A WARM WELCOME FROM TVH3

Welcome to the Teign Valley Hash House Harriers of glorious South Devon. You are guaranteed a warm welcome and a great hash experience. We are the 'Party Hash' and we run from pubs all over Torbay, Dartmoor and the Teign Valley every Monday evening at 7.15pm. Our trails are marked with flour, chalk or sawdust and take in woodland, streams, byways, bridle paths and rolling countryside. We cater for all abilities, you needn't worry about keeping up, a leisurely walk with others or a good paced run if you're fit - you choose. The run duration is anything from 30 minutes to an hour and the distance is normally between 3-6 miles depending on whether you decide to take a short or long trail. Your first run is free, so come along and give it a go! After the run hashers enjoy a drink and food in the pub. On many occasions, the pub will lay on a 'Hash Menu', food specially for hashers.

WHAT TO EXPECT AT YOUR FIRST HASH

Starts soon after 7:15 pm each Monday.
The Grandmaster will gather the hash together in a circle and welcome Virgins & Visitors to TVH3 and inform the group of pertinent news or upcoming events.
Hares will announce details or the trail, number of long and short splits and regroups.

Down-Downs - sometimes at the circle but usually in the pub after the run. Hashers and harriets (lady hashers) have a half pint and under age hashers have a soft drink or water. If you are driving, just ask the RA for water.

A Down-Down is a means of punishing, rewarding, or merely recognizing an individual for any action or behavior. Once awarded, the downdown must be drunk without pause, otherwise the RA may take action!

Individuals may be recognized for outstanding service, or for their status as a visitor or newcomer.

Down-Downs also serve as punishment for misdemeanours real, imagined, or blatantly made up.

Such transgressions may include: wearing new shoes, pointing with a finger, or the use of real names rather than hash names.

Hash Names

The use of real names (nerd name) during an event is discouraged, and members are typically given a new "hash name," usually in deference to a particularly notorious escapade, a personality trait, or their physical appearance.

Members are named after attending the hash on several occasions or if something noteworthy occurs to prompt a naming.

Other hashers may share stories or observations about the individual, with the final name being chosen by general consensus from all suggestions put forward by the hash.

NEWCOMERS TO THE HASH
Completely new to hashing? Don't know what to expect? Worried, shy or nervous? You needn't be as all newcomers or virgins as they are known, will receive a warm welcome. When the hashers are called to make a circle - about 7:15 pm each Monday, the Grand Master will welcome all hashers and after various notices about forthcoming events etc are dealt with, he will ask if there are any visitors from other hashes or virgins present. You will be asked to come forward and be introduced to the hash. A tip to remember, don't wear new trainers as these are frowned upon by the RA (Religious Advisor) and will incur a sprinkling of flour over them. That's all there is to it and you can then step back and enjoy the run and the social get together after in the On Down (the pub). Whatever your pace, there are certain to be others who will keep you company along the trail. Walk, jog or run - it's up to you.
Hashing is all about making friends and having fun, so just turn up any Monday and have a go.

Saturday 18 February 2023

MONDAY'S MAP

 


TVH3 The Words for 13th February 2023

Forde Social Club, Newton Abbot

Run No. 1956
 
HARES: Soapy, Melonpicker & Palmolive
 
Who wuz there: Soapy, Melonpicker, Palmolive, 'Allo Vera, Wash'n'Go, Shitfaced, Popeye, Popeye's girlfriend, U-Bend, Man-Pig, Archangel, Hotlips, Zoot, Slip-on-Me, Satnav, Ablesemen, Forrest Stump, Woodlend, Warmfront, Amy, Pisswell, Piltdown Man, Smellie, Ernie, Coldtits, Big End, Well Hopped, Roger the Dodger, Teapot, Mouldy Dick, Beeflicker & Triple Jump.
 
The Circle
Can't comment - wasn't there.
 
The Trail
Didn't do it. From the Down-Downs it appears to went through Milber.
 
The Down-Downs
Forrest Stump presided over a throng of hashers, the majority of which had adorned themselves with something red or pink. Forrest started by thanking the Hash for the beer. The Hash? Yes - apparently so.
 
Up first to give away an award was Melonpicker who had the horned hat from a few weeks ago.
 
"Where do you put important items - like your purse?"
 
The correct answer is not on top of your car and leaving them there overnight. This was further compounded by spending most of the next day searching your house from top to bottom looking for the elusive beer tokens that will carry you through the day. The deserving recipient was Slip-on-Me. A note for Soliloquy! (Please concentrate.)
 
Warmfront received a Down-Down but I can't remember from whom or for what reason. I am definitely turning into a doddery old git.
 
Next up was Mouldy. He blew the whistle on a perplexed Smellie for falling over somewhere in Milber. From the look of total bewilderment on Smellie's face this looked like a case of - never let the truth get in the way of a good story.
 
