TVH3 The Words for 16th January 2023 The Crown & Sceptre, St Marychurch

 

 Photo above: Forrest catches the thrown Jester's hat squarely on his head!

Run No. 1952

 

HARES: Bluebird & Man-Pig ably assisted by Bobby Woll

 

Who wuz there: Bluebird, Man-Pig, Shitfaced, Threesum, Forrest-Stump, Warmfront, Amy, Beefy, Pisswell, Pollyfella, Fukarewe, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgy, Smellie, Wet-Johnny, Erection, Ernie, Fallen Woman, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Teapot, Bobbiball & Coldtits.

 

THE CIRCLE

The circle commenced with Bluebird asking for a show of hands for food. There was a choice of scampi & chips, sausage & chips or chicken strips & chips. All at the very reasonable price of £3.75. There were four takers and no further announcements. Then it was over to the co-hare whilst Bluebird scurried off to lay the early part of the trail.

 

Now, hands up those of you that have passed a sign saying "Wet-Paint. Do not touch". It is like a red rag too a bull. Curiosity is aroused. How long has the sign been there? Is it still relevant? Is the paint still wet? Invariably, curiosity gets the better of us and we reach out to touch the newly painted surface. 

 

Sometimes the paint is bone dry - old sign....should have been taken down ages ago.

 

 Occasionally, the result is a sticky finger as we regret our curiosity to enquire deeper. And so it proved to be on this occasion.

 

As is the wont of almost any Bluebird trail, there is always an element of foolhardiness in its creation. No wet paint this time but the Hare did paint a picture of an especially dodgy trail to instil fear into the waiting ranks. The Hare dished out the instructions:

 

"Do not do the Long if you are of a nervous disposition."

"Do not do the Long if you bruise easily."

"Do not do the Long unless you are a mountain goat."

"Do not do the Long if you are not competent in the execution of a PLF."

"No, Forrest. The Long is not suitable for dogs."

 

The Hare could not have been clearer but you should be reminded that we are dealing with hashers.

 

THE TRAIL

The trail started easily enough. Bobbiball had kindly offered to choreograph the Walkers' trail. This would be a walk down to the bottom of the cliff railway and then back up to Babbacombe for a quick beer stop at a local hostelry before returning to the On-Down. Simples, or it would have been if Bobbiball's first choice of pub had been open!

 

Meanwhile, Warmfront and Amy (with clothes on this time - obviously recovered from the Christmas party) led the balance of pack. Wet-Johnny was in hot pursuit and not losing ground. This would explain why I did not see them again until the pub. 

 

Somehow the main pack got slightly off trail early on. They all looped down an alleyway and back onto Happaway Road just before its junction with Teignmouth Road. The Hare got them back on trail and in no time they were in the rather sodden playing fields.

 

After a squelchy loop around the periphery of the playing fields we came across Bluebird who was issuing instructions.

 

"All those that want to do the Shorts, stay here!"

 

My heart sank as about eight Shorts stayed with Bluebird whilst six Hashers and Harriets plumped for the Longs. So much for my dire warnings. How on earth was I going to manage one of the steep slopes with a torch in one hand and a container of flour in the other? Secretly though, I was proud of the Longs steely determination. In particular, Forrest-Stump with dog in hand. Oh well, I'd better follow up and do the sweeping.

 

The trail went up onto the ridge where an unmarked public right of way traverses the upper edges of three fields before we came to a check and the south western flank of Watcombe Woods, just above Watcombe Villa. We haven't done this bit of footpath for nigh on twenty years. In the intervening period, it has become a little overgrown due to lack of use but the majority of tracks were discernible - at least they were during the day whilst setting the trail. How visible they would be in the dark remained to be seen.

 

I was pretty much at the tail end of the Longs. The only hashers I could see were Forrest Stump, who was just in front, and Pisswell just behind me. Progress down the steep and slippery path would be slow for all. However, despite not being able to see any of the FRB's, we could hear them calling on on. They weren't that far in front.

 

As we gingerly made our way down into Watcombe Glen and the site of a film studio - demolished a long, long time ago, we could hear Beefy shouting:"On to Long/Short split." This was reassuring as there was about a fifty metre length of trail that followed an almost completely indiscernible track that exits onto the rutted, tarmac lane down to Watcombe Beach.

