TEAPOT

Good news. Man-Pig has been to see Teapot and he is scheduled to be discharged tomorrow (Friday 22nd).

He had asked Beefy where his bag was as he needed the bell to ring for attention when he gets home. MP had it in safe keeping.

 

MP says he is in good spirits and was delighted to see him. Teapot must have been keeping a scorecard as he said that MP was the 15th hasher to visit him! 

 

Well done everybody that took the time to show how we all care about him.

AWARDS NIGHT THIS MONDAY

 

Run #2013 Monday 25th March 7:15 pm circle up from hash HQ the Park Inn, 15 Cole's Ln, Kingskerswell, Newton Abbot TQ12 5BQ for our AWARDS NIGHT fun and games.

Beeflicker will supply the shortish pre-entertainment trail.

Park 'n' Ride has mild chilli, fresh bread and rice for hungry hashers.

INSPECTOR CLOUSEAU ON THE WHODUNNIT TRAIL

A rip-roaring ankle-deep rollercoaster of a tale

 

TVH3 The Words for 18th March 2024

 

The Church House Inn, Marldon

 

Run No. 2012

 

Shitfaced's Birthday Hash & Paddy's Day Hash

 

HARE: Shitfaced......or was it?

 

Who wuz there: Shitfaced, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Archangel, Forrest-Stump, Piltdown Man, Georgy Porgy, Smellie, Shay, Psycho, Beefy, Pisswell, Beeflicker, Squeaky Bum, Big End, Well Hopped, Ned, Roger the Dodger, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Ernie, Fukarewe, Coldtits, Pork Torpedo, Horny, Wetfart, Bobbiball, Miss Piggy, Mateus Rose, Rise 'n' Shine, Only Here for the Beer and returnee, after a jolly long absence, Flowery Twats; saving the best 'til last, it was excellent to welcome back Broken Man. It is lovely to see you again.

 

Circle

Shitfaced welcomed us all back to the upmarket Church House Inn, Mardon; specifically, long term no see returnee Flowery Twats and, additionally, a big clap to welcome back Broken Man.

 

This was Shitfaced's Birthday Hash combined with a celebration of St Patrick's Day - both having occurred the previous day. 

 

Accordingly, Hashers had been encouraged to wear something green. Shitfaced announced that the pub kitchen was closed but there would be some nibbles available after the run. Not for the first time, a fairer description would have been; "nibbles will only be available for the first back - be quick"; namely only the Walkers and the Shorts would reap the benefits of the Church House Inn's delicacies. Ho Hum.

Smellie needs Hares for 15 April and 29th April.

 

Wetfart updated us on Teapot's progress. Essentially, there is no change. Teapot is still in Newton Abbot hospital and continues to work on his mobility.

 

Back to the Hare for a description of the trail. Shitfaced said that there were Walkers', Shorts' and a Longs' trails. There was one Long/Short split so once you've committed to the Long, you're on it. The Walkers' trail was quite short, the Shorts' trail would be circa 3 miles and the Longs' 5. Most importantly, all marks would be on your left (or not as it turned out to be).

 

Trail

It was almost inevitable that a Shitfaced trail would require the enlisting of some outside help in the form of so called 'friends'. Tonight's trail was presumed to be headed in the same direction. 

 

But, not so fast.

 

I had popped into the Park Inn on Saturday afternoon to take in the second of the three Guinness Six Nations games being played that day - Ireland v Scotland. This would be the only match that I would be watching in the pub as the following day was the Grizzly - 20 miles of pure Hell....and that's on a good day. Shitfaced approached me and asked the inevitable:

 

"Are you free on Monday?"

"Not after 20 miles on Sunday".

"So are you withdrawing your availability?"

"Err, no. I never was going to be available on that Monday".

 

Later on Saturday, I get an e-mail from the flightless one. "It's OK M-P. I will come up with something". Another sterling offer by our young-at-heart 75 year old stop-gap Hare. Thank you. 

 

But, again, not so fast.

 

Just before the Circle, the Bird comes up to me and tells me that he couldn't help out on trail after all. Accordingly, it would be a 100% Shitfaced effort.

 

Now, call me a doubting Thomas but I was not expecting great things. My doubts were reinforced when Shitfaced said that he awoke that morning with the Mother of all hangovers. On the upside, however, there was a good chance that the trail would be short and we'd be back in a rather nice, quiet old pub PDQ. 

 

It was, therefore, with some astonishment that I'd listened to Shitfaced confidently stating that the Shorts would be 3 miles and the Longs 5. I certainly had my doubts about that.

 

The trail took us out of the car park and then right and right again up the narrow and tortuously steep hill past Marldon Church - unsurprisingly called Church Hill. 

 

Beeflicker was FRB but not by much. Shay was on his heels.

