Run 646, April 18th 2018.
WHERE: The Woolpack, St Georges.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: What a difference a month and a week makes. An average of 2.66 layers had been shed compared with the Beast from the East runs, not quite a scorcher but certainly you'd be barmy to not think of it as balmy. Good too to see the GM hare reviving the Father Abraham warmup (just when we might have expected the penguin dance), not to mention a long runners' lasso at On Out enforcing a couple of walker-led checkpoints. St Georges duly circumnavigated, we all thankfully Saw Track and Thought Train before cutting a swathe through to a smorgasbord of a sweet stop - preserved mint imperials, liquorice allsorts, specialite de la Haribo and tangy pastilles comprised the menu (Poppy being given a hound's abstinence for standing on the SS and the sweets being casually opened next to a drain, along with Briggy throwing his keys in the air). To those second guessing a suburban trail, we were in for the treat of making a non-light-brigade charge out to remote Bourton and I think all the way back. To set the tone there was the welcome revival of the turnback, naturally out to befuddle at least one witness with a non-hash-hound, and then came trouble when we probably would have asked for it. For runners there beckoned a field freshly ploughed and dry roasted in the afternoon sun (still not quite hotter than the Med), but just as FRBs (half the runners, essentially) thought they were On On a 6th sense told us that DT had followed and gesticulated another way (rather than using Semaphore or a hash horn - one to debate at the AGPU). Too late, alas, to rein in those skippers but early enough to serve up some rough justice. One the legit runners had found their way to and along Ebdon Lane while obeying a fishhook for 4, another fish hook for the very same ensured the FRBs came back and collided Rocky Horror-first. Many anecdotes and a few less insults were exchanged, with Irish Spew even literally getting cheeky and Eager finding that upon his sole his shoe was now flapping in the...er...sun, what with all that Mendip Challenge training terrain. A gate was duly slammed quietly and On Ons duly whispered as we were reintroduced to civilisation en route to a beer stop alongside Priory Community School.
CIRCLE: First to get lines were Irish and Bendy for their lost-and-found approach to a magic mini roundabout, then Irish again for mooning not as much as we have come to expect from Briggy, and a still comfortably warm welcome to Bogs virgin Jude from New Zealand, no doubt shepherded rather than dragged out on the has by the cosmopolitan Inside Out. Not quite so lengthy an On In this time, but still sufficient time to pretend we no longer liked fish hooks after tonight's discrepancies and to take an illicit shortcut or 3 through the grounds of the Courthouse. Oh, the lack of shame...
ON ON ON: 9:06 was the arrival and plenty of long, cool 'uns were duly downed at the bar, though not if you were a hound left out to soak up the moon's rays. The possible default hash food setting of plenty of sarnies and chips continued, though a Ploughman's is also up for first dabs via a Celidh at Ashton School this hashy weekend. Talking of which, Briggy was out shaping his ASS again with this year's early birds for Cheddar. That's mature.
Run 645, April 11th 2018.
WHERE: The Carpenters Tavern, Dundry.
HARE: Walky Talky.
WHO: A soon-to-be-dirty dozen hashers plus 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Just to prove that this rare Bogs location was in the clouds, well...we had our inter-county views rudely fogged out while playing hunt the non-shiggy. On Out saw plenty of red herrings mixed with flour, all laid in tractor grooves which lent credibility to the notion that the hare had found an offbeat way to lay flour off-road. No less of a novelty was the forewarned checkpoint that quickly became a check-back, lead us father a-several-field to a sweet stop with a view of grey. Not good enough? Well, may I ask what you were expecting to see from a foggy Dundry Sweet Stop? Herds of wilde-hashers sweeping majestically? Alright, scratch the majestic - for those with at least one foot planted the temptation to explore the signposted unstable mines was evaded with some difficulty, since the big W appeared to have been cut and pasted rather than copied and pasted further down the cul-de-sac. With rapidly decreasing hare-brainwaves, we found our way onwards to Dundry's own rival to Cadbury Camp and with just as much shaggy to squelch, mostly through trial and error until the runners sounded the Rewind-bugle that they were all alive and well up for another ascent. The ever-explorative (and exploitative, when there are hash routes on offer) Deep Throat was duly reined in with Eager, quite possibly short-cutting their way to the top, but we let that one slip because they didn't. To cut a long trail short...would indeed be quite wrong, so instead we simply zipped open an early beer stop after miraculously all staying upright within the preceding quagmire.