Archangel returned with the Hashshit shirt after a four week leave of absence. The recipient was Woodlend. I think for attempting to strangle his dog.
 
This exhausted the alcoholic down-downs, but a half pint of water remained.
 
Smellie had the last award to assign. Initially, it was going to be self-awarded due to Smellie believing, incorrectly, that she had left the Jester's hat at the Manor Inn last week. It was in her rucksack all along. 
 
Next in line would have been Woodlend for alleged cruelty to animals. But he'd already had his down-down. The ultimate recipient, and justly deserved, was Mouldy Dick. He had encouraged Smellie to start running again as they were approaching the sweetie stop. Thinking that they'd be running together, Smellie duly broke into a canter whilst Mouldy nonchalantly carried on walking. A note for "The Deceiver" as a sense of karma descended upon those gathered.
 
Groundhog Day
Finally, and in a repeat of the previous week, there was an incoming call from Smellie who was already on her way home with Piltdown Man.
 
"Hello. It's Smellie. Have I left a body warmer in the bar?"
 
"Is it blue and made by the The North Face?"
"Yes."
"You certainly have!"
 
Next week
Next week's Hash is at The Silent Whistle, Ashburton. Our Hare for the evening will be Pisswell.
 
On-On to next week and thank you for wearing red or pink. Hopefully, you all had an enjoyable Valentine's Day.



Sunday 12 February 2023

TVH3 The Words for 6th February 2023

by Man-Pig
 
The Manor Inn, Galmpton
 
Run No. 1955
 
HARE: U-Bend
 
Who wuz there: U-Bend, Man-Pig, Threesum, Slip-on-Me, Satnav, Ablesemen, Beefy, Pisswell, Piltdown Man, Smellie, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Ernie, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Fallen Woman, Coldtits, Big End, Well Hopped, Ned, Teapot & Mouldy Dick (yes - you read it right - Mouldy!).
 
The Circle
No Shitfaced this evening so the Hare, U-Bend, doubled for Shitfaced (hard to believe, but true). Numbers were a little down; perhaps because of the change of venue on Friday night - I do hope that no-one went to the Atmospheric by mistake as they would find it shut on Mondays till 15th April! The road closure on the main road between Paignton Zoo and Churston probably didn't help matters either and, to cap it all, it was rather chilly. 
 
Nevertheless, we had 19 runners/walkers and 1 drinker at the start. However, by the time we had finished the trail the pack comprised:
 
20 runners/walkers
1 hobbler
1 drinker
"How so?" you ask. Read on.
 
U-Bend explained that there was a Long and a Short trail plus the option of two Walkers' trails - a half mile walk or a one and a half mile walk.
 
"Are there any Walkers?"
 
Teapot, now recovered from a bout of covid, and Ablesemen were the only takers for the Walkers' trail(s). The Longs would be about 5 and the Shorts about 4 miles.
 
"Go".
The Trail
 
Misdirections from the Hare in the car park had Man-Pig, Smellie and Pisswell heading towards the windmill on Galmpton Common only to be called back. The rest of the pack were checking it out down Greenway Road. After an early check, we continued down and then up Greenhill Road to the Wakers/Long-Shorts split at the junction with Coombe Lane. The Walkers carried on up Greenway Road and, I assume, turned right down Mill Lane. The Longs and the Shorts turned left and then right onto the uphill track known as Greenway Walk but is, in fact, called Coombe Lane. At it's zenith, there was the first of the two Long/Short splits. The Shorts went right whilst the Longs went left, completing a half mile loop before coming back on themselves and rejoining the Shorts. Accurate marks ensured that even a contraflow system didn't confuse the easily befuddled Longs.
 
I had been a bit tardy at the start and didn't see any lights in front of me on the first Long - not that I'd ever expected to catch up with Beefy and Wet-Johnny. However, crossing open fields I looked back to see two torches some 200 yards behind me. One was definitely Pisswell and the other would probably have been the late arriving Ernie.
 
Back on the Shorts, the trail followed a public footpath downhill. This rejoins Greenway Road just above the Greenway railway tunnel - although you would only know this by looking at a map. The marks were clear and took us down, past Maypole, and right into the Greenway estate - famous for being Agatha Christie's home. At the rear entrance to the estate, I caught up with Threesum, Satnav and Piltdown Man.
 
The trail then took a right across an open field high above the River Dart. Had it been a summer run the view would have been spectacular. Here I caught up with the Hare before the trail entered Down Copse and the track that descends down to Greenway Road again; this time at the entrance to Greenway Tunnel near Greenway Halt on the Paignton to Kingswear steam railway. Arrows took us straight across to follow a public footpath down a steep open field. At the bottom, I could see torchlight and hear Beefy calling. Soon I'd caught up with Coldtits. This was where we had to jump across small stream and exit onto an old track that skirts around the bottom of Brim Hill. This track meets up with Mill Lane - the Walkers' trail - but the Walkers had long since gone.
 