 

Amazingly - marks. There was a trail after all. The trail took us right and up Ipplepen Road and then an arrow had us bear left and up a couple of stone steps to follow the footpath that leads across the fields onto Smallwell Lane.

 

The weather couldn't make its mind up whether to rain or not. There was the occasional light drizzle but this hadn't affected us in the pub car park. Marldon lies in a fairly deep valley and is protected from the wind. 

 

However, as soon as we embarked along the footpath, we had lost the protection of the valley and were exposed to strong winds as we passed Marldon Tor. Dead ahead were the red lights of the TV transmitters. 

 

The footpath was wet and had turned into frictionless mud.

 

Frankly, I'd had 20 miles of this the previous day and I was less than impressed to be doing it again.

Nevertheless, on the upside, I was thinking to myself, "Crikey. Shitfaced has done well here. Especially being a solo effort with a major hangover".

 

At the end of the footpath, almost opposite in fact, there was another footpath across a field. This I recognised from a previous trail - probably Piltdown Man's and George Porgy's. 

 

However, tonight the marks took us right and west along Smallwell Lane. FRB's now consisted of Beeflicker, Shay, Wet-Johnny, Manopause, Big End, Well Hopped, Flowery Twats, Beefy, Pisswell and Man-Pig. 

 

It was 7.45pm on a Monday night and we were on a very minor road in the back of beyond. 

 

Nevertheless, I was surprised how much traffic there was on the road. Hence there were numerous times when we had to halt our progress and squeeze into the hedge to let cars go by.

 

At a kink in the road, we came to the only Long/Short split, but many had overran it as it was marked on the right .....hmmmmm. 

 

Nevertheless, my respect for the solo Hare's effort was increasing; "My Word this is a good trail. There you go Shitfaced. You can do it", I thought to myself, "No need to enlist the assistance of your "friends"". I could see some torchlight disappearing up the Shorts' trail towards Aptor Farm.

 

A loose shoelace meant that I was someway behind the Longs. As I attempted to catch the Longs, a sole torch beam was coming towards me. "Back check?" No. It was Big End. He had pulled a muscle and was now making his way back to embark on the Shorts.

 

Eventually, I could see torchlight in the distance. "I wonder where we're going", I pondered. 

 

At Weekaborough Oak Cross, I recognised where we were. We had been past here before on a Wet Johnny trail. 

 

Although there was no check, Beefy had checked out due south; an obvious choice but to no avail. Surprisingly, there were calls of "On-On" from dead ahead. I knew that if we continued along this road we would arrive at Red Post Cross on the Newton Abbot to Totnes Road. 

 

Where on earth was the Hare taking us?

 

The marks were good. In fact, suspiciously good. Beefy, Pisswell and I were now running together. We examined the marks quite closely. We were pretty sure that Shitfaced must have laid this by car. 

 

However, the marks had neither the tell tale signs of the splatter pattern of flour dropped from height, nor the tail of flour that would result if having been dropped from a moving car.

 

There was something else odd about the marks. They were quite dark. In fact, all of the marks that we'd seen were a tad too dark to be flour. They looked more like cat litter. Now, who lays trails in cat litter? The Bird, comes to mind.

 

Had the Bird lied to me? Were my eyes deceiving me? Was it flour after all? I didn't have time to bend down and analyse the marking material as the FRB's were now way ahead.....in the wrong direction as it turned out. 

 

Beefy and I carried on due west past Weekaborough Oak Cross, an alleged hanging site from the middle ages but no ghouls around tonight. We were still looking for marks on the left. 

 

Fortunately, Beefy spied a mark on the right. It looked like and "L" with an arrow head. A slippery farm track headed downhill to Higher Weekaborough. I recognised this from a Wet-Johnny trail.

 

Now my suspicions were well and truly aroused. 

 

I was incredulous. No way was this a Shitfaced trail. It was a bloody good trail. It had all the hallmarks of having been laid by a seasoned Hasher but Bluebird had sworn that he'd played no part in tonight's trail. 

 

Unbeknown to us, we were the only Hashers on trail. Beefy stole a lead on me on the slippery descent, Shay should have been behind me but had disappeared and the other FRB's had missed the mark altogether. As a result of which, they were now merrily going round in circles at Red Post Cross.

 

At Saxon Manor barn, we arrived at a T-junction. Immediately in front of me was a mark. To keep this on my left, as per the Hare's instructions, I would need to turn right. Intuitively, I was inclined to turn left and I am sure that I could hear Beefy calling from that direction. 

 

I followed the Hare's instructions and then took a right up towards Lower Weekaborough. No marks. I returned to Saxon Manor Barn just as the Longs arrived from their jolly out to Red Post Cross. Aha. There had been a mark on the left all along.....plus a mark on the right!

