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Run No 969 On a balmy evening in June the order was given to fall in! The Hash Troops gathered from all corners of Beaconsfield Old Town (having parked their tanks, jeeps and bikes in discrete areas around the town). Then ho! what’s this - has the sergeant spilt the flour?
Run No 968 The hash gathered outside The Crown in Hazlemere last Tuesday evening. This pub has its own cark park, which can be more convenient for the Hash Hush ceremony or you can use the car park opposite, intended for the more devout of the population. This latter usually has more spaces and possibly accrues bonus points when you come to make that last great journey to the Pearly Gate retirement home, but I have no way to confirm this. It does, however, increase the chance of making that last great journey ahead of your scheduled time because of the A404. I know that there is a light controlled crossing some 30 metres up the road towards Amersham, but that is for woosies and we are Hashers. Hashers are daring creatures and take (un) calculated risks, such as dashing across the A404, eyes wide shut, to get to the Hash RV. This Hash RV was notable for a number of reasons: The hare was naked below her shorts' hem, which is a first for this year. One felt a sense of trepidation knowing that the nights were closing in and that autumnal storms were just a cosmic blink away. As no one (else) had gone AWOL while crossing the road, we set off in good order towards Hazlemere cross roads. En route I performed a good deed. There was a wheel trim in the road that was being tossed into the air every time a car passed by. The health and safety sub committee happened to be present and quorate. It mandated that a hero retrieve the offending object and place it where it could not used as evidence by a claims lawyer. Our resident super-hero was occupied elsewhere so the task was delegated to a mere hero, moi-meme. With the assistance of some kindly car drivers I dashed into the road, picked up the trim (Peugeot. Why are they always Peugeot?) and deposited it into a nearby hedge, so reducing the competition for best kept village by one. On down the Holmer Green Road. There were no more loose wheel trims here. I don't think Peugeots go down this road. That was the end of the tarmac stuff, thankfully. A sharp left took us into the woods behind Mary's Mead and back up the hill and past the local scout hut. The denizens were outside playing football but on seeing us they took fright and rushed back into the Scout hut and started building fires, to calm their nerves. 1 mile gone. Up on the heath land, we pretended we could see Helen's house, just to pass the time before running around the edge. The hare's route feinted this way, then that, always threatening to venture into the wild heartland but at the last minute shying away and staying close to house and civilisation. At one point we came very close to being able to see the pub and so invoke the early bath hash rule, but there were just too many houses in the way, so carried on running. Mile 3 saw us gather at the back of Rushbrook Close, shorts to the left, longs to the right. It is only when you see Kings Wood on the map that you realise just how big it is, and just how hard it is to find a policeman doing overtime, even when the wood is crawling with them. Mile 3.5 and path lead east. At least we were going to be spared the long haul down to Micklefield (and more to the point, the long haul back). Down into the valley, across the dry stream bed and up the other side to Kingswood Road. Here, at least, Ade could irritate the “richer among rich” with his loud calls and make it all worth while. At Manor Road, Chris rightly guessed the next direction of travel which fortuitously happened to be towards the pub. The only hazard on Manor Road, apart from yummy mummies in their 4x4s are the sleeping policemen, which lull you into a false sense of security before tripping you up. Many thanks Jo. Just the right length to run before the chips go cold. Run No 967 Having finished work early and packed provisions for the journey I set off for tonight's hash, picking up Helen on the way! Several eons later we arrived at the Full Moon, only slightly late, but later than our usual 5 minutes. To our joy however there were still some fluorescent bibs lurking on the common. Not sure whether they had just done a lap of the common or were in fact late comers as well, perhaps they had problems on the border with security and passport control as well! As we missed the briefing, I will have to make it up. Blobs of flour, on the left when not on the right, various hills, 3.4 short, 4.5 medium and 5 long…. that can't be far off. I'm sure there was the usual background mumblings of hashers wittering to each other as well. The first casualty of the evening was Sarah, who within minutes of setting off (on the lap of the common presumably) lost her footing on the lumpy grass and twisted her ankle. I didn't actually get to see her and was told of her fate after we arrived, but apparently she heard a cracking noise, must have been the twig she tripped on… I hope! So, finally setting off on the hash, all present and correct and injury free, well apart from Sarah who was now supping beer in the pub garden (cunning), and apart from Helen who admitted to suffering