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Est 1983 - ON PRES: Robin Low

RunDateHare(s)DescriptionMapRef1:500001:250001:10000 Aerial
6912010-08-01Dogwhistle & Jeff

A good crew assembled on time at Fishbourne Church, more by luck than good judgement as this humble scribe faltered at the end and turned exactly the wrong way cycling confidently towards the pub. A genuflecting and amnesic JM apologised for not eulogising sufficiently about the previous magnificent hash on Ambersham Common, which was so beautifully laid by those dedicated admirable hashers Simon and Dave. You get the idea... Then there was a lament about lost tots and dead Stuarts. All this wisdom from someone claiming to be as old as the Milky Way or was it the first pub on Mars? It was all so very confusing!

Not before time, the Hares took over and a cosmopolitan assembly was given some dire warnings about what we would find "down there". I was scared as it was, we were only aprox. 1 meter above sea level. "Down there" we would find; phantom cows, bulls heads and more reassuringly old friends. The tides were not favourable apparently and we headed off west over babbling brooks and wooden footbridges. Alan, gripped by madness, thought it would be a good idea to scrub out two thirds of a falsie to save himself a bit of running. Quite why even he was never sure but his misdemeanour was noted.

We headed West to a mill pond frequented by swans, ducks, computer repair men and bats. Reed beds to the South beckoned with maze like potential for trails and wet feet but those three dots indicated the trail was North. Then we went past magnificent hanging baskets and public houses before Roman palaces and a park. Wistful glances were given to a man showing his son how to drive a car. We all longed for a go ourselves, while trying not to show it. Boys and their toys. A spread out pack regrouped as a good excuse for a breather. We were expecting a gentle and short hash, so imagine our dismay when we headed straight past the start and down Apuldram Lane. We passed cyclists on Salterns Way as the pack spread out to the South. Bruce and Helena short cutted using local knowledge leading others astray. A regroup at Appuldram Manor waited in vain for Flamingos and Spiders before the magnetic draw of the pub pulled them Northwards. We were rewarded by views of the harbour and the smell of seaweed on the breeze as a definite improvement over Midhurst Poo. Then we went on and ever Northwards... Nonchalantly, as though we had not noticed his absence, Bruce suddenly reappeared and tried to deflect attention by pointing out that he could show you his piles. Some of us even took up the offer and he delighted us with an even closer look later. Enough of the distractions and deviations!
Eventually we returned to the church, of course minus the increasingly incarcerated Soapbox and the dry Bambi. As you would expect Alan's folly had been reported. It was duly considered by the powers that govern us. Inevitably after some reflection and consideration, a summary judgement and the expected ritual public punishment was administered to serve as an example to us all.

Linda and Geoff were thanked for what had been a great hash. The friends at the pub were Jim and Jan looking younger than ever. Enough of this twaddle

Paul

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