|Fellow Incubi and Sucubi,
And so it came to pass that on the Feast day of St. Julian of Antioch that the Accolytes of the Heathen clan of SH4 had purpose to gather at that place of ill repute, the aptly named First And Last Bistro located in that loci of lavicious libidinouness, AKA Ermington.
Grand Maester Overshot called the assembled throng to order, never mind Winter is Coming, it was already here with the mercury struggling to achieve a positive reading. Much muttering ensued as Overshot tried to school the restive rabble with witty words and amusing anecdotes. Mostly, these fell on stony ground. There were some Virgins who had been introduced to the Craft by various acquaintances adept in the arts of grooming and fluffing. Visitors from Haldon Hash were welcomed as well as the almost ever present Plymptonians. Of possible interest to future RA’s was the arrival of a new young lad who was a follower of another form of off road running, Orienteering, also known as “Cunning Running”. Being of small stature, an obvious name was heard to be whispered amongst the gathered hordes of Mephistopheles.
Notices were given and despite a time worn tradition of ascribing the Scribe for the evening’s Words alphabetically by nature of their last names, the sought after “J” (Jerk) was somehow transformed into a “T” (The Jerk). So your correspondent was chosen by mob rule with slight regard to the conventions of our formerly esteemed group. I can only imagine the struggle I’m going to have when “T” comes around. My protestations of “I’ve already done them on J” will surely fall on deaf ears! First world problems…
Arch Deamon Jyde performed some incantations extolling the virtues of self reliance and personal responsibility for those crossing the formerly uncharted fields of Farmer Giles. There was to be some small amount of sweeping of the stragglers, but not of any great measure, only those who’d done the shortest of short cuts through to the Cyder Stoppe would be saved from a night wandering the pastures and side roads of the district should they stray from the path. The Devil could (and did) take the hindmost.
So the Shorts went left and the Longs went right and the emptying car park echoed to the receding sound of yapping hell hounds (well, mainly Ollie) straining at their leashes and the laboured breathing of the Hasherati. The trail had been described as being “quite roady” at the outset, never a truer word was spoken in jest (or otherwise), it seemed that the off road sections (of admittedly new fields) provided all to brief short cuts linking up the extensive network of narrow lanes and devil’s pathways that cross and recross the Erme Valley. Tonight, we ran on most of them.
The cold night air was enriched by the glittering lights of Hasher’s head torches and countless Stars above. In fact there was much of Astronomical interest on the Hash, Fallen Angels Barachiel and Selaphiel (FlageNoLay and Sticky Bush) were mentioned in terrible tales of Full Moon apperitions and sightings of a couple of golden meteor showers.
On the way around, excited members of the Skiers sub group (Myself and Sticky Bush) were discussing the protective head gear to be worn on the trip, hers was a “lovely shade of blue”, mine a “matte black”, Boaty McBoatface chimed in that at the moment “My helmet is small and blue”. The perils of Hashing in the cold.
Some of the FRBs got themselves all in a state, so busy trying to “Win The Hash” that they went wrong and added even more road miles (another 2 apparently) to the night’s already heavy tarmac total. One even took to Social media to castigate fellow FRBs for leading him astray. If Bee Flicker (or is it Beef Licker?) carries on with this behaviour, it’ll be curtains for him!
Further FRB whining from Overshot who got left at the wrong end of a steep hill in a field by the Hasher soon to be known by all as “Tor’s Daddy” (The Words passim). There may have been some “Back of the Pack” shenanigans from the perpetual ‘Lantern Rouge’ duo of Lo’Tarse and Barberella, who despite claiming to have done the long were overtaken by myself on at least two occasions. Still, they made it to the Cyder Stoppe well ahead of the misled FRBs and it has to be said, from the right direction, so there’s probably method to their meanderings.
Back in the Bistro, talk on one table turned to post Hash rituals, a number were extolling the luxury of having a shower and slipping in between freshly laundered sheets. Rusty Bottom recounted that her preference was fresh smelling wind dried laundry, she’s not alone as many Hashers are reported to blow off in their sheet.
Down Downs were awarded to;
40th Birthday for Marty
Welcome back Tiffany
She’s Ready for surviving being slam dunked under a gate by Reentry
Hekkle – Hare
Jyde – Hare
Virgin Hasher – A new knitting circle (friend of Twisted Sister)
On On to Church House Inn, Harberton
The Jerk 😈