 

All the Longs were now back on trail and our numbers had grown to include Pork Torpedo and Horny. Smellie, Fukarewe and Ernie were also on the Longs but I don't recall having seen them. 

 

We were headed north towards Comb Fishacre. The Pig had to be called back after overshooting a pair of arrows on both the left and the right...poor battery life was to blame....on the pacemaker, not the torch. 

 

At the entrance to Combe House, we embarked on the long, slow and slippery climb to the top of Tanyard Lane. Crikey, it was hard work. 

 

We were nearly at the crest when we came across a huge puddle that spanned the whole track. If anyone had managed to keep their feet dry up to this point (highly unlikely), this would be their nemesis.

 

It was at this point that the evidence became overwhelming. 

 

THIS WAS NOT A SHITFACED TRAIL!

 

There are times in your life when you really don't want to stray from your hopes and beliefs whatever the cost and no matter how irrefutable the evidence is. 

 

A case in point might be when you finally have to come to terms with the fact that your partner really is cheating on you. You simply don't want to believe it. 

 

I so, so, so wished that this had been a Shitfaced trail, laid alone and whilst nursing the Mother of all hangovers. Hasher of the Year, Best Lay of the Year, all the accolades would be yours. 

 

But proof, if further proof were needed, came when we turned right and along the 500m of muddy track that took us onto Ipplepen Road. This was further compounded by the next arrow - a right turn down Aptor Lane - another ankle breaking mudslide in the dark. This trail had been laid by a professional, and on foot.

 

The Pig had had enough. "No Aptor Lane for me tonight. I know where I am. I am tarmacking it all the way back to the pub".

 

The icing on the cake was the distance. A wholly unpalatable post-Grizzly slip slide of 5.9 miles!

 

Down-Downs

Now, there is more than one doubting Thomas in the Hash. Just before the Down-Downs, cash changed hands. 

 

At the Grizzly, a (very) well known Hasher had bet Man-Pig a whole English pound that Bluebird would not fulfil his promise of laying the evening's trail. The final piece of evidence was when the RA asked Shitfaced what he'd laid the trail in? "Flour" was the alleged Hare's answer. Pete Tong. Wong answer. Not a graded grain of finest flour had been spotted over the previous nigh on 6 miles.

 

Forrest was the evening's RA, and it was straight into the first award. Smellie had the Turd Hat for being "Back on the game" last week. It was a bit of a long-winded story but the hat went to Horny for her perseverance in sliding her way around the Longs....amazingly without falling over but with a lot of describing a catalogue of ailments that had befallen her. 

 

Unfortunately, we had the Songmeister with us. He came up with a ditty about a rag tag slag bag with a barrel etc etc. I will not be singing this particular Hash song to Mrs Man-Pig on the grounds of self-preservation.

 

Next up was Forrest himself to be sure. He had the Hashshit shirt. He had also brought his two dogs with him, Winky, Woo and Perry. 

 

Now, unknown to most Hashers, whilst they were out on trail, Squeaky Bum had given Forrest's Winky a good rub down and a massage. Another song from the Songmeister: Old McDonald had tourettes....

 

It was fantastically slippery out on trail. Inevitably, there were going to be some fallers and collisions. This came to a head (who said "head"?) with the coming together of Smellie and Shay. I don't know who was on top of whom or if Shay had been saving up his pocket money for a dirty night. 

 

Nevertheless, Shay got Shitfaced's Paddy's Day stove pipe hat, a red false beard and a half pint of water. The water was subsequently upgraded to a half pint of beer after a stewards' inquiry. "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy".

 

On the subject of slipping and sliding, at least one hasher had taken a fall in the mud early on. This left him looking like he'd shat himself. Well, that's how Forrest described Flowery Twats' behind after he ran past him. We have not seen Flowery Twats for the best part of 10 years. Hence a Down-Down was long overdue. Over to the Songmeister.

 

Last, but not least, it was a return to tradition and a Down-Down for the Hare. But who was the Hare? The RA eventually gave it to the birthday boy. Trail? What trail?

 

Finally, a big "Thankyou" to the Hash for the beer.

 

Well done Bluebird for coming to the rescue once more. You are a star.....or you would be if you could differentiate between your left and your right!

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is our Awards' Night. This will be held at the Park Inn, Kingskerswell. The Hare is Beeflicker.

 

And the moral of tonight's trail is that if something sounds too good to be true - it probably is!

 

On-On to next week, MP.

MONDAY'S DETAILS

Run #2012 Monday 18th March 7:15 pm circle up from the Church House Inn Marldon, Village Rd, Marldon, Paignton TQ3 1S with your Grand Master Shitfaced.

Remember to wear something green for our St Patrick's Day hash.

We last hashed from here October 2019 #1816.