CIRCLE & ON IN: Little misdemeanour or loss of virginity to report but certainly another toast to a hash well worth walkin' n' talkin' about. Most of the toasting of course would have befitted events after the beer stop - directions were given to a driver whose satnav was not on hasher mode, runners somehow mustered the calories for another Grand Old Duke of York undertaking, rewarded with the more visible views stretching out over a twilit European Green Capital 2015. Makes you want to follow flour right through the heart of it...
ON ON ON: Proving once again that it's never too far to travel to say hello, Brigadoon and Ballsport appeared in the bar to help us demolish all the chips and ham and cheese sarnies that were not reserved for the carpenters - back from whence they hash-dashed to the M5-adjacent Woolpack at St George's next week, and judging by the forecast we may be packing heat...
Run 644, April 4th 2018.
WHERE: The Black Horse, Clapton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Dressing Down and Up All Night, but not Woodbine!
WHO: 20 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Tucked away in amongst the back quadruples we found ourselves assembled outside this delightful little tavern which may possibly pre-date hashing, welcomed by a trail seemingly shiggified by the same species as the pub. On out was tarmac enough, even finding time to send the runners on a brief limb to prepare footwear for what lay ahead not only did natural and equine shiggy behold, but also on a sideways slope and with FRBs and stragglers alike in danger of being swallowed whole. If it was loud screams of encouragement that rescued us from that, the next words of wisdom were horse whispering as a quadruped without a handle had taken to following our flour the whispering without manhandling came from the tried and trusted owner of course, but no less in need of whispers were these bogging lifeforms some without head torches. When they spotted what appeared to be a fish hook with no number, the initial consensus that we were now stuck in a time warp was replaced with the instruction to garner as many waves (and subsequent horns) from the steep motorway bridge ahead as they could along with a possibly early sighting of Hyacinthoides non-scripta (if you were to believe the Lepus without their Canis Lupus Familiaris). Many approaches were tried to make a journey down the M5 pleasant for those below bellows of On On, slow plods and mad waving dashes, though Brigadoon may have been the winner with a grand total of one honk thanks to his proud slow and steady approach. It was of course still up and up unless you wanted to go back back even with these tried and tremendous parts the hares still found plenty to throw into the mix. Quite literally at a Cadbury Camp fort Sweet Stop the walkers snapped up the majority of the air bubble Rocky Road (Pebble Path?), Raspberry and chocolate Liquorice, thanks to runners being herded far enough afield by cattle to spark a co-hare search party. A long walk oh so good beckoned along Cadbury Camp Lane (Millionaire's Lane for us hash centurions) with the light fading not fast enough to conceal the arrow pushing us back down the grandmother of all shiggy slopes. For those being propped up by uppy and downy the advice of keep left clearly fell on the ears of those who saw no problem in getting a little bit shiggier all in the name of crop rotation to bring out the bluebells in full force. The M5 literally got one over on us just before touch down, at a still perfectly reasonable 9:10pm considering that FRB SS AWOL from earlier...
CIRCLE: Joined by Inside Out and all indeed to be glad inside now rather than out, happy returns came the way of the older and certainly wiser hares, Dressing Down finding the small matter of the Centurion toga a perfect fit in the process. A welcome return too to a non-boating Strap On, whose bellowed On Ons had somehow fallen on the deaf ears of Bend Over.
ON ON ON: A Dark Horse for 2018's cosiest On On On, what with the log fire burning bright and more than enough pasties, pies and cheese and onion rolls to go around, with the cherry on the cake being Up All Night's birthday week cake. Continuing the theme of pastures rarely ventured, next week it is up, up and nearly away via the Carpenter's Arms and head torches at Dundry. May our fame spread faster than greyhounds...
Run 642, March 21st 2018.
Hash Trash from Walky Talky's point if view:
WHERE: The Landing Light, Locking.
HARES: Eager Beaver assisted by Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT: It was one of the few times I was coming from Bristol, but there was an accident by the Fox and Goose on the A38,
This changed a half hour drive to an hour drive and I realised that I was going to be more than a bit late,
When I got to the pub I found a packed carpark and on the road was the only space,
I eventually set off at ten to eight following a well back marked trail at a jogging pace,
I followed the marks and passed a fishhook, a split and a sweet stop mainly on road and track,
I got to a check point that was marked into a field and decided that I would find another way back,
I was then shortly greeted by Coppertone walking towards me asking if I had seen the hare,
It turns out there had been confusions at the last checkpoint and some misunderstanding there,
I gradually met up with more of the pack as we ended up making our way back the way we came,
For us the beer stop and picnic was passed the pub only one person didn't go and Brigadoon is their name,
We got to Down and Dirty's car to see Eager and Ropey, the only ones that followed the whole trail,
There was cider, juice, crisps, sausage rolls an quiche and discussions on where the pack did fail,
Again there was also some of the 'psycho' snack range, this times pork scratching that were very very hot,
After a quick down down in the cold, back to the pub we went and warmth and more drinks we got.