 

Amazingly, all made it onto the lane without incident. Forrest was in Grizzly training mode as he and Pisswell elected to go Long. This took us up the lane and to the car park opposite Trinity House (I am sure that this used to be called Watcombe Manor - currently for sale if you fancy a huge pile).

 

We followed the wide path and woodland steps towards the Valley of the Rocks. But before the Valley of the Rocks we came to a check. It had already been kicked out to the right. Up, over and then down a series of woodland steps to rejoin Watcombe Lane. Then we ventured down Watcombe Lane for a mere forty or so metres before an arrow had us crossing the flowing stream created by a fractured water main. We then climbed even more woodland steps.....until they stopped. A storm had blown over a tree.

 

The uprooted tree had torn out the the top half dozen steps and these had subsequently been washed away. This made for slippery work with Forrest coming a cropper. The situation was not helped by a wardrobe malfunction as the tang had broken off Forrest's belt. This meant that he had to hold onto his dog and his pants at the same time whilst trying to navigate a fallen tree and and some non-existent steps.

 

There's nothing quite like setting yourself a challenge.

 

The rest of the run was fairly straightforward. It followed the lower path west through Watcombe Woods all the way back, around Torbay Golf Club, and then onto Petitor Road and the OH.

 

A sterling effort by our six Longs. Well done.....or was it just six?

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

Arriving back at the pub, Strap-On was waiting outside for Strap-Dancer. I assumed that Strap-Dancer had chosen the pub option with Bobbiball (she had along with Fallen Woman).

 

Inside the pub, numbers seemed a little low. Polyfella and Shitfaced had already gone home but a few were still missing. A headcount revealed that some of the Shorts were not present - namely, Threesum, Coldtits and Smellie. 

 

Some twenty or so minutes later they arrived - some dirtier than others. A quick look at Coldtit's Strava revealed that, somehow, they had got onto the first of the Long splits. This is the one that had the steep descent into Watcombe valley and, perplexingly, Coldtits had clocked up 5.2 miles on a trail that should have been under 4 miles for the Longs. The main thing was that they were all back safely so we could commence with the Down-Downs.

 

Returnee panto thespian, Forrest-Stump, took command of proceedings:

 

"Thank the pub for the beer."

 

Last week's birthday boy, Piltdown Man, was the first up to give away an award. The pearly hat was now being described as a Turkish wedding helmet....hmmmmm. Nevertheless, the worthy recipient was Warmfront who had won a cross country 10 miler the previous day. A rendition of, "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy", ensued.

 

Next up was Man-Pig (not in slippers this week) to give away the jester's hat to a deserving cause. It could have been given to the Christmas Party stripper but that would have meant backtracking to 10th December 2022.

 

It could have been given to any of the Longs for ignoring the Hare's pre-run omens. It could have been given to any of the three Shorts who ended up on the Longs. However, in fairness, only Threesome was present in the circle to hear the Hare's warnings of impending doom. The other two were either late arriving or powdering their nose.

 

It could have been given to either of the fallers, and an inspection of Forrest's and Smellie's backsides was undertaken in order to ascertain who was the dirtiest hasher.....a draw!

 

Finally, the sorry tale unfolded of a deaf, but determined hasher. He had left home without a change of clothing. He had fallen over which was, perhaps, unsurprising in the absence of a working belt. Additionally, he had committed himself to a challenging trail along with the loyal Perry. And, to complete the charge list Forrest performed a party trick by catching the flying jester's hat squarely on his head. A note for the "wardrobe mismanagement".

 

Warmfront 'dished the dirt' on a hasher who had turned up in road shoes (inadvisable as Bluebird can confirm) and had compounded the error by stopping at halfway to wash them! Wash 'em Wet Johnny!

 

The penultimate award should have gone to Forrest for diving into the bushes for a pre-hash slash. This had been witnessed by Fukarewe but he had promised not to squeal. A common hash mistake. Fukarewe gets the Down-Down for "Discretion".

