Saturday, 1 December 2012
Words Dec 12 (Can Anyone email me the doc rather than image)
Saturday, 3 November 2012
Run 66 3rd November 2012 Tiverton Sorepoint and Paperwork
Words for A2B The Trout Inn, Tiverton 3/11/12
When Cousteau and I first got to the car park, there weren’t even any hares! Slightly alarming at ten past twelve. However soon Paraprick and Larks arrived, followed by the hares and Bell Toll. Faced with a ratio of runners to hares of 4 to 2, we decided to wait for the hashers held up in traffic. A pack of ten set off at around 1.15 with Cousteau vanishing out of sight up a hill.
It was one dot and on, but a decent rainstorm had washed out nearly half the marks, making it tricky at junctions to know whether there once was a check or not.
I plodded on along some good rutted boggy tracks, overtaken by Manpig and paperwork before an argument ensued about a backwards fishhook (Manpig claimed to have thought he’d found the on home fishhook and unsuccessfully tried to refuse to do it.)
Technically, I was the second to arrive at the fishhook as Cousteau had evidently invented a check and gone loping off up a hill, only to re-emerge along the track behind us, though he had been way out in front. Manpig and I dutifully returned to the hare (nice to have a small pack!). Paperwork allowed Cousteau and I to check up a monster hill before laying the arrow down to the basin of the valley.
We ran along into a hamlet and a Long/Short split. I thought we were about due a beer stop and chose to do the shorts with Sorepoint, Zombie and Archangel – and cheerfully watched in the distance the longs trudging up the worst hill imaginable- muddy, slippery, on a camber, very long, very steep!!
Wonderful beer stop in the valley bowl before setting off (Kura being unceremoniously shoved into the car with a “have your bloody dog back” by Paraprick) up some more hills. I was
making good headway up a particularly steep one as the support cars drove past and heard a rustling….turned to see a grinning Cousteau sprint past. AGAIN, Paperwork let us get well and truly out of sight- it was only when we clocked no one was following did we turn back, and find him giggling in a hedge, and everybody else somewhere in the dripping woods. Cheers.
Thoughts such as “It must end soon” “how high can this hill be?” were my only companions until we reached a farm and its bemused farmer, who’d witnessed a bloke run one way then the other, then back to kick out a check, then off again…..We’d caught up with Cousteau :O)
We carried on through cow fields (the sort that look like baby Jerseys but actually are vicious beasts that regularly eat people) and wiping the sweat and rain from our eyes, stared gormlessly at the next incline that seemed to disappear into the dark clouds. With no choice we start to climb. And climb. And climb. It’s like running up an escalator the wrong way.
Sure that my chest was about to explode, I slowed to walk, only to find my gait rather like John Wayne- my calves were seizing up from the arduous ascents and jarring downhills. Luckily, It was only another mile or so to the next beer stop, but I was increasingly sure Id missed a check somewhere as I was on my own for a good while, and then suddenly there was a mass of colour on the horizon- id somehow missed the trail, and been overtaken. Relieved, everybody stuffed down enough sausage rolls and fruit pastilles to feed a pack twice the size, then set off again into country lanes. This time Man Pig went haring off into the distance and had to play catch up as the rest of us hit the fields- we were high enough to come across radio masts at this point.
More tumbling down rocky, wet leaved paths and onto a road with ON HOME boldly proclaimed – I had ParaPricks good company for the last leg into the Rose and Crown.
Everbody got changed apart from me (having not particularly thought ahead) and on in to the warm. Down downs were awarded thus:
Me (Lilo Lil) for skipping during the hash and texting on the hash, and a facebook photo.
Paraprick for sucking off Sorepoint “it doesn’t wanna come out does it!” was heard, and “its hard AND soft here”
Paperwork- for starting an in depth discussion on Fisting….deer that is.
Manpig – for tracking Costeaus footprints in the mud
Costeau- for failing to kick out checks while 4.3 miles ahead.