Eventually, the dirt track gives way to tarmac as we headed downhill and to the second, and final Long/Short split at Galmpton Creek. Here I caught up with a hobbling Beefy. A twisted ankle in Down Copse - ouch. Beefy sensibly elected to go Short. To my left, on the other side of the quay, I could see a solitary torch. This was Smellie just about to commence the uphill trek which follows a public footpath across two fields before ending at Stokegabriel Road. A quick "Hello" and "Goodbye" to Smellie as I made my way up to Stokegabriel Road where an arrow had us going right and down Port Hill for a straight run back to the On-Down.
 
At the bottom of Port Hill, I met up, again, with Beefy. At least he was still moving. It wouldn't take long to get cold with the temperature hovering just above zero - but we were almost home.
 
The Down-Downs
Amazingly, and despite lower than usual numbers, three awards were within our midst. Additionally, we had gained Ernie who had arrived late but had completed the trail on his own without issue. This is always the sign of a good lay when a solitary hasher can navigate his way around without too much trauma. We had also gained Coldtits en-route but I am sure that she wasn't present in the Circle.
 
Ladies first. So Piswell stepped up to award the Baby Bat Hat. There was no long story or introduction. The bat (and hat) went flying towards Manopause, very nearly knocking his (3rd) pint over. His misdemeanour? Turning up for the beer and not the trail. A note for the beerfly.
Next up was Beefy. He had the jester's hat and he had a story; the story of a frustrated individual impersonating a disgruntled NHS worker. With overtones reminiscent of Basil Faulty beating his broken down Austin 1100 with a small branch, this Harriet was having a problem of her own. On reaching a gate which would not open she was heard to cry out, "Right. I'm beginning to lose my patients with you now!"
 
A note for the "Non-Doctor" as Smellie took her punishment.
 
The final award was from Man-Pig. It was the Turkish wedding cap. This he simply gave to Beefy on the occasion of the first time that the Pig had overtaken Beefy. In fairness, this feat of athleticism had only been made possible by Beefy having turned his ankle in the woods. There followed a silly little dance by the Pig whilst he lifted his hash shirt to reveal a Scotland RFU T-shirt underneath....and some inane comment about the Calcutta Cup.
 
We were just about to thank the pub for the beer when Teapot stepped in:
 
"Not so fast. We still have an award".
"We do?"
 
Teapot went on to explain that Mouldy Dick was gracing us with his presence because it was his birthday the following day. As per usual, all the right notes in the wrong order. However, we'd run out of beer. The look of disappointment on Mouldy's face was a picture to behold as he downed two thirds of a pint of water.
 
That concluded matters for the evening....or did it? Just as the tail enders were about to leave the ever welcoming Manor Inn, a member of the bar staff handed the Pig a cordless phone.
"Err. What's going on here?" I thought.
 
"Hello. It's Smellie" Have I left the Jester's hat in the pub?"
 
Before we even had the chance to scour the bar area for the missing item of headwear there was:
 
"OK. I've found it!" over the phone. I rather suspect that we have one of the Down-Downs already assigned for next week!
 
Next week
Next week's Hash is at Forde Social Club, Newton Abbot. Our Hares for the evening are Soapy and Melonpicker. As it is the eve before Valentine's Day the Hares ask that we all wear something red or pink.
 
On-On to next week!

DECOYED AT DECOY

 

The Keyberry, Newton Abbot
 
Monday 30th January
 
Run No. 1954
 
HARES: Threesum & Slip-On-Me
 
Who wuz there: Coldtits, Threesum, Slip-on-Me, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Shitfaced, Hotlips, Zoot, Cheerio Beerio, Piddler, Fukarewe, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgy, Smellie, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Ernie, Tamsin/Miss Inn', Strap-On, Broadshit, Fallen Woman, Broken Man, Big End, Well Hopped, Ned, Ablesemen, Satnav, Rise'n' Shine, Mateus Rose (or was it Teararse?), Gaga-4-it, Triple Jump & Bee Flicker - a visitor from South hams Hash.
 
THE CIRCLE
I was running a tad late so missed the early part of the Circle. The first thing that struck me was the number of Harriets in attendance. Was this to be a girl power Hash? Threesome said something about a trail of three parks and if it wasn't long enough you could go round again - BUT, be back by 8.30 for food! There were also voting forms available in the pub afterwards for the Awards Night.
 
THE TRAIL
No UFO's this week but plenty of confusion. We crossed the road from the Keyberry and headed towards Sainsbury's. At the roundabout at the junction of Decoy Road, Kingskerswell Road and St Michael's Road, an arrow had the Longs and the Shorts going across and up Decoy Road.....or did it? A very fast visitor from South hams Hash, Bee Flicker (there's something very dodgy about that name), led the FRB's up Decoy Road. But this was only for a short while as the Hare was calling "On back". How so? We were clearly on trail. Apparently not. The arrow for the Longs and the Shorts was only relevant once we'd been around Decoy Park first! So we looked elsewhere for checks. Eventually, someone found a check that took us behind a row of terraced houses and into Decoy Park.
 
