HASH MAG VOLUME 18 ISSUE 4 (September 2000)

Run 886: The Plough Inn, Wrington
Date: Monday 29th May 2000
Hare: Puki Jangut

Written by Le Caniveau

SCHREEECH! It was that familiar rural sound of the townie in his big car pulling up smartly to ask some country bumpkin the way to the local beauty spot. Except that in this case the country bumpkin was Puki Jangut, the beauty spot was the Plough Inn, and the screech was coming from my car as the loose gravel on the road chose between scoring through the millimetre thick tarmac on a former Mendip cow track or embedding itself into my high performance Michelin tyres – not a choice even I would find easy to make, so you can understand the gravel’s indecision.

"Where’s the pub?" I asked.

"I’m glad you’ve turned up," replied Puki, and for once he actually meant it.

CLUMPF! CLUMPF! was both the sound of the car doors slamming, and the footfalls of what turned out to be half the pack leaving the Plough Inn a mere fifteen minutes late. We could have short-cutted up the road to where I’d first met Puki, but instead we followed the opening loop … before short-cutting up the road to where I’d first met Puki. I was late because I’d taken my three-year-old daughter Flora to her after-playgroup evening class in welding and industrial riveting. She brought home a half-scale model of the Titanic the other week, so now we are busy making icebergs in the freezer so that we can re-enact its maiden voyage in her inflatable paddling pool in the back garden. Look out for your invitations to that one!

TSEEZRCH! Geological tectonic plates drone on inaudibly as adjacent parts of the earth’s crust move into each other, throwing up giant ripples like the skin on a rice pudding being pushed aside as the serving spoon dives in.

PITTER! PATTER! PITTER! is the noise of countless raindrops gradually eroding and dissolving the ground thrown up by these movements. Trouble is, it needs an awful lot of PITTER PATTER PITTER to erode even the tiniest TSEERZCH and the Mendips are one area where there hasn’t yet been nearly enough. Consequently, the catching-up efforts of the rear half of the pack were hindered by the semi-vertical nature of the trail.

SQUELCH! SQUELCH! OOZE! Was the noise of Rodders coming up behind Hot Lips in the shiggy at the top of a sweaty mount. The whole pack gathered together and enjoyed the view. On this balmy summer’s evening from the top of this TSEEZRCH we could see across the Mendip valleys to many others cloaked with a quilted patchwork of fields.

IT MUST GO THIS WAY! Shouted Miss Jones as his local knowledge led him up another false trail. He reached the pack in time to go on another false trail down a private drive, which brought another SCHREEECH as the resident tried to mow down the trespassing hashers in his 4 x 4. Meanwhile, Puki showed his dearest and her brother the sidestep needed to remain on the public right of way. I think it’s a bit off – hare’s favouring family above the rest of the pack. Soprano – delete those Brownie points he earned! We left the deer paddocks for the cow paddocks, and threaded our way down the TSEEZRCH. At a check near the bottom, I asked a local for the best route to the pub, and he seemed to know the area as well as Miss Jones, pointing me off in the wrong direction. But an SCB has an instinct for the shortest route back, so I ignored his advice, and the calls from the pack, and returned straight to the pub, and a very nice pub it was too.

GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! Was the noise of eight down-downs being enjoyed by the whole pack sitting on single bench table in the garden of the Plough.

HASH MAG VOLUME 18 ISSUE 4 (September 2000)

Venue: The Swan, Pennsylvania
Date: 9 April 2000
Hare: Duracell

Written by Toreador

Continued from the last edition of The Mag.

We take up the story as the pack descends from the A46 over fields towards the Cotswold way and the next check. Now read on…

At this point, Spiderman took a right turn and headed back to the pub. [Regular readers will know that Spider was not entirely to blame as he had a pre-arranged appointment. - Ed.] The trail then went south-west across fields towards Lower Hamswell and then up a steep hill to Regroup 3.

I was the first to arrive at this regroup, closely followed by Lunchbox and son. Minutes passed, and still no sign of the rest of the pack. How many had followed Spiderman? Meanwhile Lunchbox, who knows a thing or two about beer, mused about why the Hash kept returning to the Swan when the quality of the beer was consistently poor. This, he explained, was down to the lengthy delivery of beer from the barrel to the pump via 20 yards or so of quarter-inch diameter piping buried beneath the ground. So now you know. Eventually, hashers started to appear with the Fat Controller bringing up the rear. Surprisingly, only Spiderman took the short cut to the pub. We pressed on from the regroup to Freezinghill Lane (aptly named) where we turned right and, shortly, left along the footpath towards the A420. One check later we arrived at Regroup 4. From the regroup, we crossed the A420 and headed north-east along footpaths to the outskirts of Doynton. The sudden absence of flour frustrated the front runners, but eventually the trail was located again and we took a right turn up the hill to Gorse Lane. Pennsylvania was now in sight and we arrived back at the pub at 12.40pm.

In the pub, the only pump beer was Bass but, fortunately, it was quite a good pint. The hare definitely deserved a down-down (now called on-downs in deference to our GM) for his various misdemeanours, but our recently-elected religious Advisor thought otherwise. Certainly, our previous RA would not have missed this opportunity and, as I write [or type, in my case - Ed] I can visualise Puki Jangut saying, "the run was too long, much too long, opportunities for checks were missed, and what about that crossing and re-crossing of the busy A46 and A420, and all those regroups and confusing check numbers? Have a down-down Duracell…"



HASH MAG VOLUME 18 ISSUE 4 (September 2000)

Run number 898 - The Guss and Crook, Timsbury.
Date: 20 August 2000
Hares: Gazza and Public Enemy.

Written by Puki Jangut

As I sat eating my boiled eggs this morning I got to thinking about the write-up for today's disaster from the Crooked Gusset. Which lucky hasher would receive the honour?

Several names came to mind but, in the end, what with this being the holiday season, I thought a quality run deserves a quality write-up, so I'll do it myself!

That's the thing about boiled eggs: they addle the brain.

As I write this masterpiece, with Wallace and Grommit watching dolefully, their heads full of eggshell, my mind goes back to the last time we ran from here. That's enough about that - I've remembered it's the same Hare, so presumably the same trail, possibly in reverse. Hang on, though, it's Gazza so any variation from the norm is unlikely.

Anyway, there are things in the Hares' favour this morning:

  1. The sun is shining
  2. There are plenty of footpaths
  3. The flour will still be there from the last run
  4. The run started on time.

Well, I must admit I quite enjoyed the trail, a bit predictable, but, what the hell, when you have a natural hashing brain, what do you expect?

The RA was in attendance and a good time was had by all. Back to the footie on the box and just maybe I'll open that bottle of Dom Perignon from the fridge!

Good job I brought my laptop along so I could finish off the write-up while still at the pub.