Anyone who thought that the run from the Pub of the Year was going to be a light celebration of the event followed by a good session in the pub, couldn’t have got it more wrong. It started fairly innocuously, as the hashers, all in their bespoke blue T-shirts, gathered outside the front door for a photograph, together with the poor landlady and landlord, who were dragged out of their pub to join us. The photo session took a bit of time because every time Gerry set the timer on the camera across the road, a car threatened to photobomb the field of view. After several takes, we were able to release said landlord and landlady, and the hare nervously announced what was in store for the run. “Er.. the short is about 4 and a half”, and then with about as much conviction as Diane Abbott’s grasp of maths, the hare mumbles under his breath “the long is about mmmm… 6…”
We eventually started off and soon headed off in the direction of Princes Risborough. Going downhill, the path became more and more muddy. Someone shouted “watch the barbed wire”, at which point Yours Truly immediately pirouetted and fell on wrist into a thorn bush. This was the first of some fairly spectacular mooses, all of which I witnessed.
After about 2 miles, we crossed the Wycombe-Risborough road and headed off across more shiggy towards Saunderton. The second moose happened somewhere along this route. Wing Commander Zebedee lost his footing on a stile, which resulted in a spectacular dive over the other side, before he could get his leg over.
After another 4 miles, we found ourselves on the west side of Princes Risborough, and just in front of me I saw another nasty moose. Alex slipped on the muddy steps going down to the railway line. It looked as painful as it sounded – clunk - the sound of wood on bone. Apparently it was his coccyx that took the brunt of the fall – ouch!
After another 2 miles (are you counting?), we had successfully circumnavigated Risborough without further mishap, and were heading uphill towards Loosley Row.
Finally, we left the shiggy behind and started up the road towards Lacey Green. There was a final incident on this hash, when some stupid woman in an Audi decided to play chicken with me, by driving her car as close as possible to the side of the road – my side! Needless to say I lost the game, and jumped onto the verge, screaming expletives at the b…..
During the last mile Roger happened to let drop that Lacey Green was one of these villages (like Bledlow Ridge) that goes on forever along the main road through it. Just what I wanted to hear.
So, after about 9 miles, we finally made it back to the pub, where I have to admit there were lashings of sausages and chips, and very quaffable Seafarer beer. We also witnessed the handing out of 3 T-shirts, which I reckon was for runs which totalled well over 2,000! These were dished out by our GM to Moose and Helen, and then the GM received one of his own.
Was this the longest run this year? YES
Was it the shiggiest? Probably
Was it the most dangerous? YES
Thanks, Matt, at least I had enough material for the write-up.