Once in the park, an un-named SCB speculated that the trail would skirt the edge of the playing fields and we'd all end up back at the starting point. BONG! WONG. The trail went into the woods and followed the path that almost circumnavigates Decoy Lake. The misguided SCB spent the next five minutes getting back on trail and catching up with Piltdown Man, Smellie, Cheerio Beerio, Manopause and Big End who had to stop to undertake doggy poo duty.
 
The trail eventually exited onto the edge of the football pitch only to dive back into the woods 50 yards later. Or so we thought. No marks so back out again only to re-enter the woods 100 yards further along.
 
I think marks were found but, suffice it to say, we all ended up on the broad track that forms the southern boundary to Decoy Park. At its junction with Kingskerswell Road, we expected to see marks directing us back towards the pub so that we could start phase 2 of the trail. I stayed on the road and found no marks until I, again, came to the Long and Short arrow at the roundabout. Most of the other hashers were on a parallel course but behind the terrace of houses forming the eastern boundary of Decoy Park.
 
Eventually, we all regathered at the roundabout to commence phase 2 of a Three Park Trilogy. Once again Bee Flicker (it sounds more dodgy every time I type it) led the pack along Decoy Road and then right and up Keyberry Park road. At this juncture, Wet-Johnny was also an FRB with Big End, Well Hopped and Broadshit in hot pursuit.
 
An arrow had us turning left and down Station Road for a short distance before another arrow appeared to direct us into the southeast corner of Forde Park. At the edge of the park there was a blob of flour so we continued diagonally across the park but nothing. A scout around the Coach Road edge of Forde park again found nothing, and a lot of hashers were spread out all across Forde Park.
 
At the far side of the park, we bumped into Rise'n'Shine and Mateus Rose. They were just telling us about marks they'd seen at the bottom of Coach Road when there was a call of "On-On". This was Wet-Johnny callingl from the the southwest corner of Forde Park. At the junction of Coach Road and Church Road was an arrow pointing towards the top of Decoy Road and then what appeared to be the "OH" sign. "On Home" already. Surely not. Once again Hashers spread out in all directions in a fruitless quest for the truth. It was also the last time that we saw Wet-Johnny. Is he still out there on trail?
 
The Pig wandered aimlessly down Decoy Road towards the On-Down looking for the small footpath that would take us back into Decoy Park. On his way down, he bumped into the Hare, Satnav and Ablesemen.
 
"Have you done all three parks already?" enquired Threesum.
"Three? No."
 
Two wine gums later, the others caught up and were as confused as I was. Threesum got out her phone and showed us where we should have gone. None of us had gone anywhere near the railway station so we elected to go round again.
 
For Man-Pig, Broadshit, Ernie, Big End and Well Hopped it must have seemed like Groundhog day. Once again we failed to find any marks in Forde Park until we were almost at the junction between the bottom of Coach Road and the A381. An arrow pointed straight across and along the eastern side of the island that makes up the one way system. We concluded that the marks in Forde Park must have been on the grass along the eastern edge of the park - not on either the paths within the park or on the pavement down Station Road. Anyway, we were on trail, albeit on the Courtenay Park side of Station Road. As we veered left we could clearly see marks on the other side of the road. About 50 yards before the pedestrian crossing, outside the front of the station, we could see a large arrow pointing directly towards us.
 
Try as we might, we could not find any marks on our side of the road nor on any of the footpaths within Courtenay Park. We therefore decided to continue to the Queens Hotel and turn left up Courtenay Park road. Impossible. Still no marks. Then hey presto! An arrow pointing up Church Road. But, before commencing up Church Road, we wanted to know where we went wrong in Courtenay Park. Reverse reconnaissance appeared to reveal that the trail within Courtney Park was a line-of-sight trail which did not follow any of the footpaths within the Park.
 
The marks along Church Road were clear and plentiful but most had been laid on the side of the road without a pavement which was a little perplexing. Nevertheless, as we now knew where we were going, it wasn't long before we arrived back at the "OH" mark that we'd been at some 20 minutes earlier. At least we knew how to get back to the pub from there.
 
THE DOWN-DOWNS
It rather seemed that, for the first time, the Harriets might have outnumbered their male counterparts. It was therefore agreed that Fallen Woman should preside as RA for the evening. Fallen Woman, in turn, invited the Bird to run interference.
 
The first award went to Slip-on-Me for being joint Hare. It was also her birthday on Friday, and she had kindly baked a cake for us. Usually we would have had all the right notes in the wrong order. However, as we were sharing the bar with a few locals the RA decided that, once nominated, all Down-Downs would take place simultaneously.
 