There is a fair-sized CP behind the pub.

 

 

ROGER THE DODGER STARS WITH JEROME THE GNOME

 

TVH3 The Words for 11th February 2024

 

Cockhaven Arms, Bishopsteignton

 

Run No. 2011

 

HARES: Roger the Dodger & Well Hopped

 

Who wuz there: Roger the Dodger, Well Hopped, Shitfaced, Bluebird, Man-Pig, Cheerio Beerio, Forrest-Stump, Smellie, Psycho, Beefy, Pisswell, Beeflicker, Squeaky Bum, Well Hopped's brother, Mrs RtD?, Big End, Ned, Pollyfella, Wet-Johnny and son Gianluca, Slip-on-Me, Strap-On, Strap-Dancer, Ernie, Fukarewe, Coldtits, Ablesemen and long term absentee - Miss Piggy.

 

Circle

We arrived at the Cockhaven Manor/Arms (not Inn) to see the Hare in action on traffic warden duties. The pub/hotel is quite big and there is a reasonable amount of car parking. However, I am always amazed as to how the car park always seems to be full, yet there are very few people dining or at the bar. Nevertheless, we all got parked relatively easily so it was straight over to the GM.

 

The GM had almost nothing to impart apart from a welcome to returnees, Well Hopped's brother and Miss Piggy. 

 

Then it was over to Ablesemen for some information on poorly Hashers. Poor Satnav has had to give up work as a result of long covid. We also had updates from three Hashers who have visited Teapot over the past week, Ablesemen, Forrest Stump and Beefy. 

 

Teapot remains in Templar wards at Newton Abbot hospital. The only legacy of his mini stroke is a reduction in mobility. Psycho, in her professional capacity, advised that he is making progress with his mobility which sounds positive. We all wish both Satnav and Teapot swift and full recoveries.

 

There was no news in the Circle regarding Broken Man but Facebook and WhatsApp postings suggest that Zoot and some SH4 Hashers have visited him over the past week.

 

Smellie advised that two Mondays have become available in April; 15th and 22nd I think. See Smellie for a date if you want to lay.

 

With that, over to the Hares. Roger the Dodger was very accurate with his distances. Longs' would be 5.7 miles (it was - to the yard!); Shorts' 3.7 and Walkers' 2.7 miles.

 

"Turn left out of the car park".

 

Trail

It is very rare that we Hash from the same village on two consecutive weeks. In fact, I can't recall another occasion but I am sure the Bird will correct me if I am wrong on that score*. 

 

One thing was guaranteed though; despite running from the same village as last week, there was absolutely no chance that we'd get this week's marks confused with last week's!

 

Beeflicker and Pollyfella attained FRB status from the off. The trail took us up Cockhaven Road then left up Bishops Avenue followed by another left along Fore Street. 

 

There was a sense of deja vu as we arrived at the Walkers'/Long & Shorts' split outside last week's On-Down. The Walkers' trail continued up Smith Hill whilst the Shorts and the Longs ascended Berry Hill and thence the public footpath that climbs steeply up to the lane to the south of Humber Down and the Long/Short split.

 

The climb to Humber Down was temporarily impeded by an amphibian. A tiny brown toad was spotted on the muddy footpath. With hashers scurrying hurriedly towards the poor toad, it was picked up and safely deposited on the other side of a fence and well away from Hashers' horrible hooves.

 

The Longs went right towards Teignmouth Golf Course whilst the Shorts went left and straight to the sweetie stop at Colway Cross. 

 

For the Longs, it was now a reciprocal deja vu as we turned left and left again onto Three Trees Lane doing a reverse of last week's trail.

 

Pollyfella was now in the lead, initially followed by Man-Pig but not for long. During the descent down Three Trees Lane, the Pig was overtaken by Beefy, Wet-Johnny and Gianluca, Well Hopped and then Beeflicker. Where had he been? I thought that he was miles in front.

 

At the junction at the rear entrance to Lindridge House, we headed due west, through an avalanche of mud at a field entrance and then left down the long track that took us to the sweetie and rum stop at Colway Cross. But, behold, what did we have here? A fairy light illuminating a large garden gnome (Jerome on an away day from home) at the rear of an estate car. This was RtD's sweetie stop and RtD's sense of humour, the "On-gnome". Hmmmmm........very good.

 

We all expected the "On-home" to be up to Ashwell Cross and back down to the pub via the cemetery. But no. It was left and down to the steep and usually very muddy and slippery footpath descent to Forde Lane. 

 

From here, the trail took us up Forder Lane, right down The Drive and onto the Teignmouth Road.

Here we caught up with Coldtits and Forrest-Stump. Beeflicker was long gone and it was now Psycho, Man-Pig and Beefy FRB'ing just ahead of Wet-Johnny and Pollyfella. 