Archangel – for vicious washing of the dog :O))
NOTICE: on the 14th December Hotlips and Zoot are playing music and various hashers are brewing beer for the Beer and Jazz day! Raising money for Rowcroft Hospice. St Marys carpark, in Kingskerswell . See Archangel for details :O)
ON ON!! Lilo x
When Cousteau and I first got to the car park, there weren’t even any hares! Slightly alarming at ten past twelve. However soon Paraprick and Larks arrived, followed by the hares and Bell Toll. Faced with a ratio of runners to hares of 4 to 2, we decided to wait for the hashers held up in traffic. A pack of ten set off at around 1.15 with Cousteau vanishing out of sight up a hill.
It was one dot and on, but a decent rainstorm had washed out nearly half the marks, making it tricky at junctions to know whether there once was a check or not.
I plodded on along some good rutted boggy tracks, overtaken by Manpig and paperwork before an argument ensued about a backwards fishhook (Manpig claimed to have thought he’d found the on home fishhook and unsuccessfully tried to refuse to do it.)
Technically, I was the second to arrive at the fishhook as Cousteau had evidently invented a check and gone loping off up a hill, only to re-emerge along the track behind us, though he had been way out in front. Manpig and I dutifully returned to the hare (nice to have a small pack!). Paperwork allowed Cousteau and I to check up a monster hill before laying the arrow down to the basin of the valley.
We ran along into a hamlet and a Long/Short split. I thought we were about due a beer stop and chose to do the shorts with Sorepoint, Zombie and Archangel – and cheerfully watched in the distance the longs trudging up the worst hill imaginable- muddy, slippery, on a camber, very long, very steep!!
Wonderful beer stop in the valley bowl before setting off (Kura being unceremoniously shoved into the car with a “have your bloody dog back” by Paraprick) up some more hills. I was
making good headway up a particularly steep one as the support cars drove past and heard a rustling….turned to see a grinning Cousteau sprint past. AGAIN, Paperwork let us get well and truly out of sight- it was only when we clocked no one was following did we turn back, and find him giggling in a hedge, and everybody else somewhere in the dripping woods. Cheers.
Thoughts such as “It must end soon” “how high can this hill be?” were my only companions until we reached a farm and its bemused farmer, who’d witnessed a bloke run one way then the other, then back to kick out a check, then off again…..We’d caught up with Cousteau :O)
We carried on through cow fields (the sort that look like baby Jerseys but actually are vicious beasts that regularly eat people) and wiping the sweat and rain from our eyes, stared gormlessly at the next incline that seemed to disappear into the dark clouds. With no choice we start to climb. And climb. And climb. It’s like running up an escalator the wrong way.
Sure that my chest was about to explode, I slowed to walk, only to find my gait rather like John Wayne- my calves were seizing up from the arduous ascents and jarring downhills. Luckily, It was only another mile or so to the next beer stop, but I was increasingly sure Id missed a check somewhere as I was on my own for a good while, and then suddenly there was a mass of colour on the horizon- id somehow missed the trail, and been overtaken. Relieved, everybody stuffed down enough sausage rolls and fruit pastilles to feed a pack twice the size, then set off again into country lanes. This time Man Pig went haring off into the distance and had to play catch up as the rest of us hit the fields- we were high enough to come across radio masts at this point.
More tumbling down rocky, wet leaved paths and onto a road with ON HOME boldly proclaimed – I had ParaPricks good company for the last leg into the Rose and Crown.
Everbody got changed apart from me (having not particularly thought ahead) and on in to the warm. Down downs were awarded thus:
Me (Lilo Lil) for skipping during the hash and texting on the hash, and a facebook photo.
Paraprick for sucking off Sorepoint “it doesn’t wanna come out does it!” was heard, and “its hard AND soft here”
Paperwork- for starting an in depth discussion on Fisting….deer that is.
Manpig – for tracking Costeaus footprints in the mud
Costeau- for failing to kick out checks while 4.3 miles ahead.
Archangel – for vicious washing of the dog :O))
NOTICE: on the 14th December Hotlips and Zoot are playing music and various hashers are brewing beer for the Beer and Jazz day! Raising money for Rowcroft Hospice. St Marys carpark, in Kingskerswell . See Archangel for details :O)
ON ON!! Lilo x
Saturday, 6 October 2012
Run 65 6th October Hares Cowpat, Meavy & HT2
Words from the A2B hash Saturday 6th October Hares Cowpat, Meavy & HT2
We gathered in the brilliant...um October? sunshine at Point A; the car park at Aveton Gifford. As an A2B virgin, I felt slightly nervous at the sight of what looked like proper athletes but I needn’t have worried – it was just like a regular hash in the end with the usual mix of FRBs, joggers, trotters and occasionally even a small knitting circle...