Slip-on-Me had the Turkish wedding helmet from the previous week. This she gave to Man-Pig citing, "Wrong week"; a female euphemism, apparently, for a nosebleed on trail. It was the only time that I've had Harriets fussing over me all wanting to donate tissues - bless you all.
Amidst the usual confusion, Threesum was nominated for a drink but was shrewd enough to swerve the DD by counter nominating the Bird to take the half on her behalf as he had, allegedly, given support to both hares.
 
The last half pint stood friendless and alone on a circular bar table. Were there any stories? Not tonight, Josephine, but a story from a fortnight ago was recalled by GM Shitfaced.
 
Smellie had missed the circle because she was temporarily indisposed powdering her nose inside the Crown and Sceptre. She could hear the circle going on outside but couldn't find the circle! Poor Smellie was unaware that the Crown & Sceptre has a car park which was accessed via the pub's rear entrance. Unaware of the existence of either a rear entrance, or a pub car park, she was outside the front of the pub trying to work out where the Hashers were congregated. Smellie's three weeks of looking after the Baby Bat hat paid off. By using echo location, she eventually located the car park just as the Hare's briefing concluded.
 
POSTSCRIPT
Whilst I was unable to go very far on trail, I still managed to stay with most of the pack throughout my mini excursion. 
 
The usual convention of FRB's detaching themselves from the shorts and walkers just did not happen. Bee Flicker tried in vain to stamp his authority on proceedings but, along with MP and myself, came to a juddering halt after less than a hundred yards when mistaking an arrow for the trail. 
 
Threesum was unperturbed, stating that the arrow only held good the second time around. Ha! That relegated the FRB's to tailenders and score one for the hares in their usually fruitless task of keeping the pack together.
 
There was a light display in the woods as the Trotters thundered towards us. On the playing fields, clusters of headtorches kept veering towards me as hashers sought enlightenment [sic] and a jolly time was had by all.
 
I was concerned about Man-Pig when I encountered him close to the Keyberry. He was trying to staunch the blood from a nose bleed. He had already completed an eight mile training run earlier in the day, and I was worried if he might have overdone things. Not a bit of it, after stemming the blood, he was back on the trail of the lonesome pine, ready to join battle once more.
 
There was many an adventure for hashers out in their three park tour, and it was something different with hashers having to use their experience (and brains} to get round.
Man-Pig and I know the effort and dedication needed to go out and lay a trail, so well done Threesum and Slip on Me on their triple Park Run. I really wish I could have done it. Bravo!
 
NEXT WEEK
Next week's Hash is at The Atmospheric Railway Inn, Starcross, with Hare U Bend.
 
On-On to next week!

Thursday 26 January 2023

TVH3 The Words for 23rd January 2023

The King William IV, Totnes

Run No. 1953
 
HARE: Wet-Johnny
 
Who wuz there: Wet-Johnny, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Shitfaced, Threesum, Forrest-Stump, Beefy, Pisswell, Piddler, Fukarewe, Ernie, Piltdown Man, Georgie Porgy, Smellie, Erection, Ernie, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Coldtits, Big End, Well Hopped, Slip-on-Me, Ablesemen, Fallen Woman & Satnav.
 
The Circle
Brrrrr......it was cold. So much so that only twenty five hardy souls made it to the King Bill for the, notional, Burns' night run. It was so cold that early hashers congregated in the pub to keep warm. Inevitably, the time came to brave the cold. But not for long. In the middle of the announcements, Smellie arrived with what looked like a chemistry set; a lot of test tubes in a square rack. What dastardly Porten Down experiment were the hardy hashed being exposed to....anthrax poisoning? No. It was a nip of scotch being distributed in test tubes - courtesy of Smellie.
 
There were no announcements per se apart from, "Get back before nine if you want scoff". Then it was over to Wet-Johnny who obviously was immune to the sub-zero temperature as he, Erection and Beefy were all wearing Shorts. "There is a Walkers', which is a loop around the town. A Shorts' trail and a Longs' trail. The Longs' should be less than six miles. The blood drained from Bluebird's already blue face......that'll be the Shorts then!
 
Burns' night is on Wednesday 25th January. Hence, tonight's run was to have a Scottish theme. Most elected to save their Scottish attire for the pub but some were, additionally, taking the Scottish theme on trail. The bekilted Beefy ran the entire trail tossing his caber with a mouth full of red hair from his false beard. Meanwhile, Pisswell had brought along her pet haggis on a lead. At the other end of the spectrum, Piltdown Man and Georgie Porgy had turned up not with, but without, THEIR TRAINERS! Imminent down-down methinks.
 
The Trail
Spoiler alert: I don't know if the cold weather is coincidental with the arrival of UFO's but the Hash set off with a strange apparition hovering above them. A single, stationary, bright red light hanging over the eerily quiet town. Was this an alien spacecraft? No. But it was enough to distract the Bird as he careered into a wheelie bin in the closing stages due to gazing at the mysterious orb rather than watching where he was running. Fortunately, no-one saw this tail-end charlie so he escaped a down down.
 
