Welcome to another hash trash report, no poetic proverbs this week just the facts………true and false.
Introducing our hare Rob "not the green" Hardin uttered his initial statement "I was told to say it is flat!!" …sounds like a set up maybe a case of grass root corruption.
Setting off directly into the wood opposite the pub and like a carnival procession shuffled in a clockwise circular route back out onto the road a few yards from the Fox. An early return to the hospitability of the fox was a foolish thought and was only occurring in our equally foolish imaginations.
A short run along Ibstone main thoroughfare to a check that took us along a muddy footpath meandering into Hartmoor wood of autumn cover we pursued a downward trial steeper and steeper to the bottom where an immediate call up a steepening gradient only punctuated by a scramble over a stile and Studdridge Farm onto the hilltop to the sound of the M40 motorway and a distant view of Stokenchurch's neon orange glow of urban lighting. I think Kev could see his house from here……….
Trail emerged onto the Ibstone Road and a short jog along to the right found a footpath leading into the Wormsley Estate down another long steep path to the prestige estate road and manicured thatched cottages.
I have admired how well maintained and clean the Wormley Estate is kept but on this occasion approaching the next check I tripped the light fantastic and rolled shoulder first into a pile of poo! Helpful Hells Bells wiped off the worst and gathering myself was grateful we had reached the long/short split that left a small band of us slogging up another steep hill, while the rest enjoyed a farther two miles of Chiltern gradients before a restful return to the Fox at Ibstone.
Thanks to Rob "not the green" Hardin for a challenging flat hash with hills and providing us with the Fox's finest crispy chunky chips.
Merit badge must be awarded to hawk eye hells bells for finding David's lost car keys and gloves after he'd moussed on the last and final killer of a flat hill and for helping clean off the poo after I had become physically, if not mentally, unbalanced by the flatness of the Chiltern hills.
Not to think for one moment that this overwhelming and wondrous Tuesday evening hash would end without a very cataclysmic event.
Oh no there is more.
All assembled to witness the GM's unique very special hash naming ceremony................
Roger called upon Natasha to take her place at his feet to be dubbed with the mighty Wycombe oar to take the honourable hash name "One Pee Penelope Pitstop".
Inspired by a single desperate Tuesday night pee.