Run 547

After drinking until 1:30 am, Saturday morning dawned somewhat too early. Shielding my eyes. I eased back the curtains a crack (aahhh, my favourite view - Ed). Blimey. Nice out, wasn't it. Lovely day for laying a really long trail. Skipped joyfully down to Aston End, flour and map in hand. Hmmm, I wondered, will 3 Kg of flour really be enough? The countryside beamed radiantly with spring like succulence. So much beauty for all to behold. Sand beheld it must be. All of it. All. All.

Sunday :
Cardiac, My Little Pony (MLP) and Snail shared a quiet prayer: " Oh lord and RA, please be merciful to those Hares about to sin".
The pack circle up: "It's not that it's a long run, but the pub serves food until 7:00 and you may need this German phrase book." With that, the hares started running, generally away from the pack that would surely lynch them by the end.

On-on through the woods, up the lane, past a really expensive Jaguar and straight into the shiggiest shiggy that has ever been shigged. A whole 200 yards of shoe-sucking, sock-sliming shaggy. The ecstatic moans of pleasure continued up the hill to the aptly signed 'Laughing Check', where the keenest but muddiest Hashers guffawed at the writhing mass of late comers still enduring the primal shaggy pleasure. Notable amongst the late arrivals, G-String. The pack let him just complete the shaggy-dash before, as one, crying "FALSE TRAIL". Oh, how we mock the afflicted. And so ON -ON to another woodland check. Here, the pack had some difficulty in finding the trail. It didn't seem to be anywhere dry! It couldn't possibly be amongst the reeds in that log-strewn bog, could it? Surely not. That bog must be knee deep! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. SQUELCH !!! Still, it washed off most of the old shiggy.

Thus the scene is set for the rest of the hash. Shiggy, water, shiggy, water... &c.

An abundance of false trails ensued. Some of them seemed much longer than when we laid them. Hashers: if you haven't seen flour for 1 mile, maybe it's not the trail. And you're all SCBs. Only 2 of you crossed the stream and then the bridge. It was a lovely little trail, honest.

With the trail firmly back in sight, the pack headed for the farm house. Only one obstacle. The RA BAR. A bridge and a ford. What a shame the bar check was on the bridge, as was the RA troll. Trip, trap, trip, trap went the pack. Back into the raging torrent where they frolicked gleefully and got the big bad troll very, very wet.

Time check : only 50 minutes into the run. Not even ½ way. Ooh 'eck. Short cut time. And what better excuse than: " I have to go to work now..." Hmmmm.

ON-ON went the 'ard ba**ard Hashers up the long hill toward Bennington. Still heading AWAY from the pub. Yoinks. Drawn inexorably on-onward by the thought of the promised Beer Check. (So that's where Snail went). By now false trails are a glimmer in the peripheral vision. Eyes left to gasp "...'ere...gasp...you can...pant...see Walkern from up 'ere..." The beer-hungry parched mob steamroller past the Big House, pausing only to compare shaving tips with a couple of well-dressed Gee Gees. (Saddle face?) Another testing stretch down to the Gatehouse. Good Crack, meanwhile seems to be planning redecoration of the Manor house. I think she put an offer on while we were checking out falsies. Oh, to live the high life. A couple more muddy trails and here we come thundering down School Green Lane. Through the leaf dappled sunlight the pack make out a Snail with a shell full of Boddingtons and Crunchies.

Time Check: 1Hr:10 Mins.

ON-ON through Bennington Green blah blah...sheep blah blah...field blah blah...shiggy...blah blah...shiggy...blah blah...shiggy...blah blah farm...really bad smell. It wasn't me. Plenty more flour laying, but the pack is surprisingly well held (or was that hung) together as we pass a motorbike graveyard. Those Moto Guzzis looked nice. The things you find on farms today. Up over a tall stile. Ouch. It really is tall. Slippery too. Then a lovely downhill bit through High Wood. Somehow, everyone is still sort of enjoying themselves.

Time check 1 Hr 30 mins.
Last stretch. Another hill. Another farm. Another bad smell. Still not me..

At last. The ON IN. Must be the shortest ON IN ever. About 20 yards.

Circle. Beer. More Beer. Even more Beer. Oh those bad, bad Hares. Then the vomit pot came out. I know we like custard. We also like baked beans, right ? But never in the same course. Lots of bad singing. Rewards all round with lovely Lager once someone worked out how to pour it. Deca run for MLP. The Hashit got unpleasantly aromatic. And a pair of socks got donated.

Can I do another run then??

ON ON You Bastards.
My Little Pony