Man-Pig found himself leading the pack down Station Road towards the roundabout next to Morrisons' petrol station. The marks were clear and close together as we turned left and continued towards Totnes railway station. Just before the western bypass, the marks had us going left again and down Castle Street and to the first check. Ahead of us were steps that must lead up to the Norman motte and bailey castle......and a cross - false trail. Back to the check to check right and along Castle View Terrace. We were "on".
 
The trail continued straight, along Collarpark until we arrived at the junction with Plymouth Road. The trail took us right and along Plymouth Road and towards Follaton House when an arrow took us right into the new estate centred around a road called Puncher's Down. At this point, Beefy, avec caber, lumbered (get it?) past. A zig-zag around the estate and we crossed a main road and an uphill stretch of tarmac.
 
After 50 or so metres, the tarmac fizzled out and we were on a relatively broad track; uphill - a long way uphill. At this point, the penny dropped and I knew where we were. This is a track that we've run along many times before, but usually from the other direction. At the top of this track are a couple of caravans at its junction with Green Lane. I overtook Beefy, who was changing shoulders, and sure enough there were the caravans with generators running. The trail took us left along Green Lane for maybe 150 metres before the marks took us onto Jackmans' Lane. Usually this track would have been very muddy. Tonight it wasn't too bad. This was simply because the mud had frozen! At the end of this piece of track there was a check. Beefy checked right and towards Gill's Cross whilst Man-Pig checked left back towards Green Lane; no-one else was with us so no-one checked straight ahead. It made no odds as Man-Pig called the "on". At the next junction I was convinced that the trail would take us straight across and down Harper's Hill. It didn't. The trail went right and towards the A381 Totnes/Harberton Ford road.
 
We were back on Green Lane, crossing the A381 and heading towards Lower Sharpham Barton before an arrow had us sweep left and downhill to the sweetie-stop and the only Long/Short split of the evening. A couple of fizzy-wine gums later, a recovered Fukarewe appeared with Ernie close behind followed soon after by Pisswell.
 
Wet-Johnny pointed out the Long/Short directions with Beefy and the Pig being the first to commence the Longs. This is an uphill track bordered by mature trees. This is where Beefy came a little unstuck. His caber kept snagging on the branches. This was good fortune for the Pig who could now keep up with the handicapped Hunk of Beef.
 
We came to a check at the junction with another track. Man-Pig knew that the track led down to Fishchowter's Lane and the toll house at the top of Kingsbridge Hill on the Western Bypass. What Man-Pig did not know for the next 150 metres is that he would come across a cross in flour - drat. Back to the check which Beefy was already kicking out just as the other Longs were arriving.
 
At the top of Totnes Down Hill we came to another check; this was outside the rear entrance to Bowden House. Once again the Pig checked left down Totnes Down Hill whilst Beefy checked ahead and up Totnes Down Hill. A sense of deja vu overcame the Pig as he found a cross and returned to a check being kicked out by Beefy just as the rest of the pack arrived - double drat.
Two hundred metres up the lane, small steps to the left had each been adorned with a blob of flour. We were now on a public footpath crossing an open field and heading due north. The Pig headed for the silhouette of an opening in a hedge but no marks. Beefy was 100 metres to the left and called "on" as he passed through a galvanised steel gate. On entering the second field, we were blessed with the most spectacular nighttime view overlooking Totnes. We were high. Very high. 143m to be exact. The public footpath carried on diagonally across the field for 150 metres or so before another steel mesh gate took us along a fenced pathway for a further 200 metres. Eventually, we exited onto the upper reaches of Totnes Down Hill. And down hill it was. Down the steep hill till its junction with Moat Street and Maudlin Road.
 
We were back in the outskirts of Totnes as an arrow directed us left and up Maudlin Road to its junction with Leechwell Street. The trail carried on along Leechwell Street and then a little zig-zag and onto the High Street at the top of town. The final leg took us down the High Street to its junction with Fore street and the On-Down.
 
Thankyou to Beefy for keeping me company throughout the run. I am not sure quite what the occasional car driver thought of the bekilted, red-bearded, caber carrying highlander running down Totnes Down Road. He probably just thought it was another TQ8'ian having smoked too much weed!
 
And now, with severe reservations, I pass you over to the Bird's memories of the trail.
 
CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE STRANGE KIND
What will now be related is strange but true, the episodes along the way actually did occur - with none of the usual 'embellishments' - though dear readers, your collective credulity may be tested. So settle back, cuppa in hand to hear the various close encounters of the strange kind on our Burns Night hash.
 
An unpleasant journey to Totnes ensued. A word to the Ernie & Wise [sic], do not take the A381 Newton to Totnes road. A dozen expletives were shouted as pothole after pothole were hit at 40 mph, each one jarring and potentially damaging to the suspension. As Ernie, who also suffered, stated: 'What do we pay our taxes for?' Quite a shocking [double sic] start to proceedings.
 