Run 641, March 14th 2018.
WHERE: The Ebdon Arms, Wick St Lawrence.
HARES: Fondue and Deep Throat.
WHO: 20 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: As on previous sporadic visits, the Ebdon Arms was almost as well tucked away as the flour, what with rain seemingly suspended a metre from the ground where it never settled all night - I suppose this was the Pest from the West, or maybe an upside-down On In resembling El Nino? Anywho/what/where/why, fond memories surfaced of Fondue originally being christened G Spot at this pub when times were tougher and, well, fish-hooks may have occasionally resembled Gs. Turnbacks and fish-hooks were, however, much better understood and noticed back then, a feeble excuse for one such chalk and Ts being missed by runners who were barely into their off the ground stride. Perhaps most prominent as we negotiated the many twists, turns and wicked ways of St Lawrence was the chance to recruit non-Bogging dog walkers, towards whom the normally yappy Woodbine was quite soporific this near-spring evening. I'm sure we have intrigued if not recruited a fair few (with the flour as much as the On Ons), even if they suddenly buttoned up the hatches when we stopped for lucky dip sweeties - multiple choice haribo being complimented by mints imperial to our energy levels. We had done approximately 0.35 hashes by the time those indulging on runners route 1 felt they were going well out of their way to avoid walking company - each time a turn back in the logical direction arose, a loop became longer, and it was only when stragglers arose that we finally started to charge back in the direction of Orion above - best navigation means when turning this way and that. Novelties from many years prior quickly became the recurring theme - not only were we in for the major surprise of an early Beer Stop at Dingle and Software's abode, but also out came Fondue's non-pavlova speciality which may in fact have appeared on Bogs before it: Pecan cakes! Cider, fruit juice and fresh fruit washed them down very quickly and brought us together for an undercover circle:
CIRCLE: Almost half the pack had their hats on in the circle, the attention thankfully being drawn instead towards warmer clime returnees Bag Lady & Coppertone plus Eager Beaver's completion of 50 hares (incidentally having just had about 50000 hairs cut at time of writing - show me what ya get, pest!)! A kind reminder that we still had a trail to get lost on...
ON IN: Mixed in with the trail's reminder there were two additional runner circuits, skipping on the edge of rugged Priory School in the process, but we really had to hop to it when it came to the evening's real hazard. Heading back in a beer pump direction, the lonesome frog from Winscombe a fortnight ago had told his spawning pals that humans with head torches are nom danger - they're just peeping toms! Of the 100% in-trampled pondlife that we encountered on concrete, many of them were in a compromising position, or perhaps the males were just lazy and wanted to, ahem...be carried back to the river. This failed to give any male Bogs bad ideas, in fact many were still running at On In, all of 8 and 3 quarter bells.
ON ON ON: Down & Dirty turned up amongst a sparse pub with a nonetheless cosy conglomeration of tables, each housing a crisp basket with ham and cheese sarnies which were finished with consummate ease. Weston's-super-surroundings remain our itinerary for next week, for which we have left the Landing Light on.
Run 640, March 7th 2018
WHERE: The Rudgleigh, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 20 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: All that hype 'n' tripe about the Beast from the East - would it have disrupted us Bogs out for Jogs? Well, apart from leaving what was either the Beast's death throes or washing up suds gone to excess, there was very little on this trail to cause a faceplant. We had needed to contend firstly with late hares and being democratically advised to park in the back car park - good thing that this was On Out as over the cricket pavilion we charged - stumped briefly for the right way On On thereafter, it took multiple screams of petrol to keep us assembled as a non-coherent unit and a speed split alongside one of our favourite sites of beer stopping to remind us of the great scenery on offer. Once down at sea (well, River Avon) level we raised our head torches and sweets to the Duke of Cornwall before assembling with the railway yonder to emphasise what followed was no mere runner/walker split but a wimp/Rambo. I bravely scribed along the wimpy way, finding no furniture left out for us to scavenge this time, crawling through a few blind and back alleys along with the ground of St George's Church - the bells were not yet tolling, so clearly On In was not going to be at the neighbouring King's Arms as some of the weary may have wished - instead it was uphill with demolished flour on Rectory Road with near-perfectory timing; 10 to 9 was the Rudgleigh steakhouse chime...