from a groin injury, off we ran down route CY48 (according to Roger's map!) A little downhill stretch was nice to start with, little bit of shiggy but nothing too treacherous! It was here that I noticed Gerry's t-shirt. A very sparkly number of an elephant and the greeting 'Jambo', which then prompted the obvious elephant joke involving Noddy and Big Ears. When it comes to jokes along these lines I prefer the one that goes… what's large and grey and sings about having a fine romance? Have a think about as you read on. With Roger bringing up the rear we took a left turn took us up dotted route TU3 on Roger's map, intersecting TU2 to run on up TU5 past Tring Grange Farm and Cholesbury Common. Somewhere round here we ran across a large field of crops, following a narrow path. Strangely enough I wasn't at the back thanks to an on-back before entering the this field, meaning the FRBs were somewhere lagging behind unable to pass due to the narrow path. Taking her mind off her groin for a few minutes, Helen admitted to concentrating on the GM's bottom as she closely followed him, not only as it is a sight to behold but as Ade pointed out probably more due to the fact that she could not see over the crops to admire the view. I think Helen got her own back later on by laughing at Ade's rave dancing, but it is very hard rave dancing when not actually at a rave, and without any music at all for that matter so maybe he could be excused this once. A regroup at the end of the field gave Dick a chance to wring the sweat out of his headband onto Frumpy's head, which was nice, and to have a chance to catch our breath before on-on'ing down the hill. There soon followed a rather rude and coarse conversation that appeared to shock the life out of Tom who overheard a few words… but was soon joining in the conversation. I couldn't possibly repeat what was said because for once I do not want anything rude, smutty, suggestive, out of context, uncouth or embarrassing relating to me in the Hash Report, the perks of being the scribe. (I don't trust Gerry however, I wonder how much I could bribe him not to put in one of his asides!) With weary legs the end was near and it was on-on through a garden with a marquee, but still no On Inn in sight… until suddenly we arrived back at the pub, I must have missed those welcome words while chatting away. We filled the pub garden and enjoyed lovely chips, thanks Roger and thanks for a good run. Oh, and what is large and grey and sings A Fine Romance? Elephants Gerald! Boom boom!!
Run No. 966 The Beech Tree at Terriers is one of those pubs that you drive by in the week and think ‘I wish I was sitting in the garden, sipping a pint.’ Come to think of it, a lot of pubs seem to have that effect on me lately... Anyway, The Beech Tree was Maggie’s choice for the Tuesday hash. A huge throng of would be hashers assembled in the car park (a total of 41 according to Gerry) to hear Maggie’s pre hash chat.
Run No. 965 Well, it was hilly. There's no getting away from that. Ken could have set a nice flat hash from Smokey Row. But why bother with that when Coombe Hill loomed magnificently in the near distance? Ken explained at the start that there was a short - 3.6 miles, cue groans from the SCS; a medium - 5.7 miles, cue crys of "Medium??!! How long's the long then??"; and a long - 6.2 miles, cue mutters of "wish I'd never asked". There was also an option marked with a C which Ken claimed stood for Coombe Hill but many of us suspected was the first of some letters we would later use to describe Ken. The start of the hash led us rather bizarrely across two back gardens, one complete with loose puppy - so much banging of gates and yapping of dogs. Crossing the superfast Aylesbury Road, barely pausing to admire the magnificent Church of St Nicholas, we proceeded uphill to work our way, thankfully, around the base of Pulpit Hill, pausing for a hash group photo call as we enjoyed stunning views across the Vales of Oxford & Aylesbury. Past Ellesborough Warren and Cymbeline's Castle (which gave its name to the Kimbles, the name Kimble deriving from the old English words cyne & belle and meaning 'Royal bell-shaped hill' - apparently) we arrived at the Long-Short split, at which point us mad SCBs saw Coombe Hill and thought, "Yeah! We'll have a bit of that!" To be fair to Ken, he had set a shortcut along the base of the hill, but I don't think anyone was sensible enough to take this option, so it was straight up (and I mean up) the calf-stretching side of Coombe Hill. Helen seemed to gad up and down the track with impunity, but the rest of us were more than happy to take it steadily before finally summiting, at the Boer War Memorial, to the bemusement of the stoner youth indulging in the old Whacky Baccy. What would Kipling or Baden-Powell have made of it? From the top there was only one way to go, downhill faster than Gordon Brown's hopes of re-election. Through the golf club, doing our best to scuff up the greens on the way (as Mark Twain said, golf is a good walk Back at the pub it was Tosca night, but the GM's usual waffle was surpassed beautifully for once by Mike, who was recognised by the barmaid collecting pots as her former drama teacher; to which his response was to say he was glad she remembered him and he hoped he hadn't fondled her! Oh dear, cross another pub off the list...
