the accumulated mud.

 

We pass through the one-horse hamlet of Fosterville, past the sand pits and some parked up items of road plant and hit the B3193 - the main road between Sandygate and Chudleigh Knighton. This is the "squashed frogs" part of the trail that Poacher had warned us about. We all have an uneventful crossing and bear right.

 

Polyfella and Beeflicker have got a push on, Judgmental and Man-Pig take up the middle ground whilst Psycho and Well Hopped are tail end Charlies for the final push back to the pub. 

 

As expected, at New Bridge we turn left over the stone bridge with a 90 degree bend on either side, over the A38 and then right to drop into the western edge of Chudleigh Knighton. It is 9.25pm before we are back at the On-Down and a further 10 minutes to get changed and get to the bar.

 

Yes - Poacher you have excelled yourself. Over 8 miles in February. Amazingly, it barely rained at all whilst we were out on trail and I overheadr more than one Hasher comment, "A proper Hash trail this". So well done Poach for getting us all out and, more importantly, all back. All a bit of a craich really.

 

Down-Downs

We start by thanking the pub for having us. I think that we are the only ones in the bar.

There are no awards present so it is story time.

 

Non-running thespian, Forrest-Stump, has a story about a Harriet who can't stop fingering her beer. In fact, not satisfied with just getting her finger in she tried inserting her entire fist. Now, that usually works with a pint glass. However, this evening, our finger-licking Harriet was a tad short on funds and had to make do with a diminutive half pint. This didn't stop her from seeing if she could still get her fist into the glass....not with great success I'm afraid. Suffice it to say that our serial Down-Downer, Psycho, was the recipient ......and for the 5th time in a row! A note for the "Hand-jobber".

 

Beefy has a Strava that recorded the Longs at a staggering 8.2 miles. He also has a story about the Pied Piper of Hamelin. This particular Pied Piper had left her husband at home preparing dinner (how long does it take him?). Around the 3 mile mark the piper was getting a little peckish.

 

"Oh. I'm near home. I'll pop back and have my dinner and then go back to the pub afterwards". 

 

Unfortunately the whole of the Longs followed our tummy rumbler to the lower reaches of Chudleigh before realising that they hadn't actually seen a mark for 3/4 mile. A U-turn and a 1.5 mile detour eventually had the Longs back on track and heading away from Chudleigh and Chudleigh Knighton. So who was our hungry, short sighted Harriet? None other than the other half of the Topiary Twins - Warmfront. A note for the Pied Piper of Hamelin (these two are costing the Hash an arm and a leg in beer!).

 

Are there any other stories? Yes.

 

Georgie Porgie drops Piltdown in the mire. Georgie tells us how Piltdown Man Piltdown packed the car for the evening's hash. He had dutifully put two pairs of trainers in the boot. Unfortunately, both pairs were Piltdown's. How he can mix up a size 7 with a size 18 is anyones guess. Recalling the central ethos of George Orwell's Animal Farm there was a note for, "Four legs good. Two legs bad". Piltdown sensibly elects to go for the half pint of water so as to ensure that Hashers can get home before midnight.

 

Poacher was next up for an excellent, long and shiggy trail. Poacher decides to finish his own half of cider.

 

There are two beers left.

 

Bobbiball has come out to play for the first time in ages. Hence, he deserves a half pint just for turning up. He enters the Circle with some half ar*ed excuse that he can't drink because he's on Doctor's orders. This might have been a valid excuse save for the fact he glided into the Circle with a full pint of beer in his hand. A note for "He who ignores medical advise" or some such similarly themed ditty.

We still have one beer left. There must be another story.

 

Indeed there is. Pisswell reminds us of Judge Mental splashing us all by jumping in puddles at the beginning of the Hash. Judge Mental is invited into the Circle to advise us all of the sentencing guidelines pertaining to puddle splashing. However, he goes off on a tangent about tax evasion. Hence a note for our "Embezzeling puddle splasher".

 

A final reminder of the details for Twin Buffers funeral on 11th March and then it is adieu until next week.

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is from Rora House with the On-Down somewhere else. I will need to check with Pisswell to remind me of where we are going. Dementia is setting in.

 

On-On to next week, MP.

CLAYCUTTERS

Run #2064 Monday 24th February Circle up 7:15 pm from the Claycutters Arms, Chudleigh Knighton, Newton Abbot TQ13 0EY with Poacher. I believe the usual protocol is for us to try and park in the lower car park.

 

TVH3 The words for 17th February 2025, hash no. 2063

 

Bohemian Rhapsody

Bohemian Rhapsody

https://youtu.be/yl3TsqL0ZPw

River Dart Rhapsody

TVH3 The words for 17th February 2025, hash no. 2063

River Dart Country Park,Ashburton.

Hare: Pisswell

Who wuz there:

SS helpers: Puddle Plopper, Twinkle toes, Cheerio Beerio, Threesum.

Forrest, Shitfaced, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgie, Beeflicker, Pyscho, Warmfront, Ernie, Fuckarwe, Judgemental, Pocket Rocket, Satnav, Able Seaman, Poacher, Cheesy Helmet, Cheesy Nibbles, Beefy, Sarah

Virgins: Jenny, Steve, Annie, Serena, Zola, Ledrow, Julia, Violet

And at down downs Jill, David, Ali, Rose, Sue, Tony, Daf.

Circle: No harer raiser to report

£1 to hash tax.

