On down at
The Globe Inn
The 1382 words according to Blown Off
It was a bitter evening in the south hams as we gathered at West Charleton. A useful bouquet of balloons indicating the correct turn into the farm, and Orrible on hand with torch to guide us to the parking barn.
I sensed a lack of enthusiasm as we circled up in the dark, with windchill making it feel like the dawn of a new ice age was upon us. In an effort to speed up proceedings, I quickly accepted responsibility for the writing of the lies and untruths. My plan however, failed to materialise as our beloved GM forgot the punchline to her joke, only to remember it 10 minutes later…was it worth the wait? To be honest I barely heard it over the chattering of teeth and knocking of knees.
The trails were described in great detail by the hare, informing us that this was mostly on private land and if we were lucky the tide would be in our favour, he also noted that they were not sure if enough flour had been laid as they’d only used the 23 bags worth. As soon as his arm was raised with the on direction, there was no hesitation.
The trail proceeded across fields, up, up, up! Hearts pumping and body parts thawing out with enough checks to keep a hasher guessing. Second Coming was quickly regretting bringing the two giant dogs, forgetting that their call is also On-On – as they teared it up off the front of the longs.
Meanwhile the walkers were off on their way, as I understand, deciding to sack off the main hash and head straight to the beer stop (and who could blame them). It was going so well, for at least 100m but unfortunately for squashed balls, he picked a fight with the wrong rock.
Elsewhere, Gingang was showing off her new running spikes, ‘only £10’ for these shoes she was heard to say, couldn’t let a bargain like that get away, despite the fact theyre a couple of sizes too big! Just stuff an extra pair of socks in there…..also the thoughts of a lot of the chaps when donning their running tights.
Back on the longs and WGAS was having a lovely time, admiring the view of Rizzo falling over, not wanting her to feel self conscious about it, he decided to join in. Gaffer was loving the lack of ‘trails’ and use of private land. That was of course until a local sniper appeared and shot him in the calf. ‘Everyman for himself’ Dimwit was heard to shout as he left poor gaffer for dead.
Winnie the pooh, having left the rest of the shorts behind and Shaggy did their utmost to send the rest of the FRBs astray sending them down checks the wrong way, whilst skipping off gleefully on the correct route. Further round the route and some abseiling was required, fortunately the gentleman Orrible was on hand to provide advice…Backwards!! Do this bit Backwards! Shaggy, nervous of heights was hesitant, but Wet spot was on hand to save the day and guide her down safely. What a gent. Dimwit, thinking he was above the law of gravity thought, ‘sod that rope’ and went it alone, only to slide all the way down on his ar*e.
Onto a long-short split with the instructions to stay to the edge, was clearly missed by Overshot, who, well, overshot! Straight out into the icy water, which would have been deep enough to reach his nether regions if it wasn’t so cold. Unperturbed Second coming gave chase and also got a dousing.
Up the bank of doom (at least I think that’s what Pugsly called it) and into the largest field known to man. ‘Just follow the edge to the beer stop’. About half an hour later myself and Triple arrived at said stop. Greeted by Dirty Dog with a warming Mulled wine and fire to defrost our cockles. Their two lovely dogs had been shut inside and were staring out the windows, as many hashers stared longingly at the warm looking lounge…the irony!
A short leg, back to the cars to thaw out. And head to the pub.
Welcoming us in with two fires ablaze, the hashers were now in good cheer.
Attention was brought to Triple tops sprayed on t-shirt (did they order you a child’s 10-12yr old size?) awarded by Plympton for the Shaggiest trail of the year, Needless to say, the spelling mistake provided much amusement. Lets hope Maria (his wife) didn’t take it literally.
A happy Birthday to Twisted Sister was shouted.
There was also a naming for our Urinary challenged newbie, who had to stop for the second time in two weeks. I think the name was agreed as Ching-chong (Thai for Wee Wee).
With the same down downs awarded to the hares Pugsly & Orrible, Beer stop hostess with the mostess Dirty Dog, birthday girl Twisted sister, and new name Ching-chong.