 

Wet-Johnny was driving and Forrest is on the wagon for January. This left two untouched halves on the bar. It didn't take long for the Hash to decide that these should go to the Hares....a DD dead heat.

 

Thankyou to the pub for having us and for Bluebird's neighbour, Big Dave, for putting up with us. The Crown & Sceptre always makes us welcome and it's really rather pleasant to have the jazz music wafting in from the bar opposite.

 

POSTSCRIPT

A feeling of relief that I had been able to assist MP laying the trail - it's always a bit of a lottery whether I can get out. We struck it lucky with an all too rare dry day. The lay was 'slightly' eventful with MP's accompanying banter always entertaining.

 

The trail went without incident although it was my mistaka that sent Coldtits, Smellie and Threesum onto the long. I had mentioned to Polyfella that I should have put closer marks at the top of the lane going right in case Coldtits came along. I didn't, and she and the others quite understandably veered left onto the first long split.

 

Fortunately, all three are experienced hashers, and were able to cope with the mudslide descent. Little wonder that Smellie was taking my name in vain!

 

I concur with MP that the Crown & Sceptre is still hash friendly and ideal for me.

 

I am sorry about my minor hissy fit at the downdowns which MP was kind not to mention. I am a bit stressed from time to time, and Fallen Woman perhaps recognized the fact.

 

I had a lovely day, thanks, MP, Bob, and all you hashers.

 

NEXT WEEK

Next week's Hash is fromThe King William IV, Totnes. The Hare is Wet-Johnny and the run is just before Burn's Night so wear something Scottish - either on trail or in the pub.

 

On-On to next week.

MAGIC MOONLIGHT ON THE TEIGN, ARCHANGEL HITS 800 & THE MYSTERY OF THE MISSING PILLOCK SHIRT

by Man-Pig and the Bird

 

Run #1951 Monday 9th January

 

From the Taphouse, Newton Abbot

 

 

HARE: Archangel

 

Who wuz there: Arkangel, Shitfaced, Man-Pig, Hotlips, Zoot, Ollie, Cheerio Beerio, Warmfront, Beefy, Pisswell, Piddler, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgy, Smellie, Melon-Picker, Soapy, Wet-Johnny, Erection, Fukarewe, Ablesemen, Threesum, Slip-on-Me, Teapot, Ernie, Bluebird & Coldtits.

 

THE CIRCLE

Grand Master Shitfaced announced that annual subscriptions are now due at £30. Threesum announced that she'd put a deposit on a villa in the Bahamas and Smellie requires hares from 24th February onwards.

 

Man-Pig volunteered Bluebird for the Words. This was a "Thankyou" for having received the Hashshit shirt last week, "You - BLEEEEP".

 

Over to the Arkangel. "There are Walkers', Shorts', and longs' trails. No, Bluebird, I am not telling you how long they are". And we are jolly well off.

 

THE TRAIL according to MP

The Longs headed across the playing fields opposite the Taphouse whilst the Walkers and the Shorts headed down Teign Road towards the canal.

 

The Longs took a short loop around St John's Street and Salisbury Road before rejoining the Shorts and Walkers at the River Lemon. The trail then looped into the Brunel Industrial estate before following the footpath alongside the River Teign.

 

Where Aller Brook joins the Teign, the Walkers headed right and down the west side of Aller Brook whilst the Longs and Shorts continued downstream along the banks of the Teign.

 

We usually turn inland towards Buckland where the A380 passes over the Teign. Not this time. Instead, we continued along the Teign footpath for another 300 yards or so before crossing a small marshy area and climbing up into Wildwood Copse. At this point, Cheerio didn't want to get her feet wet and let out a large scream.....or was that Piddler poking her with one of his walking poles?

 

The reverse trail ran parallel with Besigheim Way passing between the A380 and Wildwood Crescent and Gilbert Road. We passed the children's play area and then the trail took us to the footbridge over the A380. Up to this point, I'd pretty much been on my own but then a flying Beefy passed me on the bridge.

