Dark clouds gathered and rain fell ominously as we foregathered in the Jolly Woodsman’s car park - which seemed as if had been hand-carved out from the dank, stygian forest that spread around us. Slowly people left their cars and gathered in huddled masses under dripping trees.
The weekly hash ritual was about to begin and as if some dark sorcerers had weaved her spell, the rain slowly eased on this the seventh day of the seventh month of our 970th run.
Talk of the new Harry Potter film, which was being premiered at that exact time in that exact same rainstorm, declined as we welcomed two virgin Hashers, Mike and Rob, into our midst and the rules of engagement were announced. “There is only be one run and you must regroup at the regroups as I have a little something to say at one of them.” She went on to tell us that, in honour of her reaching her half century birthday, all of the on-backs would be 5s.
And so we were off, heading south-south-west and with the rain easing still more, (within a mile and a half it had totally stopped). A right turn and we crossed over common lane heading towards Burnham Common.
A few on-backs later with Sam (as always) doing pretty much all of them. Mile one came and went in the Beeches, as did mile two - just after which the cry of “Regroup by the road” got to Jo, who promptly changed it to “Regroup in the road.” This small but subtle difference causing a quick giggle from those surrounding her and a flurry of extra shouts from her trying to use her intelligence and quickness of mind to retrieve her slip by saying, and I quote “No, err.. what.”
At the road we regrouped, as directed, in the road until a car came along, whereby Graham shooed everyone onto the verge and stood in the road grinning vacantly until he realised that he also should beat a hasty retreat. Perhaps he had taken the road’s name (Park lane) too literally.
A big loop took us back to within view of the pub and many people claimed that, as they could see the pub they could go “on-inn.” However by the diabolical trick of not marking the crossroads as a check, the hare forced us into going on.
Although the map on the website shows that we were already into mile four, Phil cheerfully told everyone that the path we were on had no shortcuts and it was a solid 2.5 miles back to the pub. Thoughts of suicide were mentioned and one sturdy hasher loudly bemoaned both the lack of a short run and the fact that he hadn’t gone back to the pub when he had seen it.
A regroup later and the Hare took us off-path across the private farmland of a friend of hers. The GM announced that the farm was a shooting farm with some 20,000 ducks which apparently line up for slaughter for a mere £7,000 a day. A minor disagreement over the route between the Blonde and the GM led to the pack missing what the Blonde averred was the main reason for the run – a good view of the ducks. Nonetheless, we still managed a reasonable view (and if their stench was anything to go by perhaps it was a good thing that we didn’t get too much closer).
As I hadn’t overheard any salacious fouxpas on the run so far, I asked Jo for one of the instant foot-in-mouth quotes. However, instead she came up with the idea of running a competition to produce the best limerick that rhymed with duck - upon which we ran the length of the field producing a surprising number of variations – all of which were unexpectedly polite, if not in the best of taste – especially the one a little later about breaking a ducks leg as good “luck”. If there are any suitable entries (email them to Gerry) and a prize will be awarded at the Super Heroes fancy dress hash.
A few turns later and we were led through a farm and into a type of conservatory for a fruity punch and nibbles stop to celebrate Lesley’s fifty years. David sang a song he had written which seemed to be about the pain Lesley likes inflicting, particularly on Barney’s thighs. Two brighter than average hashers also managed to get themselves covered in soot by leaning on what turned out to be a BBQ chimney. I won’t name them but I got the soot off myself me eventually.
Some while later we moseyed on back pub-wards where a devilish on-back - after the on-in! - was promptly ignored by the first ten hashers, so Sam and I went back to try to cover for them.
Back in the pub, as soon as Dick walked in Jo quickly flashed a boob at him followed by loads of sweets, cookies and brownies from Barney and Jane. This (the food not the boob) were much to the displeasure of the somewhat grumpy landlady, but to the evident pleasure of Munching Mike our Greedy Glutton.
Having been put in somewhat of a bad mood by the landlady the GM didn’t make his usual speech and the presentation he was to make will now be made next week.