Sorepoint managed to do a very good impersonation of SH3’s Piddler and went around haranguing people for their money – already I was feeling quite at home and tried not to think of the 8 miles that lay in front of me..
Man Pig called us to order and made the motley South Hams crew stand in the middle and announce ourselves. We were The Jerk, Low-t-arse, Topshelf, Pinkie, Gomez & Morticia, Jyde, and me, Hekkel.
Congratulations were issued to all Autumn Trailers and HIV gave himself a cheer, largely, I think, because he is from Plympton and for no other reason...
The warm sunshine appeared to have affected Man-Pig’s libido and he felt the need to share this with us by illustrating with a diagram in flour on the ground of something limp and floppy. He tried to cover this up by calling it a fish-hook but no-one fell for it... 2 long-short splits and 3 beer stops were announced; Low-t-arse and I agreed that we don’t like eating and drinking mid-run as it upsets our constitutions so to speak. However by the 3rd beer stop I couldn’t speak – not because I was exhausted, but because my mouth was full of peanuts, crisps, chocolate éclairs and liqueur chocolates – those last being a bit of a surprise, particularly to those of us who thought they were chocolate covered brazil nuts...
Not far from the start of the hash Meavy helped The Jerk remove a long bramble from his clothing. It wasn't the first time she'd got lengthy prick(le) in her hand and pulled it off gently...(I’d like to point out that I didn’t write that; I am simply repeating what I was told)... Low-t-arse displayed her inner tart with a revealing off-the-shoulder look to her t-shirt - apparently she doesn’t like high necklines so decided to cut it off, and with hindsight went a bit too far with the scissors. Shat Nav displayed an unerring sense of direction (and presumably the reason for his hash name) running along the Aune Valley and wondering aloud if we were in Loddiswell yet. I scoffed and snorted with derision along with the rest of the hash, privately hoping that no-one would test me on my geography about which I am clueless (and about most other stuff too...). Mind you, quite a few of us had
navigation issues: at the end of the tidal road the shorts, like a gently bleating flock of sheep, followed Topshelf onto what turned out to be the long, thereby adding about a mile to their trail. On finding we had gone the wrong way in one direction, we then went the wrong way in the other direction. It was only when we heard from a distance the faint (and possibly mildly frustrated) voice of Cowpat - calling “You’ve gone the wrong way!” that we eventually doubled back to the tidal road and on to the short proper. Or long, which technically we had done. I don’t mind, you choose. I did see Twiggy and Shortie arriving at the first beer stop from a different direction to us, so presumably they had made an unintentional detour too. Big Foot got lost, as did Para-Prick and his dog, causing Lark’s Vomit and HT2 to miss the down downs.
It really was a wonderful trail, with simply stunning views, and the requisite amount of shiggy through which I minced very girlishly much to the disdain of HIV. Well, having thoroughly cleaned my trainers (socks, and indeed feet), thanks to the tide not being quite out on the tidal road at the start of the hash, I didn’t want to get them all mucky again. Jyde found that his high-tech ultra-waterproof Gortex trainers were so waterproof that they wouldn’t empty after wading through knee-high water and he slopped and sloshed his way round the rest of the trail..
As we wove our way around the coast and countryside we caused much amusement for the folks of Bigbury golf course, (what? me shortcutting? Never!), Ringmore, Challaborough, and eventually point B, which turned out very happily to be The Pilchard Inn and not, as I feared, a further 2 or 3 miles away at the Royal Oak in Bigbury village.
Thanks must go to beer-master and general taxi driver Troughie for looking after us so well, and of course the hares for a wonderful trail, the views, and the amazing weather. Birthday greetings went to Zombie and down downs to:
The Hares (apart from poor HT2 who was still out looking for lost hashers and their dogs)
Low-t-arse for being a tart,
Man-Pig possibly for being droopy, and also for trying to use the kissing gates literally...