 

The final Long/Short split had the Shorts heading into the Brunel Estate and along Forde Road back to the pub. The Longs went left running along the west side of Aller Brook towards Forde House. A check had us running into the gardens of Forde House and then.......nothing. Beefy was running round in circles. I checked three exits out of Forde House. Whilst I was looking for marks along the Torquay Road, I lost Beefy but I could see torchlight back in the garden. By the time I'd failed to find marks in the industrial estate, I'd lost contact with whomsoever had been in Forde House's gardens. I was just about to make my way to the On-Down when I thought I'd just check out the Penn Inn. Bingo! An arrow at the only exit I hadn't checked.

The trail now took the Longs up the east side of Aller Brook and up to the Walker/ Long & Shorts' split which had now been scrubbed out and replaced by an arrow. This took the Longs down Aller Brook's west bank. At the footbridge, the Longs' rejoined the Shorts' trail for the final canter back to the On-Down. 3.94 miles of which 0.7 miles was running around Forde House's garden!

 

A nice little wind down after Saturday's A2B.

 

PREAMBLE SQUAWK

The Bird came in the wistful hope that he would be better this week than the preceding week's calamity. He had barely survived the four-mile short and had been on an intravenous drip for three days after the debacle. The question of whether you can resuscitate a corpse was for the moment a moot point.

 

A goodly throng had assembled outside the Taphouse. Old mucker - careful with the spelling - Fukarwi was back, clutching a secret cache of cash, secreted from 'er indoors, for the subs. His new year's res, to attend regularly.

 

Warmfront had arrived on her trusty cycle from Chudleigh - oh to be young and magnificent once more!

 

Ernie, sans milk cart, was keeping his unblemished 2023 attendance intact, and it wouldn't be a hash without stalwarts Pisswell, Beefy, and Coldtits - though Bobby Woll was still in full hibernation mode. Man-Pig and I will wake him up in time for next week.

 

CIRCLE & TRAIL SNIPPETS by the Bird

A carefully orchestrated circle ensued. At great expense and with meticulous planning, the Teignbridge Trotters Couch to 5K group (aka the Sharks) were instructed to have a punch-up cum warm-up with the Jets (TVH you fools). Cue menacing West Side Story soundtrack.

 

The Bird shouted a warning: 'Here they are lads, let's get 'em!' But the Sharks were mob-handed and in the face of an oncoming blazing battery of headlights, the Jets held ranks. For their part, the Sharks also didn't like (it up 'em) the look of the motley crew waiting in ambush.

In complete silence, the Sharks passed by, wisely deciding against the punch-up option.

 

Man-Pig, predictably still irate over the heinous hidden Hashit shirt affair of last week, vented his fury on the unrepentant Bird, utilizing a four-letter word whose origin is still a matter of fierce debate by historians and linguists alike.

 

It appeared to be open season on the Bird as Smellie seemed to join in on the Bird-bashing. Being deaf, I failed to hear the utterance but as all eyes turned upon me, it may not have been complimentary.

 

Enough, desist, you must excuse my ramblings. I shall now return to the trail.

 

As Archangel refused to be drawn on distances, the short seemed a sensible option. The action was in front as the formidable Wet Johnny and fellow Penner, Erection, spearheaded the assault. 

 

Under the canal bridge, a group of potential delinquents was loitering in a tent outside an opium den. Expecting verbal abuse, I was pleasantly surprised by a lone cry: 'Ooh look, he's got finger lights!' Cancel delinquents and substitute well-behaved little darlings.

 

Catching up with the Penners it was made official that we were the advance party. Wishing to delay the moment Beefy et al caught up, I pressed on. The arrows were greatly appreciated.

Turning off onto the River Teign footpath, I sensed I was alone. Looking back - nothing. No dots and I had the disquietening feeling that I was off-trail. A few moments later, many head torches appeared at the kissing gate, the game was still at least a foot long.

 

Rounding a bend, a magnificent moonlit riverscape unfolded. A deep orange Wolf Moon hung low in the sky, projecting a broad ribbon of moonlight down the River Teign. What an amazing sight our hare had prepared for us completely free of charge.

 

So engrossed was I with the spell-binding scene, I narrowly missed falling into a large puddle. For a moment I considered hurdling the water jump before sanity returned.

 

The arrows were straight as, well, an arrow, remaining reliable as I scrambled up a bank into the woods. A light manifested itself below - I had tarried too long at the moon show and now the longs were on me. Fortunately, it was a single long - Warmfront. No contest, I waved her past and watched in admiration as she rapidly left me in her wake.