CIRCLE: What could possibly hold the presses more than the hares being as late as usual and Rewind repeatedly wandering the wrong way? Well, Walky Talky could get a life for a start and finish, having reached the mile-diamond of 500 hashes! On and ever so promptly On!
ON ON ON: Commandeering the back room and with that front car park still empty, signs were already here that Briggy is getting his ASS in gear. A toast and the odd cheese, ham and tuna sarnie to be raised then, even if skittle duty beckoned to prove that clearly not enough blind alleys had been negotiated for this scribe...
Run 639, 28 February 2018.
WHERE: The Nova Scotia, Bristol.
HARES: Irish Spew.
RUN REPORT (by this week's scribe, Cinders): Minus 5 degrees to start, dropping to minus 10 in the wind chill! Who in their right mind would go out in the evening in this? Well, 15 of us enjoyed Irishs trail of Bristols mediaeval history, as he led us up and down, and up and down again, and again, along ancient footways. Almost up to Clifton, down to the Portway, back up to Clifton, down to Jacobs Well, up again on Brandon Hill, down to Trenchard Street, part way up Brandon Hill again, down to Hotwells, and then a final climb to Clifton Wood before allowing us a flat run in to the Nova.
CIRCLE: In the welcoming warmth of the pub, and replete with sausages and chips, we thanked the thawing hare and welcomed the virgin BOGS hashers Andy and Liz, and returnee Julie - all encouraged along in the sub-zero temperatures by Double D.
Run 638, February 21st 2018.
WHERE: The Woodborough, Winscombe.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Great to see this many trek out to a real blast from the past the verbal memo was that turnbacks rather than fish-hooks were in for a revival tonight (they are entirely different symbols, after all) and that Strap On was keen to keep her hair in its current Brazilian Blow Dry state: cue hand-held torches. Straight away one such T turned up at runners' On Out, sending them back towards the Strawberry Line (classic number 2) and encircling the walkers before another such T sent the throng alongside the Lox Yeo River. Brigadoon had seized upon the chance to nearly head the trail at this point, what with all those turnbacks, but then came quite a bit of huffing' and puffin' from him like a not-so-good 'un. Of course we had Houdini on call, but with plenty of flat and oxygen to hand we reckoned a shortcut later on would suffice fair enough, though a steep hill out of a patch of green would need climbing first, and for those sticking to the main trail a warning sign of frogs in the road actually turned out accurate for once. Several unsuccessful attempts were made to persuade the former tadpole to hop it (hashers are much more dangerous than vehicles, after all), but eventually we decided to go and find our own green habitat, mostly comprising stone stiles and with local lambs that Mudlark would have easily blended in with, provided of course they wouldn't swallow her whole. At Sweet Stop we miraculously turned wine gums into rain water (it just will not relent for a whole evening at the mo perhaps a big freeze would be welcome, after all), and then mistook the roars from the nearby playing fields as On Ons from Briggy. Those miraculously retaining a sense of direction eventually led us to On In via another dose of Strawberry Line, with another healthy touchdown of 8:50pm particularly as there would have been few church bells for us to follow...
CIRCLE: More red letter antics to add to Brigadoon and Ballsport's early reappearance after KC and Cinders had run like hares on a mountain, the censored version of Strap On's Down Down was "Her name is Strap On and she blow dries", while the visiting Software had made her branding of turnbacks as "hare-teasing" a little too verbal and astonishingly we found it has taken this long for Irish Spew to get a life like a good centurion. A welcome too to Inside Out's virgin friend Tegane (who had nonetheless impressed with shiggy hurdling throughout), the returning Inchworm and to Rocky Horror who presented bottles o' bubbly for the Litton Cheney cooks (half absent).
ON ON ON: Chunky chips came out after a circle turned board meeting, along with equally chunky bread for the ham, cheese and egg sarnies. A polite note to the scribe do not rush out of here to play skittles in future, instead invite the team to hash from Winscombe and play at the flawless looking alley at the Woodborough.
Run 637, February 14th 2018.
