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!
Although raining just down the road in High Wycombe, it was relatively warm and sunny as we gathered around Phil to ignore his rules of engagement for the evening. I remember his comment about this somewhat delayed Bluebell run “The Bluebells are like hashers – slightly past their best but still interesting.”
We set off up the hill by the churchyard, where I actually checked the right way for a change. However I reverted to form at the second check, and from then on I got most of them wrong for the rest of the evening. Even worse, if I had ignored the call and gone on for just another few yards, instead of way back down the hill and all around the church, I would have arrived at the next check anyway!
Up we ran through the nature reserve, where the bluebells were indeed looking somewhat sorry for themselves, before moving on towards Leith Grove, site of a 17 Century house with, reputedly grounds that include some of the most exotic trees in England. For those interested in such things the garden was laid out by Humphry Repton – the man who succeeded 'Capability' Brown as head gardener at Hampton Court. Those not interested may skip over the last part.
After doubling back along the edge of the wood we headed off towards Hedgerley Park where, according to the elevation graph on my GPS, we ran over the edge of a 200 foot cliff, but it is just possible that I need to adjust the map’s scale somewhat.
At around this point Jo commented that the last week’s Trash had totally mis-represented her comments about how tight she had said her knickers were - but as she had just been talking to Roger about his (and her), sexual fantasies, I wonder if she is quite certain about this.
At the far side of Hedgerley Park we crossed the Windsor Road for the first time and headed towards Pickeridge Wood and the motorway. Last time I remember running this path there was a particularly memorable quagmire of runny, smelly silage covering the entire track. It was made unforgettable by one hasher (Gill) who tried sneaking across by balancing on an over-small log – on which she first flailed her arms about madly, then squeeked, then overbalanced and then, finally, plunged into the bog.
This time was equally memorable as Helen was discussing her bottom with me. Being a gentleman I won’t explain quite why she was doing this or what was said, but I will say that it involved corporal punishment and the application the aforesaid area of a specific and very interesting powder.
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.
It has to be said that the white powder used by Helen and Phil was of a different and altogether more homely nature to the class A drugs siezed in the police raid.
Eventually, several miles later, we arrived back at the pub for a refreshing quaff of Ale.
Nice Run Phil, thanks for keeping the rain off – and also for the 10 on-back with me being the 10th person!