 

A few hundred yards later and Wet Johnny caught up. How long will an elastic band stretch before it snaps? I managed to stretch it to twenty yards before Wet Johnny kindly eased off.

So much had happened along the highways and byways that it came as something of a shock to discover we had only recorded two miles as we paused on the outskirts of the town centre.

Just as well, I was spent and Wet Johnny knew it as he surveyed the near-lifeless body on the pavement. Helping me to my feet after my collapse, he said that we would just do a little extra around the canal bank before adjourning to the refreshment tent.

 

We picked up part of the first long split before mercifully turning for home. Thanks, Wet Johnny, good job you were having an easy run.

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

The Hare had arranged with Chris at the Taphouse to open especially for us. This is because the tap house is usually closed on Mondays in January. Hence the first order of service was to thank Chis for opening and the beers. Thank you.

 

Horned hat from Piddler to Melon-Picker for achieving septuagenarian status. "Here's to the septuagenarian....."

 

Replacement jester's hat (as baby Bat hat had been left at home) from Smellie to Man-Pig for very nearly turning up the Hash with his slippers but without his trainers. "Hold it in your hand Mrs. Murphy....."

 

Birthday down-down for Piltdown Man's birthday the following day; all the right notes - not necessarily in the right order.

 

The Hashshit shirt needed a new home. There were quite a few contenders. The first contender was Smellie for dropping Man-Pig in the quagmire by recounting the story of the wardrobe malfunction re substituting his trainers for slippers! The next contender was Fukarewe. Some shenanigans regarding electricity consumption at their abode. Third up was the screamer. Who was screaming on trail? It was Cheerio Beerio in a botched attempt to cross a small puddle. (Could that have been my water-jump?)

 

However, none of the previous three could contend with the award of an 800-run badge. Who could be so bored as to have attained the dizzy heights of 800 runs? None other than our Hare for the evening - Archangel....."Get a life, life, life......"

 

Finally, there was a rather strange award. Brandishing a tee shirt, Teapot seemed to be offering up lost property. 'Anyone here own the Pillock of the Year 2019 shirt?' A perplexed and frowning Bird stepped hesitantly forward. 'Well, it must be me, but where did I leave it?' An answer was not forthcoming to the riddle, and the half of heavily-chlorinated tap water was downed.

 

On examination of the shirt, it became clear that it was brand new and had never been worn. Back home, I searched the archive and the mystery was solved. Dear Winfield had posted the awardees from the Union Inn at Denbury, but curiously there was no mention of a Pillock Award. I had been unable to make the Union Inn and so had thought that there was no Pillock that year. The surprise awarding was somehow forgotten and the shirt has languished in Teapot's bag of tricks for over three years!

 

Never mind, better late...

 

POSTSCRIPT

A great evening and Archangel showed that a trail doesn't have to be long to succeed. The highlight had to be the spectacular orange moon along the Teign, captured so well by Beefy and Pisswell (her photo posted here).

 

The Taphouse is fast becoming a hash favourite and we will be returning there at the end of the month.

 

Rest assured that Man-Pig and the Bird are still friends but bear in mind that the friendship will come under strain again next Monday with the Bird having an unsettling habit of going Wong Wei.

 

Last word - Congratulations to Archangel on getting his 800 run badge!

 

NEXT WEEK

Next week's Hash is from The Crown and Sceptre, St Marychurch. The Hares will be Bluebird, Man-Pig, and, perhaps, Bobbiball - but he doesn't know anything about it yet!

 

ON ON to next week.

A LOW-FLYING AIRCRAFT, MAN-PIG NOBBLED & A NAMING IN ABSENTIA

 

Run #1950 Monday 2nd January from the Devon Arms with Smellie

 

Who wuz there: GM Shitfaced, Teapot, Piltown, Smellie, Pollyfella, Coldtits, Soapy, Melon Picker, Beefy, Pisswell, Piddler, Broads, Tamsin, Man-Pig, Well Hopped, Big End, Fallen Woman, Pork Torpedo, Hornie, Ernie, Bluebird.