Arriving late at the car park, I thought I had missed the circle, and there was a welcome shout from Ernie who also was late owing to the traffic and potholes.
 
Rounding the corner into Fore Street, the circle was still in progress, and we were welcomed by Smellie dispensing phials of a dram to send us on our chilly way. Beefy McCaber was, in true highlander fashion, bare-legged and sporting his trademark cardboard carpet cum caber tube.
 
The 'ish' voiced by McJohnny regarding distances had not really registered and, wee dram fortified, the pack spilled out onto Station Road en route for Morrisons Petrol Station.
 
McJohnny had us at it until our route up into the boondocks finally revealed itself. The finger lights were dispensed with as all feeling in said digits had long since gone, and a sinister pain in the left knee presaged a possible curtailment, even of the forecast three 'ish' miles short.
To lift my flagging spirits and to amuse (annoy) those around me, a stirring shanty was uttered as our brave little band of Pisswell, Erection, Piddler and Fukarwi drifted along.
 
The trail twisted and turned until the fateful climb of Jackman's lane. I didn't mind the steepness or the stones and near frozen mud but the knee pain was intensifying and there was a niggling doubt about the distance.
 
Further and further from the pub we climbed, and then, with a cry of 'abandon ship' the good ship Bird turned back, saluting his stouter shipmates.
 
Various shorts were passed on the descent but then the Grand Master Himself, to be sure, appeared on the lower slopes of the tortuous climb. Ye gods on high! Never had I seen walkers out so far into the trail - McJohnny had said the walkers' trail was just a 'little' loop..
 
Reaching the main road, the preferred choice of turning right to the town was hastily discarded as juggernauts thundered past. Straight ahead down a lane seemed to have been where we had come from, but somehow, I blundered off-trail - the bitter cold and knee pain having dulled my senses.
 
A succession of works vans drove up the lane. Crossing over the railway line in the dip, arc lights and hi-vis jacketed workmen were everywhere - all evidence of a major operation on the line.
 
On his break inside a van, the workman sighted a little old man limping towards him. 'Am I okay for the Plains, please?' uttered the distressed pensioner. 'What are the Plains then?' replied the workman. It transpired that the workman was from Plymouth and was not cognizant of the area. 'Totnes, then?' was the plaintive reply from the distressed pensioner. Consulting his tech, the workman triumphantly declared that Totnes was 'just over the hill'.
 
With a now jaunty limp, the pensioner set off up the hill, blissfully unaware that he was on Cott lane en route for Dartington..
 
It didn't feel right, it didn't look right, and the Bird paused, mid-flutter to consider his limited options. He had passed a muddy bridle path some way back, which bore the legend 'Totnes' on the sign.
 
Back I limped onto the right track but aware that it could be a long haul back.
 
Unable to run, the cold was seeping into my very soul. So this was it, I would perish out here in the wilds of Totnes, whatamistakaIhadShirleymada.
 
A half mile along the very muddy lane, a strange sight unfolded. Two ladies and a man were standing in a little huddle, seemingly sheltering under some trees. There was a hippy like appearance to them, one of the ladies wrapped in a large white shawl and the other lady clutching what looked like a heavily cocooned baby. The man looked morose with a dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. 
 
On reflection, it was like a scene from a century ago. As I passed by, I remarked: 'I hope I'm going the right way, I don't where I've been and I've just been there.' This elicited a squeal of laughter from one of the ladies. Strange, very strange.
 
At last I tumbled out onto tarmac and found myself at the bottom of the bypass. I knew where I was, having lived in Totnes well over seventy years ago. I had nearly killed myself coming down this very bypass on a runaway Triang scooter circa 1955 - ah, happy days.
 
I paused outside my old house at 2, Station Road on the corner across from the railway station, peering wistfully into the lit front room where I had spent my early childhood.
 
It was then that I saw it. High up in the sky was a large, pulsating (my eyes had misted with the cold) red orb. Transfixed, I stared up at it. It was very large and composed of several facets.
There it was, hovering above the town, and with my eyes still on it, I continued along the raised walkway beside the road - straight into a carelessly placed wheelie bin. 
 
Climbing to my feet, I decided that I needed a beer, and made my even more painful way to the car park. Perhaps the light was from the castle but it still seemed improbable given its height.
 
Outside the Dartmouth Inn, I met Erection, complete with a presumably now deceased haggis in his arms just as the longs also swept into the car park.
 
I was so cold that it was an effort to open the boot and impossible to fasten shirt buttons or tie shoelaces.
 
As MP mentioned, I was now literally blue with cold and in a sorry old state as Slip on Me and Able will bear witness.
 
Later, at the bar, I asked Rob about the light and was relieved to hear that he and other residents had also thought it to be strange when they had first observed it. 
 
What was it? A bl**dy great crane on a new housing development!
 