 

In fact, quite a few on the Long's this evening comprising Wet-Johnny and son, Pollyfella, Well Hopped, Pisswell, Strap-On, Ernie, Fukarewe and, amazingly, Bluebird for the first time since last July.

The final push was up Church Road and then left down a fenced footpath that I did not recognise. This took us into a cul-de-sac that could only be entered from Cockhaven Road. The marks were excellent. We were Home, Jerome!

 

• Not only the same village - Widecombe, but the same pub as well: Groundhog hashes from Rugglestone #1797 & 1798 3rd & 10th June 2019
   

Down-Downs

There was no-one in the bar but, despite this, all Hashers had congregated in a meeting room a few steps up from the bar. The home made sausage roll and chips had been downgraded to just chips. Apparently, the pub had not got enough pre-orders to warrant preparing them. Oh dear.

 

Nevertheless, the Hare had organised and prepaid for the Down-Downs so it was over to the RA for the Down-Downs.

 

Forrest-Stump had the Hash shit shirt from last week. But he had forgotten to bring it to the pub. When Forrest had visited Teapot in hospital he had bumped into Psycho. There ensued a technical conversation regarding the gizmo by which Forrest attached his artificial leg. "Oh. it looks just like a moon cup!" exclaimed our occupational therapist. A lot of perplexed faces, followed by an online search which changed Hashers' faces from perplexed to embarrassed A note for "the Mooner".

 

No other awards present. Beefy was pointing vigorously to the Hare, Roger the Dodger. A Down-Down for the Hare. What a jolly good idea and thoroughly well deserved on a virgin lay. 

 

We had everything. Excellent marks, a sweeper, road, mud, frogs, hills and best of all a sweetie stop with rum. You can Hare again......with or without Jerome the gnome.

 

Beeflicker had a story about a discussion on trail. Apparently, one of our Harriets was delighted to announce that she was "Back on the game!" 

 

Now, just to be clear , recently, Smellie has been injured and has restricted herself to doing the Shorts. Tonight, she was back on the Longs. What she meant to have said was, "I'm on it. I'm back in the game . But that is not how it came out. "Is business brisk, Smellie? And do working girls ply their trade on both sides of the street these days?" A note for the "Working girl".

 

The Hare also had a story. this was about how well the Longs did; particularly when considering all those steep hills. So who, in the final analysis, was the ultimate FRB i.e. first back? The Hare was looking straight at Man-Pig even though Beeflicker had been leading the Longs home ever since the sweetie stop. The Pig got a new award, a Union Jack stovepipe style hat and a rendition of "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy".

 

The last half of ale. Any more stories? Bluebird had one about hearing some childish yelping from behind him. This had occurred at the bottom of the muddy track just before the sweetie/rum stop. Someone had careered straight into a quagmire which the Bird described as unfeasibly 3 feet deep. So, who was the screamer? Ernie denied all knowledge so Fukarewe was landed in it [sic]. A note for the cry baby, please.

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is from the Church House Inn, Marldon. The Hare is Shitfaced.

 

On-On to next week. MP

Monday's details

Run #2011 Monday 11th March 7:15 pm circle up from the Cockhaven Arms (formerly Cockhaven Manor) Cockhaven Rd, Bishopsteignton, Teignmouth TQ14 9RF with Roger the Dodger and Co.

Please try and park in the rear car park.

 

 

 

 

 

THE TRAIL THAT NEVER WAS & HIS TRUST WAS NOT MISPLACED

Run #2010 The words

PART 2

 

The egg-timer sands speed up as the last grains are dispensed. The flame burns bright just before it extinguishes for ever.

 

And so, oh Dearly Exasperated, I feel that a burst on my ag-ed banjo is warranted afore the lights finally dim...

 

It was a memorable day, all things considered.

 

The forecast looked unpromising and the flightless one was loth to get wet - fearful of a chill being the end of him. With that in mind, plus a sleepless night, I ventured forth at the ungodly hour of 9:30 am to steal a march on proceedings.

 

The co-hare had unwisely let the Bird design the trail and so his beloved tarmac would Shirley figure heavily. 

 

A bog standard clockwise loop would be served up with a sprinkling of off-road through Humber woods thrown in to appease the Ramboesque devotees.

 

It was going according to plan until Humber woods when the navigation went awry, resulting in a trek down to an imposing chateau set in Capability Brown sculpted gardens. 

 

Loitering most furtively in the drive, a figure appeared at a window and the Bird beat a hasty retreat.

The entrance - and cut-through to Three Trees lane was gated and topped with barbed wire with a protective earth mound in front. 

 

It did not look promising. A lady walking her dog was espied and they both exited the wood by walking around the side of the gate.