WHERE: The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
WHO: 13 hashers, 2 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Plenty to talk about here without miner puns. With a scribe parking up at 7:35 and frantically finding un-kicked checkpoints here and there, outrage at this supposed lack of back-marking threatened to boil over until, while fretting under foliage, the On Ons actually came up from behind, turning this BRB into an FRB already quite sodden with precipitation perception. Long Ashton golf course inevitably beckoned, presenting a lot of shiggy when clear of the fairways (Double D slipping afoul of one such quagmire and...laughing hysterically about it. We have yet to find other ways out of this greenbelt than to regroup and dash over the B3128, adding a few crossroads and runner's loop to possibly somewhere into the bargain this time round, but then came another familiar obstacle from these parts. Behold the bespoke training of two-wheelers as they cleared the brown carpet specially for us en route to the sweet stop (in the middle of THEIR eponymous Ashton Court trail, no less). With tangy haribo and jelly beans quickly finished off by these big kids and mostly-grown-ups, On On took us squelching along by the woods to LongWood Lane, but whosoever would treat their geographical location as On In would quickly be reined in for runners were called back and sent light-brigading back into the woods for presumably the ulterior motive of all arriving at the same time well, it was certainly a Cinders-approved 8:55pm once we rolled prominently down Providence Lane to said symbol which all driving hashers ignore. GMDT suggested a re-run of the On Out which I had missed if I was feeling guilty, duly noted even if the opportunity was taken to drive my changing room up to the pub, with the skittles watch ticking.
CIRCLE: Remembering suddenly the date, we sang the well ad-libbed Roses are red, violets are blue, that was a good hash, set by you to our evergreen hare, taking the opportunity to return his chequebook from Litton Cheney and likening Double D to the popular myth about Walter Raleigh.
ON ON ON: Not quite so much drying off was needed tonight, but the trick of the steam effect by a raging fire proved just as popular, and just as welcome a sight as the visiting Red Light was that of several trays of chips and sausages, complete with brown sauce for the royalty and red sauce for..er..the miners? A classic to be revived in the form of the Woodborough at Winscombe next week, already beginning to feel like an ASS warm-up.
Run 636, February 10th 2018.
WHERE: Litton Cheney Youth Hostel.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 18 houndless Bogs and 4 visiting Hardy Hashers - Rocky Horror, Cinderella, Cinders, Walky Talky, Eager, Down & Dirty, Zider, Double D, Houdini, Inside Out, Fondue, Brigadoon, Ballsport, Irish Spew, Rebore, Bend Over, Strap On, Croucher.
RUN REPORT: Fate decreed a 2016 dose of Litton Cheney weather combined with a 2017 edition lack of headline incidents for this year's Dorset Bogs shindig. After arriving at the cosy YHA at widely varied times (one literally due to a non-python-related vehicular defect), we injected ourselves with carbohydrate aplenty, some even taking on a third-come-forth helping of the spaghetti mountain and meat/veggieballs (we didn't keep calm and check them) and absorbing the warm fire and bodies of the neighbouring White Horse Inn. After an evening of singing and dancing from wannabe (and not far off) sopranos we awakened to more of a pitter patter outside than 2016's continuous downpour thankfully at On Out everyone was helping Rocky Horror with his enquiries about the trail, rather than him helping the local bobbies. Clad in all weather clothing, we set off with the words of wisdom that last years trial was virtually copied and pasted, but this was not going to stop us from inserting our own twists and turns right from the rallying cry runners agreed to check out at the start in a direction never likely to reach any pub stop, but once back mostly on track on Chalk Pit Lane (okay Flour Blob Hill) it was to Rocky's utmost Horror that the walkers were out of sight. Enough, alas, for the hare to lollop downhill in search and decide that those with one pace had been underestimated. Makeshift Homing Beacon Eager Beaver assented to ascend along the walker's route and recounted last year's scattered flour at the summit sure enough the quarry was sighted just ahead, timing their rendezvous with the runners perfectly much ado about little. Much more certainly was ado now that we needed to cross and briefly stick with the A35 the spray affect of roaring traffic not only erased the flour pointing downhill (the hare reined in those missing the downhill turnoff) but also made this a drenching rather than a moistening. Still, we were sheltered again once we had descended into Askerswell for our first pub stop 'twas not to be a repeat of the basking in glorious sunshine from last year in the garden of the Spyway Inn, instead we repeated the steam dry trick from 2016 at the cider farm in front of the fire while downing a quick pint. It did at least fire us up for the long trek along tarmac (runners could not divert along yonder fields this time shiggy happens) and take in a few dirt tracks before stopping for lunch at the uploaded Crown Inn at Uploders. With Down & Dirty now here to cheer us on we quickly demolished