At one point, as we gathered for this Hash, it seemed that there would be more visitors than
regulars. Sinbad introduced a family contingent of Lisa, Graydon, Sean and Jacob from the US of A. Also Nicko
from Devon introduced himself.
Somehow most of us managed to park on the road near the pub, except last minute arriver
Spiderman who was banished half way to Arundel.
Circling up at the start, we chewed the fat for a while regarding the recent vote to leave
the European Union, will Hashing be banned as an anarchist organisation by a new right
wing government? will our president be deported to Scotland? will flour become too
expensive? oh! the sleepless nights.
The Hares had little to say and we were getting tired of Aragorn yapping and whining except
for some reason they felt that they had to apologise
for a very shiggy trail, we are getting too soft I tell you!.
Off we raced with Two Ferrets and Pancsi up front, north west on Binstead Lane, correctly
turning east on Old Scotland Lane at the first check for our first cases of nettle rash. No sign of any
shiggy until we reached a check at Singer's Piece where yours truly, Olive Oyl,Nicko,Snake Charmer and Two ferrets
were drawn down a long long falsie through pools of green tinged slurry.
The next few checks saw us continue inexorably east through head high Arrhenatherum Elatius that drove me crazy
as each stride was greeted by a seedy pollen laden slap in the face. Thankfully at the end of the torment
we arrived at a re-group where I was able to spit out the unwanted high fibre diet matter and Sean and Jacob
were able to catch up having overrun a falsie that took them "miles in the wrong direction".
From the restart
we could now see the A27 ahead, so turned sharply south west for a long slog along the tarmac of Binstead Lane
past a check at Pinewoods where Bika was the sole explorer south and Old Faithful north, both false. By the time we reached a check at
Meadow Lodge the Americans, Olive Oyl and Nicko were way out in front, however Nicko did not go far enough towards
Oakley Cottages to find the flour that was there, so the leaders ground to a halt and we were all nicely back together
for the jog west then north back to the pub, reaching the On-Inn after a magic one hour of bucolic hashing.
At the circle Old Faithful tried to award the Hash-It to his Joint Master, me!, (et tu Brute), for some triviality, so
I quickly awarded it to Flash for changing from yellow to a white shirt to be less attractive to the little black bugs.
Then into The Black Horse, which is a refined joint with a lovely garden, to quaff and natter.
On On! Bambi.
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