 

I was reassured when she explained that the owner didn't really object to locals walking around but had erected fortifications to prevent the scourge of dirt bikers and the like churning up the ancient wood.

It was only a few hundred metres to Three Trees lane but scenic (and sodden) indeedy.

 

Exiting the lane with the golf course dead ahead, the heavens opened and the wind picked up. 

 

What had started out as a jolly lay along leafy lanes, was turning into a nightmarish fight for survival.

 

You try it when you're nearly eighty, mush, it aint that easy.

 

The steep descent down Old Walls hill was literally awash with rain spill-off, making it pointless putting chalk or flour down. 

 

Oh woeful day! 

 

To take my mind off the misery, I phoned Man-Pig to give him the glad tidings that he needn't come out as there was only the long loop round Red Rock baby to lay. 

 

Anticipating that the rain would obliterate flour marks, I had utilised chalk in the form of lozenge-shapes for many of the marks. 

 

Diary note: It didn't work, did it.

 

Getting back to the chariot, I was soaked through. Proud Bird now become drenched Dead Duck.

 

I didn't feel at all well the rest of the afternoon and seriously considered not going. However, I then realised that I had forgotten the walkers' trail so I grimly geared up for another gogo.

 

A Grand mini-tour of hostelries was the plan, taking in the Ring o' Bells and the Cockhaven Arms in a one mile loop. 

 

I think it best to gloss over the details as I managed to get lost but not before Slip on Me had passed me going the Wong Wei as well.. sigh.

 

Returning to the miniscule car park behind the Old Commercial, the expected chaos was in full swing, despite hashers having been pre-warned.

 

THE TRAIL

Desperately did the Bird tout for customers to enlist for his certain suicide short trail. 

 

Unfortunately, he had sold the product all too well at the circle, instilling a great fear into the tiny and most suspicious huddle.

 

'It's only a transit of about three hundred metres but you would do well to keep silent and proceed in all possible haste unless you want to be blasted by a 12 bore. 

 

And, when you move around the fallen tree, be careful lest you plummet down a steep ravine into the brook.'

 

En routey, Manopause had yet to be hooked on the potentially dangerous and certainly most dubious enterprise. 

 

'You'll head 'em off at the pass, Manopause, as sure as eggs are eggs..'

 

And so, indeedy, it came to pass that the mighty Manopause, hero of a hundred hashes, set off alone, into the darkness en routey for whatever lay out there..

 

His job done, the lonesome Bird turned for home, only to meet tailender Smellie who was out for a potter. 'Keep straight on up the hill, do not enter the 12 bore woods and head for the Golf club. You can't possibly go wrong.'

 

Meanwhile, Manopause, with the Bird's final instruction ringing in his ears, had reached the dark and forbidding Humber woods. 

 

'Look for an orange square on the left which shows the way into the woods.'

 

And there it was, just as the Bird had promised. There was more good news. Under the canopy of trees, flour marks had survived and signposted the way through four possible trails.

 

Wondrous indeed was the Man o' War's transit. 

 

A thundering of hooves and a herd of deer galloped past, their eyes glinting ghostly in the hasher's head light.

 

Clambering over the far side mound onto Three Trees lane, Manopause found himself thick in the action. 

 

Oh, Born Again FRB! 

 

Flat and downhill from the golf course, Manopause could match strides with the longs. HA! Indeed.

Don't you love it when a plan finally goes right.

 

THE DOWN-DOWNS

A request to the RA, saw a special award given out. 

 

For his trust - not misplaced for once - in the Bird, Manopause had a famous name attached to his hash handle. 

 

Henceforth, he would be known as Manopause Magnifico - only the second hasher ever to be honoured with the title.

 

Possibly a first was the award of a DD to the hare whose trail really did not exist.

 

What a funny old day it turned out to be. SIgh...

 

FOOTNOTE

Don't forget I'm owed £9 for the downdown beer!

 

'Goodbye', that's all he wrote.

 

ON ON you fools, BB

TVH3 The Words for 4th February 2024 PART ONE

The Old Commercial, Bishopsteignton

Run No. 2010

 

PART ONE

 

HARES: Man-Pig and, er... Bluebird

 

Who wuz there: Bluebird, Man-Pig, Zoot, Hotlips, Cheerio Beerio, Threesum, Only Here for the Beer, Forest-Stump, Perry, Sam (virgin), Smellie, Warmfront, Psycho, Beefy, Pisswell, Beeflicker, Squeaky Bum, Well Hopped, Big End, Ned, Roger the Dodger, Melonpicker, Pollyfella, Wet-Johnny, Slip-on-Me, Manopause, Strap-On, Ernie, Bobbiball, Coldtits and a return of our Polish contingent, Wigwam & Mrs Sheen.

