The Generational Game
Cor blimey, the sun certainly shines on the righteous doesn't it, whilst for me the grey clouds of last week stretch into this week with the depressing gravity of having to write the HASH TRASH, Kevin drew the star spangled straw & got to set his hash in the finest of weather & locations that Bucks / Oxon has to offer. So on this lovely sunny eve we gathered around the front of the pub & exchanged envious glances with the punters assembled around the beer garden supping cool pints (to be honest their glances at us were more akin to bewilderment) but hey ho off to hash we go.
Off we ran toward & under the M40, past the more up market pub who's name I forget but who's prices I cannot. Early on in proceedings Kevin confessed to having set the run in the shape of Bruce Forsyths head, which I did consider as rather a bizarre tribute – having now seen the map of the route I can only concur that Kevin is in fact completely off his head & had it been mushroom season I could have easily drawn a more fungal based conclusion to his image of the great man's head.
Anyway I digress, we bumbled off in the direction of Aston Rowant as two cyclists tried in vain to pick off the stragglers at the back before we crossed the A40 & strolled down the pavement into the heart of Aston Rowant, leaving the tarmac behind (tarmac behinds – nope doesn't remind me of any hashers that I'd dare to name either!). On backs a plenty and a hopelessly inept false trail beconned us into the wild fields & trails before we finally ditched the short cutters that the cyclists had failed to dispatch. At the road crossing a farmer had kindly left Jo a cow escape module cunningly disguised as a discarded freezer & as a double measure had actually erected what is known as a "fence" between us & the cows, custodians of the countryside are just so much more considerate on this side of the county.
At this point we passed what Matt considered a convenient wooded copse for a "gentlemans check", unfortunately such in depth knowledge of masculine hashing techniques had not been passed onto a recent addition to our numbers & the shrill call of "oi what are you doing come out of there" was heard to fall from Charlottes lips – she was of course referring to a rather more errant small furry creature that the one that Matt had in his hands at the time! Onwards & upwards we marched, or at least north west towards the crown of Bruces glory we went. To us it was just a rather awkward stile, that was a little on the high side to be climbed over with any dignity, to Kevin it must have been the strap that kept the magnificent yellow toupe in place, speaking of which we soon chanced upon the luxuriant yellow piece & strode through its shoulder high strands wafting in the even breeze before floating down his forehead into Postcombe. Once more under the motorway and you can now say you have run the west face of Brucie, but hang on the route is not yet run, there is the mighty chin yet to be conquered! Nethercote Lane called us westward marking out the jutting jaw of wonder before turning south to Lewknor to complete the dot to dot has that was Bruce Forsyths head. (on the map it just looks like a wrinkled old sock but hey what else was there to right about without delving into Kevins constant diatribe about the lovely Kerry, I mean them having only just celebrated 23 years of marriage an all!).
Happy hashing & great chips & company as ever.