 

PREAMBLE

Vainly did I search my emails for Man-Pig's words until it slowly dawned upon me that I had been volunteered by Teapot. Even the faithful template and who wuz there failed to materialize. I grudgingly concede that MP deserves a week off now and again.

 

But now, to the rapturous applause by the two 'words' junkies out there - and to the collective groans of the majority of long-suffering readers, follow the first words of 2023. You may need a cuppa to endure.

 

THE CIRCLE

The born-again Grand Master, convincing himself that he was now hopefully free of ailments, circled his suspicious little huddle into some semblance of order and launched into his first spiel of the year.

 

His opening gambit that the hash subs would now be an eye-watering £30 elicited gasps from the now even more suspicious little huddle. The bombshell was tempered slightly by the good news that 2023 would be laden with goodies to make up for the shock to various wallets.

 

The spiel was punctuated from time to time by passing vehicles making it difficult to follow the arguments. The enforced interruptions served the useful purpose of delaying the start of the trail as first Coldtits, and then the Dartmoor tourists of Beefy and Pisswell arrived on the scene.

 

It was decidedly chilly, and the huddle began to shuffle with impatience as thankfully, a heavily attired hare stepped forward with the trail menu.

 

'One and on, the long and short trails are together for quite some way, so FRB's please kick out any checks. The short is four miles and the long is about five and a half. The walkers' trail is two point two miles.' The hooded Eskimo-like hare pointed vaguely in the direction of the North Pole and the huddle was duly dispersed.

 

Before we embark on the flight of fancy [sic] it might be useful to imagine a little old pensioner, plucked from a park bench, and unkindly informed that he must complete a four-mile run after years of inactivity...

 

THE TRAIL

Two figures dressed in black led the pack onto the sandy foreshore of the Back Beach to encounter a veritable obstacle course designed to maim and incapacitate the unwary. Man-in-black-Pig jinked and narrowly missed falling into a hole, shouting a warning to the second figure in black - the little old pensioner outlined to you previously.

 

Man-Pig again nearly came to grief a few strides later as a log loomed out of the gloom, and a succession of heavy mooring chains kept the pack on their toes.

 

The obstacle course jollity concluded, the pack veered onto the tarmac whereupon the pensioner, now warming to the task, shouted: 'On to check!' 'What check?' uttered Man-Pig. 'The one twelve feet in front of you!' retorted the little old pensioner.

 

As Man-Pig dutifully kicked out the check, the little old pensioner - plucked randomly from a park bench, found himself at the head of affairs and decided now was the time to switch on his novelty finger lights to celebrate the unexpected event.

 

The finger lights - two on each hand - emitted a bright but limited-range glow, perhaps more befitting as indicators of presence - or, wingtip lights mayhap?

 

The triumph was short-lived, however, as Beefy ambled past, doggedly pursued by Man-Pig. Only a half-mile into the test, and the little old pensioner had shot his aged bolt, resigning himself to being overtaken by all longs and sundry shorts.

 

Pollyfella tipped his cap to the old pensioner and then two more longs closed in - Tamsin and Broads.

 

The unlikely trio joined up for a social chat on the climb to the Dawlish road.

 

Breasting the rise and the salvation of the easy cascade back into Teignmouth, the little old pensioner hesitated. Just at that moment of indecision, the errant Man in black Man-pig hurtled past and the die was cast.

 

A blood-red mist swirled and the little old pensioner, despite anxious warnings from Broads, headed into the dip, Holcombe bound.

 

The sea wall beckoned, siren-like to the unlikely trio whose destiny now seemed intertwined for the rest of the trail. The lights of Teignmouth sparkled in the far distance as Broads and the little old pensioner prepared grimly to dig in for death or glory.

 

An amused onlooker, Tamsin's role would be to summon assistance in the event of catastrophe befalling the little old pensioner. With a warning shout by Tamsin: 'Don't fall off the wall!' It was game on.

 

The little old pensioner amused himself by periodically extending both arms wide and pointing his novelty fingered lights backwards as he swept by unsuspecting walkers on the sea wall.

