Despite gale warnings in Dover, Wight etc the fickle finger of fate dealt clement weather cards for this hash into lush green woodland. A small turnout was expected as vacation and illness meant that several of the hard core would not be present. So it was pleasing to welcome back Two Ferrets Fighting (Joyce) and say Hi! to newcomer Steve who quite by chance had chosen to wear a bright yellow shirt.
Splasher would have helped to lay the trail but a teeny weeny midge bite on his ankle had turned into something from Your Life In Their Hands (need to be 50+ to remember that), but he showed up anyway, limping and asking if it is okay to mix beer with antibiotics, something he was later to put to the test.
With Pancsi in his Portuguese pad it was left to Snake Charmer to get us under way just as Olive Oyl and Thom arrived to make up a usefully sized pack.
Normally the account of this hash would continue with a description of the route interspersed with anecdotes, however two factors make this difficult. Firstly there are few well known landmarks or map names to provide reference points, as in we headed north from to arrive at . etc. Secondly the author is under the influence of two pints of cider and can't be asked.
Suffice it to say that the route meandered around Selhurst Park Hill before descending to a regroup at Droke followed by a climb back by way of Astead Down. On many occasions deer tracks were used.
There was a fish hook on the downhill that caught Thom, Olive Oyl and Dr Blood (Who seemed more interested in finding wild orchids).
Sinbad spent a great deal of energy on false trails and Buddy spent much of the time either eating flour or leaving his own doggy trail marks.
Hands up anyone who can remember the joke that Steve told at the regroup?. (I can't). What is the difference between a cross eyed soldier and a constipated owl? .. well, the soldier can shoot but he can't hit (you do the rest).
Anyway after one hour and ten minutes we were back at the chariots, thanked the hares, mentioned the lyrical nature of Dogwhistle's calling and presented the Hash-it to Thom for being younger and friskier that the rest of us.
We retired to the George where a short shower drove us indoors to compete for space with the refined lunchers at their candlelit tables and a crowd of raucous travellers at the bar.
As far as I can tell, the only effect of drinking beer and taking antibiotics is that you have to wear a bedroom slipper on one foot.