With the day simply begging to be a balmy Spring day, the gusting wind did nothing to help the Hashers get out of the cars and gather round the JMs, but they did eventually. After a suspiciously short intro, probably due to teeth chattering and an eagerness to get up and running for warmth, the day was handed over to Mussolini. Needless to say, he was about as helpful in getting the pack off as the proverbial f**t in a thunderstorm, for he waved his hand in the vague direction of the other end of the carpark with a dismissive “It’s somewhere over there!” Negotiating the millions of bikers was bad enough and with Hashers being Hashers, it took the pack a considerable time to even remember what they were supposed to be doing let alone find blobs of white flour.
However, once they’d found something to follow they managed to over-run a falsie almost to a man. Are there no standards I ask? There were two, nay three of us who, diligent to the rules of Hashing, actually retraced our steps and found the loop that got us ROUND the falsie.
ROUND seems to have been the order of the day as we found ourselves on a circuitous route, not once, but TWICE! The same loop was used to wear the Hashers down to a gibbering bunch of staggering runners not caring where they were or what they did. Someone has just pointed out that jibbering and staggering is perfectly normal for Hashers. Anyway, round we went for the second time. If you can imagine, a circle with an S shape attached to it and an oblong attached to that, you can begin to get an idea of the route the pack was having to negotiate. I don’t think Mussolini knew or even cared how the pack suffered doing the hills on that second time round, but there you go. Pour souls. They were grateful to have a couple of regroups thrown in for good measure. There was enough mud to keep most happy.
An hour passed and, given we were within a quarter of a mile from the chariots, you would have thought we would soon find the on-inn. No, a further loop was injected and after much huffing an puffing most emerged from the woods and into the car park. An hour and fifteen minute Hash, but we can take it.
After several, carefully considered nominations the JMs decided Hornblower was in trouble, again, no breakfast for him for the next few weeks. The Hashit was presented, he took like a man. Photographic evidence was taken and will no doubt be displayed for all to see - not a pretty sight. Robin, Can Man kept muttering something like ‘But, there’s nay Whuskie!’ Thirst does terrible things to a man.
The pack retired to the Spur for refreshment and to slake their thirsts.
Eva and Vladimir are to leave us and return to their beloved Czech Republic.
Clearly they are the richer for having survived and learnt so much from
Hashers of the Chichester kind. I did TRY to explain to them that the
Hashers they met were not representative of the general public, but their
blank expressions I think, said it all. England is funny place, yes?