 

Circle

The Bird had pre-warned the Hash that parking was limited in the Old Commercial's car park. Nevertheless, this didn't deter several Hashers from entering the Tardis competition - "How many cars can you get in a small car park?". Quite a lot as it turned out, if you allow for the inevitable musical chairs associated therewith.

 

There was no Wetfart so Forrest Stump updated us on Teapot. He has been moved to Templar ward in Newton Abbot hospital and appears to be improving. Good news. Hopefully, parking will be a little easier at Newton Abbot hospital.

 

Forrest was a week adrift for the "Bring a friend Hash". He had brought along his son-in-law, Sam. The virgin was given a liberal sprinkling of flour and, with no GM in attendance, it was over to the Hares.

The trail had been laid in two sections and at different times during the day. The Bird had squawked his way around the Shorts' and the Pig had snorted his way around the Longs'. 

 

The fly in the ointment was that the Pig hadn't seen any Long/Short split and precious little in the way of marks on what, he was sure, would have been the trail. There was good reason for this as I will explain later.

 

The Bird imparted that the Walkers' trail was exactly one English imperial mile long and the Shorts' would be three and a half miles. There was one Long/Short split (that appeared to require marking/remarking) and the Longs' would be about five miles.

 

And now the novel bit. Some of the trail was marked in chalk lozenges on tarmac - but most of the trail was laid in invisible ink!

 

The Pig kept the pack chatting for a few moments whilst the Bird flew up the road to put a few marks in and to remark the single Long/Short split.

 

Trail

I hate being Hare and writing the Words. It is like marking your own homework. Let's just say that the trail was a generous 3/10... "Could do better" which was a frequent comment on my end of term reports at school. Some things never change it seems.

 

The weather had been appalling earlier in the day. Strong winds and perpetual rain. The original plan, if there ever had been a plan, was for the Hares to meet at 1pm to set the trail. 

 

On the day, the forecast was for the worst of the weather to come in the afternoon. Hence the Bird took it upon himself to lay the Shorts' in the morning. At 11.39am the Pig gets a call from the Bird. "It's all laid Man-Pig - apart from the Longs. All you need to do is turn up at 7, run ahead, and lay the Longs' loop". 

 

This sounded good, in theory.

 

However, the Pig thought that this was cutting it fine. Hence, in true Titus Oates' fashion, the Pig braved the elements to lay the Longs' loop at the height of the storm - around 3.30. 

 

Regrettably, and unlike Titus Oates, the Pig made it back. But he had seen precious few marks whilst he'd been out. This he imparted to the Bird in the Circle.

 

This ruffled some feathers and led to the Bird flying off early to lay a couple of marks. Accordingly, the early part of the trail was, effectively, a live lay. Only one mark was found on the way up to the Long/Short split at Ashwell Cross. 

 

The solitary mark was just inside the cemetery gate. Wet-Johnny went to check it out. It was a false trail and he came back saying, "I never found a cross". Impossible, you were in a graveyard!

 

At Ashwell Cross, the Bird was proud to declare that his chalk "S" had not been washed away after all. Indeed, it was still there, and intact, but nevertheless not particularly clear against the torchlight being reflected off the wet tarmac.

 

Other Hashers were looking for a mark for the Long. The Pig assured everyone that such a mark did exist. In fact it was currently floodlit! The Topiary Twins had been FRB'ing but still couldn't find a mark. 

 

It is not a very big junction, and they didn't have a large area to investigate. The Hare suggested that Warmfront might want to have a look in front of a Fiat that was parked up at the crossroads. The Fiat had an occupant, the engine was running and its lights were on. 

 

I know that the Fiat 500 is a bit of a bubble shape wise. I suppose that it is possible, from a long, long way away that you might not be able to distinguish the front from the back. However, at a distance of 3 feet the difference between the front and back seemed pretty obvious. This did not prevent Warmfront from getting up close and personal with the rear of the car. She inspected the lights....they were red. She had a look at the exhaust and finally got very close to have a look at the boot release. These were all clues from which most people would have concluded that they were viewing the back of the car. Eventually, and with a little encouragement from the Hare, Warmfront ventured to the front of the car. "Oh. there it is!", she exclaimed.

 

The Longs sallied forth towards the Old Red Rock Brewery. These comprised: Beeflicker, Forrest-Stump with son-in-law virgin Sam, Warmfront, Psycho, Big End, Well Hopped, Beefy, Pisswell, Pollyfella, Strap-On, Ernie and the Pig sweeping.

 

Now some simple arithmetic means that the balance of 16 must have been on the 1 mile Walkers' trail. I can only conclude that they were all hungry.

 

Just as the Walkers would have been sitting down to tuck into their pies in a nice snug old boozer, the Longs were heading for the former brewery and Manopause was Shirley heading for disaster....on his lonesome.