Shitfaced welcomed a record 8 virgins, not to be counted towards “groomer of the year”. He wished them good luck, whilst Pisswell dusted them and also returnee Forrest with a little flour!

We were informed that Twin Buffers had sadly passed away. Our best wishes to Squashed balls and family.

Over to the hare:

Pisswell started with a group hug and then in readyness for the evenings singing later, asked hashers to follow her in singing an adapted hash song for Twin Buffers. Zen had done a similar thing at the lunatics hash the week before.

Here’s to Twin Buffers,

She’s gone too,

She’s a hasher through and through.

She was brilliant so they say

And she’ll never be forgotten in a long long day

She’ll go on , on ,on ,on,………

The trail: W 2 1/2m

S 3 1/2m

L 5 1/2m

By kind permission of Mark Simpson

River Dart Rhapsody

Is this Ashburton?

Is this just Pisswell’s hash?

Caught in the circle, no escape from the birthday bash

Open your ears, get ready for beers, and hear

I'm just a poor hare, I need to lay the trail

But It’s far too far, way to go

I’d a plan, now you know

Tried to get a bus b’tween, doesn't really matter, to you

Hashers, I killed that plan.

Ash Art centre’s less to hire, that’s the end now, cost was dire

Plan B, trail had just begun

To start at country park at River Dart

Hashers, ooh, the barriers will rise

I’ll make a track, amidst the trees and zip lines

Carry on, thank you Mark. He said “money doesn’t matter”

It’s late, we circle then

The longs are sent off track, to waste time ‘til they come back

Goodbye, everybody, turn to the right

Gotta climb the muddy hill from the campsite. Hashers, oooh

run on virgin ground

You sometimes wish you’d never chose to be long

Instrumental

I see a little back checker for the longs

All go back, Longs go back, it’s your turn to join the rest now

River Dart, Country Park, very dark, frightening me!

Up the pathway( Up the pathway )Through the trees there, (Through the trees there,) Through the dark there, Hashers go,

Magnifico o o o o

Now onto this place there, Galant Le Bower.

It’s just some sweeties, strung up in the van there

With a wee dram in a med’cin pot!

Easy come, easy run, have you all had fun?

On on now, Go, the race had not been won (let him go)

On on now, the walkers circle slow (let her go)

On on now, the shorts and longs must go ( let me go)

Will not let you go, ( Let me go)

Will not let you go, ( Let me go o o o)

On, on, on, on, on, on, on

Oh, hashers dear, hashers dear,

Hashers dear, let them go

The RA has a down down put aside for me, and three, Beefy?

So you think you can run still, this far, why oh why?

So you run to next split now and chose shorts or die?

Oh, hashers, longs left over Green down

Just gotta run t’Holne, New bridge and - Dart outta here

Instrumental

Ooh

Ooh, yeah, ooh, yeah

Chase gate really matters, getting home safely

On down really matters

“Raucous chorus” matters to me.

Please vote for Pisswell! ( only joking) x

Outtakes:

The barriers didn’t go up!

The down downs didn’t open up! (All got sorted in the end!)

The longs did a snakey stop SS

The hare messed up the back check but luckily redirected

Cider pulled Poacher back to the start

The sweetie stop was a twinkly lovely regroup. Thank you to the 4 girls x

Forrest was seen FRBing up from the river Dart at Newbridge, covered in flour so that everyone would follow behind him!

Down downs:

Thank you so much to David, Jill, Tony, Ali and Poacher for manning the music, bar and pizzas. No wood burning van required!

First down down to Warmfront, for being shocked by what was protruding from Forrest’s pocket! Battery operated I believe now!

Second to Pyscho, nominated by Beeflicker for something, can’t remember what this time!

Third to the hare, who got three songs. Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy, a hasher birthday song and then later a raucous one. Beeflicker dobbed her in for ringing 999 for the fire brigade in the last week, this was on the back of her down down a few weeks before at getting excited by the firemen in Newton Abbot fire station!

Cheesy Helmet came to oversea the rocket that was planted in Jill’s chocolate birthday cake.

The RA Forrest necked the last beer. (He hasn’t done it for a bit)

Thank you so much to all who came and for your help. It was great fun.Hope you enjoyed it too. Well done virgins. Hope you come again!

Next week: Poacher, and hopefully Cider in the Claycutters.

APOLOGIES

My apologies for the extreme lateness of posting the words and Monday's details. Facebook readers were informed on Wednesday of Twin Buffers passing which prevented posting of the words. I have been taken ill ill and only managed to post the words on FB this afternoon.

Here is Sam's (Squashed Balls) FB post:

Dear Teign Valley, I'm sad to tell you this lovely TV3 hasher, superbly named by yourselves, died last night of ovarian cancer. We are all shocked as it was only 5 days from discovery to death. I met Twin Buffers (Audrey) at the Teign Valley harvest festival hash at Stoke-in-teignhead in 2010. How lucky was I to be at that hash and be able to spend the next 14+ years with this lovely woman. There will be further updates. Thank you.

 

 

PISSWELL'S BIRTHDAY HASH

Run #2063 Monday 17th February 7:15 pm Circle up from River Dart Country Park, TQ13 7NP for Pisswell's birthday extravaganza. The OD is at Ashburton Arts Centre 15 West St, Ashburton, Newton Abbot TQ13 7DT Please read Pisswell's instructions below.

 

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