As he approached, he cried out: 'Watch out! Low-flying aircraft!' The walkers, now unfortunately aware of the apparition, refrained from replying, being fearful that it may be an escaped lunatic. They were half correct in their appraisal..

 

The lunatic paused for a moment to stabilize his laboured breathing. Tamsin sauntered alongside. 'You're doing awfully well (for a doddery old pensioner)..' At least there was one person who appreciated the task set to the little old pensioner plucked from a park bench.

Two hundred yards later and pausing yet again to forestall a possible stroke, Tamsin sauntered alongside once more. 'I bet you didn't realize how long the sea wall is, did you?' This wasn't very helpful as the lunatic was by now, quite aware of this fact.

 

At last the torture was nearly over as the tall figure of Piltdown appeared at the end of the sea wall.

 

'Smellie will direct you from now on.'

 

As Coldtits pointed out later in the Devon Arms, the tree and decorations in the square were very pretty indeed - apparently at a cost to the taxpayer of £46,000, but, with his face set in a glazed death grin, the little old pensioner, so cruelly plucked from a park bench, was intent on reaching his chariot to call for a paramedic.

 

Satisfied that he was safe, Tamsin and Broads continued onto the long split... sigh.

 

THE DOWNDOWNS

There was a delay as a few were missing. The Grand Master, as good as his word, got round the four mile short to get his year off to a solid start. Piddler also survived the short trail, sporting a plaster on his forehead after sustaining an injury whilst climbing into his camper van. As you can imagine, he was subjected to many a jest for the mishap. Big End and Well Hopped (injured, we wish her well) did not venture into the pub. Pisswell, despite not feeling a hundred per cent, came in just as the downdowns eventually got underway.

 

Recipient of the Baby bat hat from Warm Front, Man-Pig singled out the hare for the honour but Smellie was a little unhappy to have the drink from the urinal which cramped her style somewhat.

Never mind, amidst generous applause, she triumphed.

 

Smellie proceeded to give an award to a hasher she had been accompanying but who mysteriously disappeared en route. Sheepishly, Teapot came forward for his punishment, and it wasn't a bad effort at all, surprising a few of the cabaret onlookers.

 

A naming in absentia was next. Man-Pig had mentioned in the words that Tamsin really should be named but as she never goes to the pub, there was a slight problem. After hearing a few details, the hash was given the task. As is the norm, confusion was rife in the ranks. 'We'll think about it!' called one. 'No, you've had twenty hashes to think about it!' called another.

 

It was Fallen Woman who came to the aid of the party, providing a very clever hash handle indeed: Miss Inn' - far too clever for most. Please don't make me explain.

 

Tamsin's plaintive last words to me were: 'Please make sure it's not too bad!'

 

A classic hash handle methinks, well done FW.

 

There was one last award. The RA was forced to explain why he had mislaid the hashit shirt.

The answer lay in a Christmas outing with Bobby and the Bird at the Thatched Tavern. Bobby had brought the shirt along as he wasn't going the following Monday. Slightly befuddled on leaving the tavern, Man-Pig was sure he had put it in his chariot only to find it missing later on.

 

The explanation was still ongoing as the Bird advanced with DD drink in one hand and the shirt in the other. I fear reprisals for the dastardly deed.

 

POSTSCRIPT

A very good turnout for the Bank Holiday Monday, well done the attendees and especially those who travelled afar like Beefy and Pisswell. 

 

Grateful thanks to Smellie, assisted by Piltdown, for the trail. It's not much fun laying a trail in gloomy January, but it was well worthwhile, and we all enjoyed it. Good service in the Devon Arms and the Deck Hand went down a treat.

 

NEXT WEEK

We're at the Taphouse, Newton Abbot with Arkangel the hare. I hope to see you all there if fortune smiles on me.

 

ON ON to next week!

TVH3 The Words for 26th December 2022

The Park Inn, Kingskerswell

 

Boxing Day pub walkabout

 

Run No. 1949

 

HARE: Shitfaced

 

Who wuz there: Shitfaced, Man-Pig, Man-Piglet (returnee), Cheerio-Beerio, Darcy, Eva, Piltdown Man, Georgy Porgy, Smellie, Piddler (by bike), Strap-On, Strap Dancer, Slip-on-Me, Beefy, Pisswell, Threesum, and Martin.