Run No. 964 It was a glorious evening as the assembled pack greeted two new hashers Matthew and Stephen, neighbours of Jo’s and a father and son combination. Our hare did warn us; “if you don’t like hills, there’s the pub” and he was right, as soon as we crossed the road it was off up the first of many hills. The first long short split came almost straight away with the short cutters carrying on straight up the hill and the long route going diagonally north west across the slope. The Moose came past me up the hill like a young gazelle before landing on the floor having found the small stump sticking up next to the path. We soon discovered it was not to be an easy long cut; as soon as we reached the crest of the ridge it was straight back down again. Admittedly there was time to admire fantastic views west toward Bledlow Ridge on the way. Down to the farm and, guess what left back up the hill – with an extra loop to bring us back to the crest of the ridge exactly where we had been about 10 minutes earlier - thanks Simon! At least we had the first levelish part of the run south east along the crest of the ridge past Nobles Farm. When we find these beautiful farmhouses in the middle of nowhere I always wonder what these people do for a living and where did I go wrong? I was enjoying trotting along in the back third of the pack wondering why the same faces kept coming from the front to the back every 10 minutes or so. I idly speculate whether Helen, Sam, Ade and Sam’s young friend have selfishly done every back check or whether they will save one for someone else- no one seems to mind too much! Having run along the crest of the ridge for almost a mile it was predictably time to go down again, this time on the south side of the ridge to the Chinnor Road. Steve got most of the way across the field to the next road before we discovered the trail was heading along the road for a little while. Apparently we passed Peter’s house, but no one knew because Simon had forgotten to tell him to arrange a beer stop (I thought it was only in my family that no one talked to each other!). Instead we headed back up into the woods and along toward the West Wycombe Mausoleum (with a few false trails thrown in for good measure). There were three red kites soaring in the evening thermals around the car park at the top of the hill – magnificent! As we dropped down the track toward the village both parts of the hash met up again (well done Simon!). We turned back north and dropped down to cross the main Princes Risborough road (ah – there’s Sam and Helen coming back up the hill from yet another back check, joined for a change by a couple of the more adventurous (foolhardy?) shortcutters. We crossed the railway lines and headed north into the woods between Naphill and Bradenham and up our fourth climb of the evening to the crest of yet another ridge! Eventually we turned left and begun to drop down toward the back of Bradenham Manor – were we heading back to the on inn or would our cunning if somewhat sadistic hare put in another loop? No, with perfect timing we jogged down the track back to the pub arriving spot on time and with exactly 5.5m on my GPS as promised by the hare at the start of the run! According to Gerry’s machine we did 686ft of ascent on the run – I have to say it felt like more! Back in the pub, Maggie handed out routes and maps for the “not the Ridgeway Run” on 26th July and Anthony reminded us to let him know if we were doing the Thame 10k and joining him for a BBQ on 26th June. Great run, thanks Simon
Run No. 963 As always at Hedgerley, the hash’s cars were liberally distributed throughout the entire village as there are so few places to park – so many hashers arrived panting as they had run from their cars which were as far way as the other side of the duckpond! I will tell you, however, that shortly afterwards she got her own back on Phil and Roger for squirting the aforesaid white powder onto her derrière, even if she nearly got dumped in a bunch of stinging nettles a short tussle later. Judging by the sheer amount of flour, I guess Phil probably came of worse. On our right we passed by Dukes Valley, which, after collaboration between the UK, Spanish and Dutch police, had been the scene of a major drugs bust by the police’s Tactical Firearms Group just ten days before. The overall operation – which involved over 100 policemen – ended in arresting seven people and seizing an amount of money plus class A and class B drugs, imitation firearms and documents. So who says nothing ever happens in sleepy Bucks.