the soup, sarnies and sausage rolls while shutting the box (it's a great game if you ever could possibly get bored on a hash). A longer plod now beckoned for walkers whereas runners opted for a mad dash to try and take in another nearby pub (an uneducated guess would be the Loders Arms any other nearby pub and they may as well have followed the walking fraternity). A long way along the old trail that was new road, the plodders were most outraged to be overtaken by Briggy and Ballsport courtesy of Down & Dirty's taxi service (that sputtering internal combustion engine couldn't lose its hash enthusiasm, after all) that additional shelter turned out to be the final straw when it came to the weather's efforts to do something bas to our parade, relenting in time both for the runners to catch up at the brow of a hill and to down the cider at said Bredy Lane stop. Previous waterlogged Litton Cheneyers had been known to linger here to dry off or, worse, to retire from the trail, but the only repeat was use of the marble run and apple juice extra-concentrate in abundance. Zidered-aye-up and down Bredy Lane it was then to scream petrol a few more times by now the flour assumed we knew our own way, though several had the novelty to check out (for consumer purposes, no less) Modbury Farm Shop to see just how free range this trail would turn out to be. No less wearied we found the going uphill towards Puncknowle a bit tough (Fondue and Croucher short-cutting back to base for culinary duties), though certainly not as flood impacted still as 2016 and with enough time for the scandal for several BRBs to chant we know what you're doing at Rebore can't imagine why. The Crown Inn provided the chance for 6 or so hashers to catch up on that many nations playing rugby, though most were simply in it for the refreshment and the lack of peer pressure for getting back to huddle around the dinner table. The threat again of us trampling the regular On In route to a drainage basin convinced the flour to guide us On In along tarmac, with twists and turns and more than a few non-hash hounds encountered prior to touchdown what do you know, it once again chose to bucket down on those that stayed on the trail late.
CIRCLE: Once all under cover and with the drying room full to capacity, we toasted Rocky Horror albeit not over a spit and also raised every quickly refilled glass to absent friends first to the Hardies who had come and possibly gone after discovering how waterlogged they would get, and then as ever to the departed Koko who had set the near-new-year weekends in motion when Bogs was already world famous. Now, as for the excuse of acting as last night's cabarets to get extra down downs...
ON ON ON: Showered and well huddled and with Irish Spew taking up the guitar baton with aplomb, we tucked into a delicious (and naturally mountain-load) mixture of Tagine and Fondue the latter the cook, the former the cauldron for the curry and fruit couscous of course the hasher former known as G-Spot excels just as well with fruits when providing desserts, this time with crumble rather than meringue on top. Games night was not enough to prevent early night for Bendy and Briggy, though the ASS style breakfast that preceded the next run spliced with hardies certainly shook them out of their slumber the next python-free morn. On On to the next county match!
Run 635, February 7th 2018.
WHERE: The White Hart, Weston-in-Gordano.
HARES: Houdini with a swift dash / daft swish of Eager Beaver.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: The Bogs were mostly atop a bog on this irrigated evening while taking in a lot of fresh surroundings marked with some flour from this afternoon and some from the weekend's recce perhaps the clear as shiggy approach accounted for a couple of FRBs sticking to the B3124 rather than diving off road; checking out that restored checkpoint soon put them right and directed us through the first of the Gordano Valley's many greeneries first it was orchards, then warning triangles preceding a slightly perilous hop over the B3124 with runner/walker split to follow. The reconvene (including those making up for lost On Ons) was perfectly timed with another B road crossing (hey, these boots were made for bogging!) leading on into the Gordano quagmires (much more like it!) - had there been any way but that which led straight ahead we certainly would have still been out there now. After all, FRBs (with a Bogs virgin mixed in) briefly missed On On over a concealed bridge (the semi-co-hare staying put to resemble a beacon as a precaution), and slightly harsh punishment consisted of a fish hook for 6 and a sweet stop which had made efforts at self concealment. Thankfully the tranquil din of trickling water helped to settle our nerves now that we were on tarmac for a short time equally pacifying was the fact that only a turnback was encountered rather than petrol (even if On Ons meant an arrow had to be switched round to point back in a pub-like direction. By now those who had missed the sweet stop had also turned back in search of clarity, promptly encountering the bobbling lights and thankfully finding the fields free of sheep ready to herd humans. The distant glow had been with us all night but it was nice to add a Bogs touch of debating over the last checkpoint prior to taking on the home straight touchdown at 10 to 9 was always likely to bring plaudits during this post-snowy season, so we did.
