Well the reign of Splasher Lawrence & Invisible Porrett began in driving rain and howling wind. The new JMís had to raise their voices to call the pack to order but this done Joyce apologised for being Invisible during the Hangover Hash and then handed over to the Hares, one of whom (Shades) had come all the way from Germany and was due to go back that day (Well Done That Hasher). The usual lies were told, flat, dry etc. and then we were off with the Treefeller and Linda leading the way in their shorts!!!
This amazed Csilla who, as usual had about 8 layers of clothing on.
Old Faithful was in the chariot but could not run due to some poor excuse of having had his knee operated on. It was not until later that we realised that Rasta Pru had also managed to skive off by being chief nurse to this poorly soldier.
The first check came and your humble scribe went off on a long falsie only to come back to the check and find Joyce - our new JM - waiting for the pack to go by so that she could have a wee! Is this the conduct becoming a JM? However she did make up for it later by being at the front of nearly every check.
We had a long run where the pack got a bit strung out and so we had a quick regroup (by which time Mussolini finally joined us in a dreadful hat, late as usual) whilst everybody had a go at trying to blow the hash horn (as this leaves room for so many double meanings, please insert your own version here).
After many pathetic attempts only Dave Barty managed to get a musical sound to issue forth which impressed us all. The trail led off across the mud to a check which gave two forks and we set off only to find they were both false. A side trail was discovered and after a very long trail this also turned out to be false.
Therefore it had to be a back check and we soon found a trail to take - which also turned out to be false. Eventually after going back for many miles along the trail we found the correct path and so we were happy. Well, as happy as you can be in the pouring rain, freezing wind and amidst grumpy hashers.
At this time Tim informed us that young Joe had decided that given the choice of jogging around with Dad in the rain or going off for the early bath and tucking into crisps and coke at the pub with Old Faithful, he had chosen the latter. Proof positive that the common sense gene missing in most hashers can skip a generation. So we continued up and down, although mainly up. Across fields and woodland over areas that the Doc usually laid summer sawdust trails on. Although even with this inside local knowledge he did no better than the rest of us, as these wily hares always kept us looking for home but never quite getting there.
We came to one particularly nasty check where we set off up the hill towards the chariots only to find after a long run that the trail was a falsie and the true was down a hill and then back to a previous check.
This was beginning to make my brain hurt but the pack persevered and the trail was found and finally the On Inn was sighted. The pack came in dripping, in ones and twos to the final degradation that is the hashit.
This was awarded to Dave Barty for his efforts on the horn and also for his trouble he was awarded the nickname of Hornblower! Talking of nicknames we all got fed up with Tim Bell boasting that his wonderful thermal fleecy hat kept his head really hot and so we thought that anybody who is proud of being a Hothead must be silly enough to warrant that as a nickname and so another name was awarded. A good run excellently laid. On On