Ringer calls for 2 minutes Hash Hush
FC spouts: but how did they know?
Emily watches Mum pinch her deca down-down
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth...
Sunday started with such promise. The Clan G-String were out of the house with time to spare, (cf. any given Sunday), Shagpile and Underlay cycled to the pub sans tandem (planning aforethought to save Underlay the 1 cyclist/1 gyroscope tandem journey home (cf. notes re Engineer's Arms)) and hashers aplenty were making their way to The Chequers in Wrestlingworth.
The laying of the hash had gone particularly well the day before, Shagpile with the spirit that made these isles' navy great, had grasped the nettle by the horns, plotted everything on his GPS diddlywhatnot and, to G-String's unbridled disappointment, laid quite a substantial part of the trail. G-String, forlorn at missing an opportunity for exercise, undertook to do reps later that evening in recompense (note to self, must have slipped my mind by Saturday evening). The seeds of disaster, however, were sown. Shagpile did not tell G-String where the trail actually went!
Ringer called the circle to order and an immaculate 2 minutes silence was observed. Without much ado, it was on out... and downhill... rapidly...
G-String was firmly bringing up the rear with possibly the biggest knitting circle he'd encountered outside of that Shredded Wheat factory full of grannies.
What was going on at the front you ask? This correspondent hasn't a scoobies. Apparently the GPS diddlywhatnot took the FRBs off on a 2.1 mile trail of the most breathtaking beauty. Leaving behind the dreariness of an Hertfordshire autumn morn, the FRBs were treated to swaying palms, long haired nymphs and golden beaches. At least I think that is what Shagpile said, it was hard to tell when he spat it out through gritted and extremely sweaty teeth. It may have been swaying drunks and long haired, golden bitches. Either option holds its own promise.
The Knitting Circle had FRBs of its own. I'm reasonably adept at recognising people from some distance behind, but if I miss any culprits forgive me, I'm long sighted, not bionically sighted: AirScrew, Depth Charge, Shufflecock, Underlay, The Count, Edwina, Private Parts and Knobber [we dont need to split hares over which frbs are in the shagpile camp and which were disciples of underlay ... scribe] but no Capt Fantaaaastic who had pulled up lame (saving his energy for some top level Emily cuddling pre-circle).
Shagpile and the elite caught up with the Knitting Circle (how many times will you read that!) on the run up the hill to the church. Much grumbling ensued. Shagpile put the case for the defence AND the prosecution, turning Queen's Evidence on G-String - there's no love amongst thieves.
DE's Official Birthday Portrait
Hash Confusion: it happened a lot
Shagpile vigorously defends his haring
Once more, the parting of the ways. Those few, those happy few went off to face the bull with teats and no horns: was it a heifer? Only Birthday Lass Mekon, being a country girl, knew the answer. Many of the Knitting Circle defected at this point; having sampled G-String's fare, they now dipped their spoons in the Shagpile Hotpot. The hard core of the Knitting Circle, i.e. those that wouldn't break into a sprint if their pants were on fire, and having G-String as their poster boy, headed back to the pub by a slightly indirect route.
We were on our second drinks by the time the loopers returned. We were much less virtuous, but far less sweaty. I think we found it easy to live with our respective decisions.
Down downs were awarded to many for reasons that now escape me but which seemed perfectly legitimate at the time. Fat Controller tried to use the barn to comb his hair, it was commented that he may have knocked some sense into the barn, and a new deca-runner was hailed (the latter to Shagpile's chagrin as he commented "How can she have done 10 runs? She can't even walk yet.") Lastly, we should not forget the RAs who did a magnificent job on the weather!
As a post script, apparently Underlay enjoyed a fine half marathon on Sunday which, by great coincidence, started and finished at The Chequers. Good on you. It's now Tuesday and Shagpile is still giving me earache about "the incident at the first check". Moreover, he has so far declined to front hare on my next run in December. Can't think why.
Lastly, I leave you with an exert from an MSN chat between Shagpile and myself. The question raised was whether Shagpile wished to add to the Words:
"David Robinson says (12:06)
do you want to do anything about your bit at the front?
Binky Huckerback says (12:08)
yes - I'd like it to be bigger, but I don't believe those adverts"
Nuff said. Nice.
On on to Cranfield!