CIRCLE: Keeping to the cosy and rather classy indoors, we added further to Houdini's recent centurion plaudits as well as frowning imperceptibly at those who missed de-materialising blobs, but a welcome return simply had to be toasted to Flour Power who definitely still has both the power and this evening's flour (on her shoe).
ON ON ON: Apparently budgeted for a lower turnout than this, however there was still more than enough chips and cheese sarnies to go round, complimented with a large bowl of olives and the toothpicks that come with them. A good hors d'oeuvre for the coming weekend's Litton Cheney hashing club with an eating problem...
Run 633, 24th January 2018.
WHERE: The Bristol House, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 17 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: They all got the memo about Tartan garb, not that the hare was ever going to be outdone in potential for kilt mooning. After failing to recruit some non-hashers merely in high-vis for On Out, Ashcombe Park beckoned for runners on high, including Eager and Kevin who shared a newborn and a dying head torch between them - naturally the stalwart opted to trade equipment with the student in order to tread tarmac again opposite Milton Surgery with no need to use it. Quickly catching up with the hare, not even honest instruction that followed a couple of "left, rights" was enough to keep everyone on track - instead a search not quite in vain for the tennis ball flour blobs actually led to them colliding with Brigadoon again, himself in search of AWOL runners and also the subject of search by the ever loyal Ballsport. We found the co-hare not yet watch tapping but at least pacing to keep warm along with Houdini, Down & Dirty (lured by the concept of flatness) and Fondue with Mudlark not yet her traditional second-half shade of brown. Punishment was merely to walk up onto Weston Milton locomotive platform in order to find an arrow marching us down again - a walkers' loop it seemed as the runners chose now to reappear led by welcome returnee Missapp near to home turf. After Expressing past Tesco a polite request was granted to rein in the runners again from a false which they'd F'ed up. Somehow while back on track around Locking Castle pond we overlooked Down & Dirty being abandoned to the inherited, "dead" head torch and all of 10 seconds of searching was necessary to make sure no walking on water was necessary for all to reach the...ahem...refreshment stop. Jelly Babies and tangy worms - oh so orthodox. Shot and whiskey glasses - well, certainly orthodox for run 210 in the snow (when juniors were present, no less). With Dutch Courage levels peaking, the choice of bypass, steps or cargo nets out of the Maltlands Play Area seemed very well timed - most made as graceful a hop, trip and bump over the netting as could be, but the plaudits for one semi-newbie's tackling of the obstacles would have to wait for the indoor Beer Stop later. After Stopping, Looking and maybe Listening our way across the path of the First Great Western, the long and straight of it was to seek higher ground via the twists and turns surrounding Windsor Castle (the one with beer pumps, not the one near Legoland). While not all the feet were grateful for a downhill finish through part of Ashcombe Park and its namesake road, we quickly appreciated Brigadoon's punctuality at On Out which had led to an arrival at 10 past 9 rather than that of Summer peak hours.
CIRCLE: More plaudits for Brigadoon in a year where they will not at least be getting their haring ASSes in gear, along with shedding some light on Down & Dirty's walk through dark places before the sweet stop, plus the heroic exploits of second trail timer Kevin through the cargo net tunnel - henceforth "Ropey" shall be seen making hopefully regular appearances alongside Eager Beaver.
ON ON ON: Cock a Leek at that, would you! Along with the traditional buttered cobs to dip in there was (I am reliably told) roasted parsnip which resembled more of a savoury brandy snap, all not even expected as the Burns Night Supper appetiser. Out then came the Neaps and Tatties and Haggis, with the sheep soon put paid to by us wolves in tartan clothing. From farms to Butchers Arms next week it is, then, keeping the hash grub in the family...
Run 632, 17th January 2018.