HIV for being from Plympton
OnOn, Hekkel
We gathered in the brilliant...um October? sunshine at Point A; the car park at Aveton Gifford. As an A2B virgin, I felt slightly nervous at the sight of what looked like proper athletes but I needn’t have worried – it was just like a regular hash in the end with the usual mix of FRBs, joggers, trotters and occasionally even a small knitting circle...
Sorepoint managed to do a very good impersonation of SH3’s Piddler and went around haranguing people for their money – already I was feeling quite at home and tried not to think of the 8 miles that lay in front of me..
Man Pig called us to order and made the motley South Hams crew stand in the middle and announce ourselves. We were The Jerk, Low-t-arse, Topshelf, Pinkie, Gomez & Morticia, Jyde, and me, Hekkel.
Congratulations were issued to all Autumn Trailers and HIV gave himself a cheer, largely, I think, because he is from Plympton and for no other reason...
The warm sunshine appeared to have affected Man-Pig’s libido and he felt the need to share this with us by illustrating with a diagram in flour on the ground of something limp and floppy. He tried to cover this up by calling it a fish-hook but no-one fell for it... 2 long-short splits and 3 beer stops were announced; Low-t-arse and I agreed that we don’t like eating and drinking mid-run as it upsets our constitutions so to speak. However by the 3rd beer stop I couldn’t speak – not because I was exhausted, but because my mouth was full of peanuts, crisps, chocolate éclairs and liqueur chocolates – those last being a bit of a surprise, particularly to those of us who thought they were chocolate covered brazil nuts...
Not far from the start of the hash Meavy helped The Jerk remove a long bramble from his clothing. It wasn't the first time she'd got lengthy prick(le) in her hand and pulled it off gently...(I’d like to point out that I didn’t write that; I am simply repeating what I was told)... Low-t-arse displayed her inner tart with a revealing off-the-shoulder look to her t-shirt - apparently she doesn’t like high necklines so decided to cut it off, and with hindsight went a bit too far with the scissors. Shat Nav displayed an unerring sense of direction (and presumably the reason for his hash name) running along the Aune Valley and wondering aloud if we were in Loddiswell yet. I scoffed and snorted with derision along with the rest of the hash, privately hoping that no-one would test me on my geography about which I am clueless (and about most other stuff too...). Mind you, quite a few of us had
navigation issues: at the end of the tidal road the shorts, like a gently bleating flock of sheep, followed Topshelf onto what turned out to be the long, thereby adding about a mile to their trail. On finding we had gone the wrong way in one direction, we then went the wrong way in the other direction. It was only when we heard from a distance the faint (and possibly mildly frustrated) voice of Cowpat - calling “You’ve gone the wrong way!” that we eventually doubled back to the tidal road and on to the short proper. Or long, which technically we had done. I don’t mind, you choose. I did see Twiggy and Shortie arriving at the first beer stop from a different direction to us, so presumably they had made an unintentional detour too. Big Foot got lost, as did Para-Prick and his dog, causing Lark’s Vomit and HT2 to miss the down downs.
It really was a wonderful trail, with simply stunning views, and the requisite amount of shiggy through which I minced very girlishly much to the disdain of HIV. Well, having thoroughly cleaned my trainers (socks, and indeed feet), thanks to the tide not being quite out on the tidal road at the start of the hash, I didn’t want to get them all mucky again. Jyde found that his high-tech ultra-waterproof Gortex trainers were so waterproof that they wouldn’t empty after wading through knee-high water and he slopped and sloshed his way round the rest of the trail..
As we wove our way around the coast and countryside we caused much amusement for the folks of Bigbury golf course, (what? me shortcutting? Never!), Ringmore, Challaborough, and eventually point B, which turned out very happily to be The Pilchard Inn and not, as I feared, a further 2 or 3 miles away at the Royal Oak in Bigbury village.
Thanks must go to beer-master and general taxi driver Troughie for looking after us so well, and of course the hares for a wonderful trail, the views, and the amazing weather. Birthday greetings went to Zombie and down downs to:
The Hares (apart from poor HT2 who was still out looking for lost hashers and their dogs)
Low-t-arse for being a tart,
Man-Pig possibly for being droopy, and also for trying to use the kissing gates literally...
HIV for being from Plympton
OnOn, Hekkel
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