 

Before the brewery, there was a check. Psycho checked out the public footpath that runs across a field but was soon called back as there was a call of "On-On" from an FRB - most probably Beeflicker. 

 

The trail now continued past the former brewery and then bore right into Humber at the back entrance to Lindridge Park. Another check at the end of Three Trees Lane didn't fool anyone. The check at the end of Three trees lane had been kicked out right. At the next junction marks! Three in a row to our left. I think this made 5 in total on the trail so far. We had a good nosey into the turn off onto the postman's path but nothing. 

 

Sure enough, we were destined to remain on tarmac for the rest of the trail. Another junction and another single blob of flour. We took a right, past the entrance to Teignmouth Golf Club, and all the way down Old Wall's Hill. 

 

There was a complete absence of marks, probably due to water washing all across the road. Towards the bottom of Old Wall's Hill, Beefy checked out a footpath to the left.....nothing. The Hare checked dead ahead. Again, nothing but the Pig marked it anyway. 

 

Old Walls Hill runs into Radway Street and then Manor Road. Still no marks. The Hare and Strap-On decided to cheat and use Strava on our phones to find out where we were in relation to the pub. But Beefy said, "No. Where's the fun" (good lad, Beefy, BB). With that, the Pig put down an arrow heading up Manor Road. 

 

When Manor Road turned into Teignview Road the Hare knew where he was. The "On-Home" was marked at the top of Berry Hill and we were, indeed, home.

 

NB in a bid to do our bit to save the planet the hares had ensured that no excess of flour was expended on this trail.

 

Down-Downs

The last time TVH3 were in this pub was well over 20 years ago. Back then it was called the Bishop John de Grandisson. What a pleasant change to come into a nice, quaint and unpretentious old boozer with an open fire. Absolutely lovely. 

 

James and his partner Darren opened especially for us and made us very welcome. That was until Bluebird got hold of the radio microphone. Only the intervention of the Boston strangler curtailed his sea shantying (sigh).

 

Forrest-Stump, complete with coat hanger stuffed into his back jacket, assumed RA'ing and thanked the pub for opening and, mistakenly, for the beer as Bluebird had thought it imprudent to ask when initial negotiations had been taking place..

 

Most unusually, the RA kicked off proceedings by presenting the Bird with a DD, despite nary a mark to be seen! 

 

Forrest had the Hash turd hat. Now, last week it was revealed that it was a bit whiffy. In fact, it smelt as though someone had wee'd on it - or in it. It could have been worse I suppose. Someone could have matched the smell to the hat. 

 

Anyway, Forrest had allegedly washed the damn thing. Now it only smelt of dead mouse - which may still have been in situ. This he gave back to Roger the Dodger and I have no idea why.

 

Next up was Bluebird who had requested a half of ale for a special naming award. A story of derring do and that rarest of things, trust in the mad as a hatter, Bird.. Namely, only one brave Hasher foolish enough to follow the unmarked trail that the Bird purported to be the Shorts' trail. A note for Manopause the Magnifico - see Part 2 of the words.

 

There was definitely a note for the "Dubious ?????" but I am blessed if I can remember who or what it was for. (Perhaps Psycho for not wanting to reveal her hash name to Teapot in ward?)

 

Finally, Man-Pig had the Hashshit shirt from the previous week. The Pig had three stories to regale.

The first actually related to Saturday's Devon A2B hash. This involved one of the Pig's very best friends giving him a present that he really didn't want. 

 

Now this Hasher is a kind and generous man. He visits poorly Hashers in hospital. he brings virgins to the hash and on Saturday he volunteered to do the Words for the Devon A2B....or did he? At Saturday's A2B Circle their GM, That's Crap, asked for a volunteer to do The Words. Forrest shot up his hand.

"I'll volunteer....." he said. This was followed by a slight pause which ended with the name ".....Man-Pig". Just the sort of friend that you want to have in your life.

 

The next candidate was Forrest's son-in-law. He's turned up at the Hash as a virgin. he's been married to Mucking Fuddle for three years....isn't it about time? I think Forrest needs to have a word with him.

Our final contended for the Hashshit shirt was Warmfront. this was for her abject difficulty in being unable to tell the difference between the front and the back of a car. I hope that she wasn't the driver this evening.

 

The Pig put it to the floor to vote on. It was unanimous. Man-Pig's bestie, Forrest, was the outright winner. "Hold it in your hand Mrs Murphy".

 

We bade our farewells to each other and to James and Darren at the pub. A really nice old pub. I am sure we'll be back.

 

Next week

Next week's Hash is from Cockhaven Manor, again in Bishopsteignton. The Hares are Roger the Dodger and Well Hopped, no doubt assisted by Big End - and some flour next week might come in useful.

 

On-On to next week, MP.