Returning home via the safer Berry Pomeroy route, I mused on the evening's strange events. Had I imagined the time warp trio outside Totnes, and how could I have been taken in by what I was sure was a huge UFO? 
 
And why does it always happen to me...
 
Still limping three days later, and I may be missing for a while.
 
The Down-Downs
Back in the pub, it was good to see that most hashers had made some attempt at Scottish adornment. Ernie had a Saltire flag draped over his shoulders. There were numerous tam'o'shanters, Glengarries, tartan scarfs and tartan skirts but I think Smellie stole the show. She had put on her tartan pyjamas! Oh well, she was staying in Totnes overnight so might just as well get ready for bed early! At the opposite end of the spectrum, some Scottish attire had gone missing. Pisswell's haggis had slipped its lead and was now missing in action somewhere near the top of Totnes Down Hill or was it already in the kitchen of the King Bill?
 
A minor disaster ensued back at the pub; our bagpiper for the evening, Teapot, had called in sick. Quick thinking pub landlord and quizmaster extraordinaire, Rob, hastily arranged some Scottish pipe music to coincide with the arrival of the haggis....brilliant. RA for the evening, Forrest Stump, called proceedings to order with a bolt of lightning! Well, that's what it looked like. He had liberated a prop from the Dunsford pantomime which was somewhat reminiscent of Gandolph's staff. Banging it on the floor of the pub caused it to emit a bright flash of combustible material. "'tis the devil's work to be sure".
 
Silence established, Man-Pig delivered an abbreviated (4 out of a total of 8 verse) of Robert Burns' Address to the Haggis. It was certainly not up to the standard of Pork Torpedo's excellent delivery the previous year - which was rendered from memory. Nevertheless, and judging by the applause, it served its purpose.
 
After devouring two different types of haggis, one in sheep's stomach and the other in pigs' stomach, the Down-Downs got underway.
 
Firstly, Forrest thanked the pub for the beer, the haggis and the rapid improvisation of some bagpipe music to accompany the presentation of the haggis. Forrest also had the first award to dish out. Unsurprisingly, this went to Beefy for being an enormous tosser. A delivery of "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy but with the word, "Turkey" substituted with "Haggis".
 
Next, Man-Pig had to identify a worthy recipient for the Turkish wedding hat. This went to Slip-on-Me for trying to pull off a ruse that she was a clan chieftain by wearing an eagle's feather in her bonnet. The eagle eyed [sic] spied that it was not an eagle's feather at at. It was a tail feather from a Devon cockbird pheasant. This would have been a hanging offence in the Highlands 400 years ago. Today, the sentence was a half pint of ale.
 
Smellie had been looking after the baby bat hat since her trail from the Devon Arms. Now that it had escaped the Teignmouth bat cave, Smellie was on the look out for culprits. This was in the form of Georgie Porgy. Georgy had approached a stranger in the car park at the beginning of the Hash. "Are you a Hasher?", she innocently asked. "No. I always smell like this". Perhaps not an unexpected answer as there was a distinct aroma of skunkweed in the car park - this is Totnes after all.
 
The awards had run out but not the beer. Were there any stories? Of course there were. In particular a need to call the RSPCA. A certain Harriet had been seen dragging a barely conscious haggis along the trail on a lead. This is a wild animal for Heaven's sake. Even worse. It was the same animal that we had just eaten! At least it was fresh. A note for Haggis abuse.
 
Our Hare for the evening had to depart early. That was a shame as it was an excellent trail, some parts of which I haven't been on for at least 7 years - and that would have been with AshHash. Hence who to give the final half pint of ale to? There were two contenders. The first was Beefy who had admitted to eating red hairy pie all round the evening's trail....lucky devil. The second was an absent minded Piltdown Man. Not for the first time he had forgotten his trainers (and he hadn't got the excuse of being on his motorbike this time!). This was compounded by the fact that Georgy Porgy had done the exact same thing. A note for the "Footwear faux pas".
 
That pretty much concluded a very good evening which was made even better by our very hash friendly landlord, Rob. Rob had arranged the haggis, provided the down-downs and stepped in at the last moment to provide some appropriate bagpipe music to accompany the entrance of the haggis. Thankyou, Rob. And thank you for everyone who made the effort to come out on a jolly chilly evening.
 
Next week
Next week's Hash is at The Keyberry Arms, Newton Abbot with Hares Threesome and Slip-on-Me.
 
On-On to next week.

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EXPLANATION OF ARCHIVE TVH3 SITES

GREATHASHGOD: A dedicated site (presently mothballed and serves as archive content only) with all TVH3 content. Mostly photos from each Monday's hash but also some video clips. Named after our Life President Pottsie.

PRECONDEROTOUS: Containing the entire archive of TVH3 of some 1000 vid clips and over 5000 posts and photos. Started on November 11th 2007, the site is active with Bluebird's personal content but the archive content is fascinating and preserved, well worth a look.

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