 

The Circle

Amazingly, seventeen turned up for the Boxing Day hash. Family commitments, travel/travel chaos, and the Season of Christmas usually conspire to result in low numbers between the Christmas and New Year break. Accordingly, it was good to see a goodly number of, mainly sober, souls.

 

Smellie announced that she was looking for hares for the 16th January and from 4th February onwards. The Hare announced a short trail up to the Lord Nelson and back. Additionally, did anyone require food post hash? This would comprise gammon, cheesy chips, pigs in blankets etc @ £3 in the pot. There were no takers at the time but a few decided that they were, indeed, peckish after the arduous trail to the Nellie and back.

 

The Trail

A lunchtime walk around the village had revealed no marks whatsoever. The absence of marks was confirmed by the Hare at the commencement of the trail.

 

Despite being a somewhat short trail, it was not without incident. What on earth could go wrong in 600 yards?

 

First, Piddler wanted to do a proper run, and enquired if anyone wanted to get to the Nellie via the Barn Owl. Little interest was expressed, and this diminished even further when Man-Pig advised that the Barn Owl was shut.

 

The second issue was whether to delay commencement of the trail. Two stalwarts were en route to the Park Inn but were running late due to having just completed a run on Dartmoor. This was Beefy and Pisswell. We started the run without them, and told them where to meet us.

 

There was no marked trail per se. Nevertheless, this didn't stop an impromptu long/short split from taking place almost from the outset. Man-Pig took most of the pack down the alleyway opposite the pub and headed for the main road. Shitfaced, however, took the balance of the pack back towards the war memorial and Fore Street.

 

The reason for the split soon became apparent when FRB, Piddler, ground to a halt between The Sloop and Dobbin Arch. The narrow footpath that leads up to the Nellie from the A380 had been blocked off with safety barriers. Apparently, this was because the council had deemed the wall to the pathway to be unsafe. Did this phase our hashers, including Darcy (8 yrs) and Eva (6 yrs)? No.

 

Man-Pig was first to navigate the barrier. A jump onto the wall, past the barrier, and descent back onto the path. Everyone made it safely through, and soon we were in a nice warm pub.

In theory, we had planned to stop for a single beer before returning to the Park Inn but we had to wait for latecomers. Just as pint number one had been finished, Beefy and Pisswell appeared. But where were Martin and Pisswell? Just as pint number two had been finished, they appeared. 

 

Never mind, just as well I bought some extra cash.

 

The return journey was a bit of a free for all but all made it safely back to the Park Inn.

 

The Down-Downs

Park 'n' Ride had just commenced putting out the food. Dilemma - quick pre-scoff, down-downs or defer till after food. 

 

"Be quick" shouted Shitfaced. And so commenced the briefest of down-downs. The RA sounded reminiscent of an auction house auctioneer - sans gavel.

 

"Any awards from last week?". Silence.

 

"Any stories?". Silence.

 

So the first down-down went to Piddler for paying for his beer in the Nellie with a watch. Doesn't anyone have cash anymore?

 

Next up were Threesum and Martin for being late in arriving at the Nellie; and this despite having the shortest distance to travel.

 

Threesum explained that it was Martin's fault as he was having difficulty with his Yuletide log. No doubt he'll require U-Bend's assistance with the logjam so a note for, "Here's to U-Bend........".

 

As the delay had been entirely Martin's fault, Threesum nominated him to down her half as well. It must be at least six years since we've had a whole pint as a down-down.

 

The last beer was still to be awarded as Park 'n' Ride arrived with the last of the hot food. Shitfaced was instantly awarded the last down-down for being the Hare and taking us on a dangerous obstacle course en route to the Nellie....for Heaven's sake man, children's lives were put at risk!

 

A note for the "Steeplechaser".

 

A thank you to Park 'n' Ride for the scoff and the beer. Unsurprisingly, no-one wanted the half pint of water.

 

Next week

Next week's Hash, the first of a brand new year, is at The Devon Arms Hotel, Teignmouth where Smellie will try to avoid getting four down-downs!

 

Wishing you all a Peaceful New Year.

 

On on to next year, MP.