A reasonable band of dedicated hashers found their way to the Thatched House pub in Milton midst the depths of a Portsmouth housing estate. We counted our wheels to check that we had the same amount when we came back and without much ado we were off, enjoying the fresh spring breeze on the Portsmouth harbour seafront. The pack came to the first check where some helpful local had adjusted the falsie just to help us on our way. We drifted aimlessly along until we came to a large open field where we were joined by Tony & Jill coming from the opposite end of the field which worried the shortcutters no end thinking that they had missed out. However after a brief chat and another aimless wander Joyce was off at speed hot on the trail. However we found out fairly shortly that she had been off on a falsie and the speed was because she needed the loo! Being gentlemen we retired whilst she did her bit for the Portsmouth water table and then the trial was spotted again (which was pretty good as they had only used half a bag of flour for the entire day) and off we went. At this point Sue let the cat out of the bag by complaining that they only used a pound of flour. It was pointed out that flour is sold in kilos, but how would she know that? Surely the servants organise that sort of thing at Spooner Towers.
But back to the story. We departed the fields of Milton and across the Eastern Road risking life and limb (no not from the traffic, but Portsmouth were playing at home and there were fans about....) dodging between cars, Tufty would have been proud of us (anyone who does not remember the Tufty club must be too young - please go and run with a younger and faster pack).
So off we were into the dead centre of Portsmouth. Well when I say dead centre I actually mean the cemetery. After a quick jog around the perimeter of said area, with exhortations from Hash Flash not to wake the residents, we found ourselves once again in the wilds of the Milton housing estate. A few sneaky little falsies and then finally back onto the seafront with Mussolini finally putting in an appearance at the front just in time to shout On Inn and lead the pack home.
The hashit was awarded in the car park and the honour was most unfairly bestowed (in my opinion) on your humble scribe for (a) bringing the hashit as Susanna was off in London and not carrying it (sounds fair to me) or (b) calling a regroup instead of allowing JMs to do it (trying to be helpful) or (c) for suggesting a ladies check (assisting their diet and exercise regime). I am not sure which dubious item was chosen as the reason for the hashit but no mention was made of the fact that the Treefeller turned up just in time to distribute info about the French Hash or that the Can Man turned up late and went for a can hunt instead of finding the pack and did not even bring any au pairs with him! The pack finally retired to the pub where the Colonel pontificated upon the rights and wrongs of the day whilst Hash Flash and Amanda the Panda and family tucked into a full Sunday dinner allowing paupers and assorted hashers the remains of a bowl of chips which Jill thoughtfully covered in mayo (funny, only Jill likes mayo).
A good trail and lots of fun had by all. On, On.

Humble Scribe

Mike Brown is trying to sort numbers for the French hash so please see him now, time is pressing.