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 ├ęclairs 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