Run No. 962
Run No. 961 Helllllooooo, Rab here, bored up in Govan – Jamesie’s in the clap clinic and Dodie’s in the big hoose for having a few Carly Specials too many and giving the local police the S.T.P.I.O (Stich this pal I’m offski), Glesga kiss to yous folks. So I’ve come down to Bucks. in the back of a gin lorry to stay with ma cousin Shug and he’s dragged me off to the middle ‘o nowhere to go hashin? Well yous knows me, I’ll give anything a whirl so I’ve put on me best trainers (brushed the curry off ‘em first mind) and cleanest string vest – allow you it’s got a few beer stains on it. Now Shug has dragged me out of the boozer and we’re standing around listening to Tracey hen goin on aboot flour and cheques and walkin past blue things, and then sudden like we’re off running down the road faster than Jamesie when Ella’s after him for dipping what he shouldna. Inter some woods where Shug and his mate Barney start sniffin and goin on aboot the blue things – these are the same colour as the writing on an Irn Bru can but smell better than the Govan tubes as is usually carryin ‘em. Then on we goes faster than Doddie cashin his benefit cheque. Now I canna get over the lack of hooses – Shug says we are in Charcoal Grove and runnin past Penn Hoose but I canna see nuthin ‘cos I’m sweatin like a sober man in Sochiehall Street on a Saturday night. Any chance of a Buckfasts Shug? “No Big Man just get on wi it” So we lumps it along the road to what Shug says is Pennhouse Farm where we do a sharp dip ‘o the shoulder right into Brook Wood. Never seen so many trees in ma life ‘cos in Govan, the few there was like have been cut down by the wains enjoyin a bit ‘o fun before their usual borstal stretch. We’s pass summat called Puttenham Place Farm – my nerves are screamin for a pint – and go across some more wide open spaces (no wonder us Govanites is all agoraphobic) and doon through Pugh’s Wood to, according to Shug Penn Bottom Road. Shug, where’s the boozer, “It’s a way yet Rab but just think, that first pint will slide down quicker than you down a lamppost on Saturday night – oh just look at your Fizzer” So we crosses the road and slogs up through another wood called Common Wood. By now yous could float the QM2 on the sweat I could wring outa ma string vest. At least we eventually gets to a downhill bit and come out on another wee road where Tracey orders us left. At the junction we goes right up some other middle ‘o nowhere road. Why are all these tubes so fit? I’m in trainin – 10 pints and pie and chips twice a day and I canna keep up. Anyhow we run past a deed fox that smells like the inside ‘o the Govan dole office. Mind you, could be a wee meal for some alchies were I come from. After bustin it up the hill alongside summat called Charcoal Grove (again), wees finally get a stop where Shug says it is a long/short split and hellloooo I can go off with Marathon Mike ( did nae offer me a marathon, mind yous I like ‘em deep fried) and Big Steve on a shortcut back to the boozer, so we cruises up the lane and, after they dragged me away from The Squirrel, wees jogged it back to our own wee inn. Accordin to Shug later, them loony longs went through Penn Wood for Xty miles afore getting back oot on the wee road and doin some loop – loopy if yous ask me – back past Penn Street farm and back to the boozer. At least in the boozer Tracey had laid on a fish supper, well without the fish anyhow, allow you hen real good too even if there was nae any cold haggis tae go with it. Well, see you, see me – that ‘s me awar back te Govan. Shug, thanks for the experience but I think I’ll stick to getting a fry pan over the napper from Mary hen on Tuesday’s in future. Its far less painful. Mick C. Nesbitt
Venue:- Blackwood Arms @ Littlmore Common Mike Gilby Memorial Run Keeping to a hash tradition, Developed from a small group of friends Tuesday night, come hell or Led us through Burnham Beeches Report, so because I had paid no attention to what was happening, …or is there?