WHERE: White Lion, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 22 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Another one of those Shrek hashes came to bear on an evening far from clear. Arriving on time for a change (by recent scribe standards), I found time to don a waterproof cape at On Out and follow the throng towards the Moorend Spout - not that that spout caused all the aquaplaning we were going through. A few back streets took us out onto the shaggy beneath the buzzing pilons and with cattle opting to keep their distance for a change - they had of course already spared no effort in trampling away most of the flour, after all. Out of the darkness there loomed a hole in the wall which we may have yelled "Bring On!" a few years ago and when junior hashers' supply outstripped their demand, but not tonight. Instead we regrouped at another familiar corner and charged towards Nailsea Rugby Club, suspicious of the lack of a T24 after all these ASSing years, and perceptive of there not being a 300 symbol on the fields where no scrums take place. A more traditional SS symbol (albeit in a poor state of rain and repair) came calling with Liquorice Allsorts (poor Cinders), Haribo Sports Mix and Drumsticks of the non-chicken hybrid. Clearly we had had too much of tarmac to call an early On In, branching off before local rival the Ring O' Bells to try our hand at tripping over all the bracken - how common! We all kept calm and carried on not falling flat on our wet faces (mostly) in pursuit of On In, but not even years of Bog experience made us choose the right way initially once the fish bar appeared - clearly one for a future beer stop in the dry?
CIRCLE: Not intent on down downing with rain water, we stormed half the pub after stomping all the mud off outdoors, toasting the hares with a rousing chorus of "Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud!" and bringing a few crimes to light that did not take a rain check - first there was Rocky Horror getting lost in his pursuit of Litton Cheney python insurance premiums, Rebore miraculously being the only one whose fall goeth before pride and Bag Lady's walking stick getting a little too stuck in the mud.
ON ON ON: The White Lion had definitely had a successful hunt - of all the party foods for a non-party we had lots of pork pies, sausage rolls, non-sausage rolls and hummus to dip the beta-carotene into, even if the rain still failed to stop in conjunction with the hunger we had worked up. Forget ye not to don the Tartan at the Bristol House next week for Burns Night Hash, wee bairns...
Run 631, January 10th 2018.
WHERE: The Rising Sun, Backwell.
WHO: 24 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: 2018, your number's up! The prospect of a Rewind-esque level of predictability was undoubtedly what drew in the crowds from near and afar, even if I made a bit of a hash up of both arriving in time for On Out briefing and believing the direction of the arrow pointing up Church Lane. It was after all a further 300 yards, give or take flour, until another arrow appeared in convoy with the distant On Ons echoing across the deeply shiggy fields beneath the civic amenity site, aka dump. Once out on Hillside (Woodbine was a lead's width from leading the pack at this point) the homing pigeon within tempted us into thinking of a very early On In via Kellways and its quagmires but then who was the hare bayed by a pack of hounds? Instead a suitably gruelling ascent towards Backwell's peak performance (admittedly frequented in Summer, albeit when going downhill) was on the cards. Firstly seven eighths of the pack were bamboozled into calling the long On On to nowhere while not even half way up the hill (Brigadoon had already been driven enough to swear an oath on Rewind's blood, what with all that uphill), and then came the trip wire at the top that contained its own malevolence, snaring at least six of the non-sure-footed. Well, with such great responsibility was bound to come such great reward, even if the runners had to briefly search for a turnback in amongst the bovine DNA what some christened the South West's biggest red light district in the distance was in fact Bristol Airport with the tarmac bumper to bumper, deciding not to roll the landing strip out for our arrival tonight. Instead we quickly devoured some innocent jelly babies and Liquorice Allsorts and began our wane towards the sunk Rising Sun via Long Lane (Google Earth admirably managed to get their van all the way down to the base of this in August 2011), followed by another splice of Rewind spicing things up. A helping hand plus arrow was needed to skip into the woods and back almost from whence we came (dropping crumbs rather than flour on the way in would have seemed a good brainchild), but at least a runway had actually been flattened out for us (even with DT-proof speed bumps) leading all the way down, down and a bit further down to Chelvey Batch. This essentially served to thin the pack out a lot (any fish hook would have taken one helluva commitment to not be rebelled against by this stage). Once out on more tarmac a semi-hidden arrow did at least serve to rein in one FRB, sending us through more shiggy and promoting me to BRB warden (and even a chance for some very early ASS proposals). Kellways and its twig flume did indeed beckon after a couple of fields empty of livestock there appeared to only be footprints rather than bumprints so it seemed pride had gone before no fall tonight, and also no outdoor beer stop as seems this winter's wont. On in to the Rising Sun without its namesake.
CIRCLE: Only one place to start the hare of all unpredictable hares. Only one apt follow up centurion Houdini, who now has to find even more ways of getting a life (the toga looking every bit as dashing even if space is running out), and the trip hazard hashers got their own down downs too. Time to commandeer another alcove...
ON ON ON: Down and Dirty lent a helping oesophagus to the DIY chip butties in abundance, in time for another roaring trail from the White Lion next hash moon and a Haggis hash the wane after. Way to warm up for Litton Cheney...
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