A merry band of hashers met at Lavington common to be allowed back into their natural habitat (no, not the pub) to wend their way twixt hill and dale. Although this area was well trod we were expecting an interesting run and we were not disappointed. Mussolini called the pack to order and boasted of being on time for once, before handing over to the hare (Simon) who gave absolutely no help at all except to say we would not cross any roads. Sawdust pack mules Pete and Dave sat smiling smugly with Dave offering helpful hints to remind us that the green stuff underfoot was called grass and the brown stuff shiggy. With that over we were off along the trail to the first check which gave us the choice of the woods or back towards the road. Some idiot went towards the road but the pack was smarter and headed for the woods. I soon caught them up to find that already there was a little damp bit in the trail. On to the check and a variety of trails. We wandered about looking for the true trail and eventually Bruce our trusted webmaster started off up the hill to be told by Robin that he had already checked it. Bruce found the trail however by virtue of the fact that he went a little further than 100 yards (he is modern enough to think in metres) and also because the Can Man was suffering because the forest had a lack of aluminium which made him very depressed.
So we followed the trail coming to a check which gave plenty of opportunity for us all to go wrong and then off on the true into the depths of the forest. We came to a familiar check which gave a hint that there may be a trail toward the river. With not a second thought your humble scribe headed for the river only to be foiled by a falsie. Tim had been thinking along similar lines but was also foiled by a falsie. But there was no foiling Joyce. Nose to the trail she ferreted out the trail which led to ....... The river! Subtle as always there was a large sign saying no exit (surely it should have said no entry?) which forced the pack through the river and a scramble up the other bank. Fortunately the river was shallow as you have to watch silly people playing in the water... YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
Back on to the trail and into the woods again with checks aplenty and then a very long stretch to be met by a strange sign which we interpreted as a regroup. This must be a new hash symbol as nobody could make head nor tail of it but as Simon is a postman we assumed it was a new hash postcode.
The pack did regroup although we had to wait a short while as some of the members were taking it easy. Pru was earning a hash nickname by taking it easy... very easy... in fact as easy as a Rastafarian after a good night on the ganga! So when Rasta Pru had caught us up, Mussolini gave a short speech approving the generous use of sawdust, although some of us wondered exactly how they carried 12 sacks of sawdust around (which was the amount used in making the regroup postcode sign).
Off again and another river to cross (well it was Simons hash) and through the bluebell woods before even more interesting and devious checks which gave us the scent of chariots. The last check before home and though the rhodedeendreen / rode a denndren / rodeo den drain - bother! flowery wood towards home. All except for Selwyn who said Blow this for a game of soldiers, I know where I am and headed back on a short cut - SCB! Eventually the pack returned where the hashit nominations were narrated (Selwyn got off) and the Can Man was given the hashit for a variety of reasons but mainly for not collecting enough cans.
Great to be back in the woods again. On, On.
Humble Scribe