Mick said a few words in rememberance of our old GM Mike Gilby who died on the hash on the last run in April 2004, (typically) just outside a pub. Helen and Jo were late and had to catch up. Both looked exhausted when they joined us. Helen had, apparently, been running like a Gazelle - ie on all fours, jumping through bushes, which is probably how she twisted her ankle. Lenore wasn’t on the hash but became a grandmother (Congratulations!!!!) The 5 mile hash logged in at 7.2 miles! (Mick did say it took a while to set it!) As you will know by now Kerry created a first for the hash and did something NOBODY ever expected to see on a Tuesday evening! Mike wore his extraordinary green shorts in a way reminiscent of Superman (SuperMuncher?). Whipping Boy had a map for the long cutters but still managed to go the wrong way as “I am not where I am meant to be so I can’t be here now
Venue:- Pink & Lily, Parslows Hillock There’s a birthday afoot. Well for those that didn’t spot the bleeding obvious, last weeks trash was a carefully concocted weave of guesswork as the author was on holiday and nowhere near the hash on said Tuesday evening. I must admit that I was tempted to follow in Gerry’s wise footsteps and lift an old hash report from a couple of years back, paste it into this weeks offerings & just see if anyone was dumb enough to bother reading my scribblings. However, I concluded that with no valid excuse this was not the done thing, especially considering the effort that Mick had gone into setting us a great hash around Parslows Hillock & even setting the longs an extra stint towards the end – his excuse being that he took a wrong turn & lost his map, but I recon he has a secret adoration for the FRB’s and knew that the extra training would be gratefully received. The downside of Mick’s aforementioned map loss, is that instead of just cribbing a few place names from a neatly prepared little map & dropping them chronologically into this report, I now not only have to remember where we ran but also research the local area to find some suitable place names to retain the historical accuracy of our 959th run. Now if only my pea sized brain could remember a little bit more than the name of the pub we conveniently both started & finished at, I’d be cooking with gas. Freshened by a chill in the air & the addition of two virgin hashers, we dutifully listened to the hares ramblings before setting off & ignoring all that he had implored upon us, the first on on of the night had us tearing through Hillock Wood past two bemused but smiling horse riders (at what point in their career to mere horse riders become jockeys?) and John’s virgin status was immediately demoted to “super FRB” as even Sam had to keep him from disappearing into the night. At the allotted point the short cutters sped off eagerly expectant of getting to the pub first, but they had been lead astray by Mick as a reconnection with the FRB’s further into the Buckinghamshire countryside soon wiped the smile off their faces. Meanwhile back with the long cutters my tempting of the ladies (usually of the short cutting variety) into the woods on the long route was met with about as much enthusiasm as piglets entering the doors of a slaughter house, however I was considerably bolstered by Ade’s belief that women might have actually taken me up on such an offer in my more youthful days. Many on backs later, had us trailing in at second place & the short cutters baying (well David was anyway) for our blood as we regrouped near Hampden House. On on through the churchyard and down to Great Hampden before crossing onto Hampden Common & possibly the most perfect running surface known to mankind, I defy anyone not to have noticed the intense springyness of the cricket pitch outfield – is this normal for such places? I always thought that they were supposed to be hard as nails & that the ball bounced rather than the pitch itself? Ne’r mind twas all soon forgot as doon the hill and across the tarmac we ran before the short cutters got their revenge & skipped off back to the chip infested pub. Knowing that the long cutters still had Mick's map loss still to confront, we plunged bravely into the depths of Highwood Bottom before realising that in the immortal words of Yaz “The only way is up” but even after looking at the map I can’t quite see how Mick thought that any one loop back was longer than another. Seemingly Dexter had similar thoughts as the words of his temporary lord and master had little effect on deterring him from the taking the longer (?) route until dragged back by his studded collar by Matt. Or maybe it was Mick’s detour round the lake pretending to be a puddle in the middle of the path that added the extra half mile but who really cares when you are rewarded with a well stocked Barney’s birthday beer stop at the top of the hill. A short wobble down the road and we were soon back to the chip & sweet infested pub – a bowl of chips each must surely make a record of some kind. Three cheers to Mick for an excellent hash & also to Barney for a great evening to have a birthday, well done to you both. I also have to congratulate myself & Gerry for not giving in to temptation & broadcasting Jo “I need a poo” McGovern’s touching cloth experience to the hashing world... oops!
