"A yellow weather warning has been issued for large swathes of the country overnight, with experts warning of the risk of localised flash flooding, lightning and hail"
But this is the hash....it always somehow brightens up around 7pm on a Tuesday doesn't it? OK, apart from Rocky Road's submerged hash from The Red Lion last week...oh, and the deluge which afflicted Mexican Des's run from The White Hart a fortnight previously....but no, it couldn't happen again…could it? A third ‘biblical’ hash in almost as many weeks???
As Doormat addressed the hash, the skies were still looking clear overhead. General Menace did try to put a dampener on proceedings, alerting everybody to a 'Superbowl' moment that was currently taking place on the edges of the circle. Anybody expecting a hoard of helmet-cladded orcs to be charging across the car park were sorely disappointed though - it was just Chicken Licken 'adjusting herself' à la Janet Jackson.
So, off we popped (sorry, I’ve moved on from Chicken Licken now); the survivors from last weekend's Wycombe Half - 'Jumping Jess' and Paul 'the Brewer' – being conspicuously less enthusiastic on the long climb out of Cadsden, with not a single ‘clicky’ heel jump in sight. Paul had also evidently forgotten his recent promotion to the FRBs. Bigfoot hadn't and kept reminding him.
Around about this time, Doormat laid the first of what would prove to be many Falses. I did hear subsequent mutterings that he was being a bit of a ‘Berk’. I’m not sure whether this was a reference to his ‘Berkshire Hash’ connections or a less complimentary abbreviation altogether….for those of you unfamiliar with your Cockney rhyming slang, the full term is ‘Berkshire Hunt’…!
As well as the Falses, there were numerous on-backs as the shorts were out for their usual 'Ball and Chalk' (walk), with the rather frightening sight of Truly Scrumptious, armed with a walking stick, hitting any of the FRB’s who rounded her on the way back. Tip: never round on an angry small woman who is armed and dangerous. At the split, we parted ways, and it all suddenly got a little bit quieter, as Budgie’s ‘Bricks and Mortar’ (daughter) was led away, like a mini sat nav, stuck on full volume.
As we crossed the fairway at Whiteleaf Golf Court, it started to get a bit ‘Mork & Mindy' (windy - see, getting the hang of this now, aren’t you?) and suddenly the hash hope of 'no rain on a Tuesday' seemed a bit long-winded. I think we lost Hacker (my dad) here, as he popped into the clubhouse to ‘have a look around’, stayed for a few beers, and almost ended up joining as a member! I suppose that would be called a ‘Hash Bash’….?
Over the next field, we were met by the ‘long pointy things’ which Doormat had referred to in his briefing (for those not watching the SuperBowl) and the CPS (Cow Protection Squad) was once again put upon red alert. Fortunately, it wasn’t required, as Chicken Licken faced up to her fear (the cows in question were well over 100m away, but still…they were evidently very horny) and scooted around the edge of the field.
“Well, that wasn’t so bad was it eh Jo?”
[a bright flash suddenly illuminates the sky]
“What the hell was that?!”
“Oh, must be that weather warning on the way”
“Lightning. Did I mention that I’m petrified of lightning?!”
There were a few others having a Darby & Joan (moan) at this point, as the rain started to fall, gently at first, but gradually increasing in strength, until we literally streamed down Pulpit Hill, over the Frog & Toad (road) leading to Cadsden
Doormat wisely sensed the mood of the hash had taken a turn for the worse, and so keen to avoid physical harm, started to signal the direction at the checks. By the time we stood atop Whiteleaf Hill, it was absolutely bucketing down. Luckily, I was standing next to BFG, who, being the tallest person there and wearing metal (glasses), would have been the prime target for any errant lightning strikes. Yup, I could see the headlines now “Flash Mob!”, or “Would you like fries with that?”, or….well, make up your own headlines eh?
We were a bit Hank Marvin (starving) by the time we entered the pub, as well as looking like rats which had tried to leave the sinking ship but had mistimed their exit, our Dinky Doos (shoes) leaving puddles behind us in one of David Cameron’s favourite old haunts (best not ask him about the Kids’ Menus though!)
Many thanks Doormat for an excellent, challenging run…in fact many many thanks since, for reason, GM departed suddenly without his usual bon mots. Mind you, don’t hold your breath for next week re a similar no-show, for as they say, ‘Lightning never strikes twice’!