2007 Parasitic

High Wycombe HHH

The Chequers, Wheelers End

Tuesday, 9th October 2007

H5: 3


PP DOES NEWEE IMPRESSION ..

GERRY THE HARE TRIES TO BRIBE HM SCRIBE ..

PROTECTIVE CLOTHING ..

VIEW FROM THE TRAIL ..

CAPT F HAS A JOLLY GOOD CHIN-WAG

Poor Capt F. With the best of intentions our brave innovator chose not only the wrong hash but the wrong day. Quite a few H5ers promised to make the trip SW but the skies were full of rain all day and every time the phone rang it was another, in the current political vernacular, bottling it. So let's call the role of honour first. Only the following turned up (in ascending order of rank):
PRIVATE PARTS, CAPTAIN FANTAAAASTIC and COUNT ROADKILL and we are looking for your admiration and appreciation here, so throw us a feckin' bone.

The wrong hash? Yep I think so but let's start on a positive note. It was a super trail and they are thoroughly nice people, very welcoming, and the beer was tasty. But there were two crucial differences between the way they hash and the way we hash which took the shine off our efforts. It was hashing: but not as we know it Jim.

The first is the start time. 19:45 throughout the winter. They run - very tentatively - up & down hills, a 1.5 hour trail through woods and probably very attractive country..... with greatest difficulty seeing their next step, let alone the lovely environment. There was loads of puddles and shiggy for PP to play in and no-one could see how muddy he was. There was (soaked) flour but only on the real trail: so the poor Count was left time and again wandering off into the dark fields without even the prospect of a bar to tell

[missing line(s) : Archive Ed]

done in similar circs.

The second difference is the lack of the Hash social graces. No silly names. And no circle. This latter threw us because it's when the newees are introduced to the circle that, tradition has it, they morf into parasites. As it was we had sort of muscled into a kind of briefing when Capt F mystified the assembled throng by revealing we weren't who they didn't think we were anyway: and it was too dark to see our special parasitic shirts... and then of course with no circle up after, and no down-downs, there was no beer to parasitise. So it all went a bit flat from that point of view.

But we had a jolly good run and a thoroughly nice chin-wag over some good beer and the time passed so quickly it was midnight before we were home.

Have I painted a pretty enough picture so we have more parasites next year?

ON-ON

The Count.