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!
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