Run No 958 It's a bit unusual, at my time of life, to realise for the first time that I am a serial masochist – but as I drove towards the Hash at Downley with pleasant feelings of anticipation, I came to the understanding that it must be true. Another Tuesday evening had arrived and a whole bunch of fellow masochists congregated in the car park of the De Le Spencer Arms preparing for the evenings entertainment. In many ways things were the same as last week – Helen & Jo were in their usual frenetic huddle of conversation, Aud was greeting the men in her clique with her usual cuddle and I arrived late with screaming tyres bringing me to a stop in the over-full carpark. The pre-hash banter was jolly and I overheard one hasher (who should have known better) saying “A Polar bear walks into a restaurant and says to the waiter, "I'll have a seal steak . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . and a side order of lemmings." The waiter says...."What's with the big pause?" The bear replies, "I don't know... but my father had them, too!" That wouldn't have been too bad by itself but he followed it up with the question “How do you hire a teddy bear? - put him on stilts!” Tonight's ringmaster was Dick who told us that surprisingly for a pub perched on the very crest of the highest hill for miles, that it was going to be a reasonably flat route. As usual we believed him, and as usual the hare lied and there was hardly a hill, hillock or even grassy knoll in the vicinity that we hadn't ascended by the time the night was through. It was a delightfully balmy (or do I mean barmy?) evening as we set off but, unfortunately I don't have a map and the route entirely escaped me. Helen did her usual trick of zooming everywhere at breakneck speed, at the same time as chatting with at least half the hash on her way around. I did hear a rumour of a moose but as I didn't see it I guess we shall never know who it was. Many hills later we arrived back in the pub and, by the time I got to the bar the line of hashers waiting for a drink was actually out of the door (Why, oh, why does this pub consistently get it wrong and why do they have the prickly ability to put people's back up, it could be such an idyllic pub in one of the best positions in the Chilterns). Anyway, deciding I didn't want to queue I sat down and waited for nearly half an hour before they decided to bring out a second person to serve. If brains were food, the manager would go hungry. But that aside it was a thoroughly pleasant evening and another excellent Hash.
Run No 957 As we gathered for the hash, a cool breeze swept across Amersham in stark contrast to the beautiful spring sunset. Perhaps that is why many of the patriarchs of the hash chose to sit this one out (David & the blonde, Gerry and Phil not to mention Simon, Steve and Tracey). (Ed's Aside, Gerry was in Scotland on Holiday) Regardless, we were happy to welcome back Mary from last week and Anthony from last October. Anthony wasted little time before he and Mike could be overheard explaining to Marta, “It’s not the number of bulbs that matters, but rather the skill employed when using it” and “it’s not the size, but the power it puts out.” Welcome back Anthony! The hare finally gathered us together at 7:50 and while waxing prosaic, Jo arrives nearly running him over – proving it’s dangerous saving a spot for hashers. Ade continues to explain that the long run tonight will be a relatively flat 5.5 miles. As for the short, apparently a choice needed to be made between having breakfast and setting the short … needless to say only one route was set. Ade redeemed himself by telling the SCB’s that there would be an out around 2.1 miles allowing them to get home with near a 3 mile run (the last bit unmarked). Finally, we were set loose in the direction out of the old town. Two checks later (including a very long explanation concerning the dangers of the road ahead) and we were crossing the 413 leading to the Shardeloes jumping course and the first on back. “Good evening Mike.” Just after crossing the cricket grounds (which some of the hashers decided to run straight through) Jo noticed Roger carrying the flour for marking the way. As Roger tried to explain that he wasn’t the hare for the evening, Jo surmised his real purpose on the hash: “So you’re Ade’s bi*ch.” Two more on backs later – “Good evening Mike” – and we turned a check into a regroup. Eventually the group was able to convince Ade there was a run taking place this evening and we were off again over the water and up the hill passing a pair of England’s finest along the way. Why these constables were sitting in an idling car on a track blocked by four workmen and their truck is a mystery. It was across the 413 again and up the hill towards the train tracks. A check just before the tracks leads to another regroup. Several minutes later and we were off through the woods (Roger pointed out that these woods use to be a hot spot for young men to meet for sexual encounters … TMI). One official on back later – “Good evening Mike” – (and one unofficial one which Helen and Sam enjoyed) and we cleared the woods to find a check where the long/short split would be if breakfast didn’t interfere with setting the hash this morning. Discussing things just long enough for the lactic acid in our legs to form throngs of pain for all of us who only run on Tuesday nights, we bid the shorts farewell and head left and onto a false trail. Through the neighbourhood we go until a check leads us to the tracks once again. As the call is made from the other side another train passes by. Down the hill we go towards the Amersham soccer pitch with lights blazing strong enough Dick was seeing triple. On left we go into the old town where the hash was meant to lead to an ON INN. Instead, Mary (our virgin hasher from last week) asked for more and a quorum of longs headed down the other side of the stream and behind the old town high street until we found our way clear and back to the pub. Other than the lack of chairs (and chips) the pub was inviting and the ales were delicious as usual. Thanks for the run Ade!
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