Saturday 18 February 2023
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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