The words according to Rizzo
Wrangaton Golf Club
Under a clear starry sky the night began with an air of danger. “It took 8 hours to lay” we were told by hare Re-Entry “and I’ve used 8 bags of flour”… well even with my limited mathematical skills I deduced that was only 1 bag per hour. And with the threat of snow, surely that wasn’t enough to send us all out onto the open moor?
With a boycott on jokes, no visitors or virgins crazy enough to tackle the plummeting temperatures, no notices, and absolutely no offers to do the words (I volunteered before hypothermia set in) we were quickly on our way.
It didn’t take long it seems for Barbie and Barberella to become quite lost on the walkers route, another excuse for Piddler to complain, while hypothermic confusion set in for poor Ching Chong as she was seen sporting her sons trousers and calling Winnie ‘Pooh’ and Shaggy ‘Scooby’.
Our ever stoic Little Chef suffered a dire lack of coordination while hiking up a hill (another hypothermic symptom) and fell, rolling her ankle. Without any fuss she was seen dragging her leg all the way back to the Golf Club– quite commendable!
The feud between Who Gives a Shit and Wetspot continued for yet another week, with WGAS insulting Wetspot for his decrepit water crossings, then promptly falling into a bog and pulling a calf muscle. “Instant karma” declared Wetspot.
It was great to see Filth upright again after a weekend away in Exeter mostly on her back, as it was to see the ever glamorous Miss Mouthful, despite nursing her clubbing based wounds.
Triple Top’s performance on the run was only mildly hindered by an injury to his right arm, the strain apparently caused by some sort of over use, while Olive and co, under strict instruction went short, as the second long was too ‘technical’ (another word for lacking in flour Re-Entry?)
Returning to the welcome lights of the club house we quickly discovered two of our seasoned hashers were missing in action, Rusty Bottom and Under Covers hadn’t returned by the time Squash Balls had finished his RAing from the back of a golfing card. Slightly panicked I started to form a search and rescue plan in my head, basing the task ahead around my pint of cider. I decided if they still weren’t back by the time I’d finished my pint we would form a rescue mission…. I then proceeded to drink my pint very slowly, keeping everything crossed we wouldn’t have to pull our soggy trainers back on again and head out into the bitter night.
Well as luck would have it, just as I took my final sip the weary wanderers returned! Having completed a bonus extra 2 miles, it transpired that Under Covers had led our Rusty astray by insisting they follow the Puffing Billy trail despite a complete lack of flour. Thank goodness Rusty had her mobile phone with her, and was able to relay an SOS message to Lactaster while uploading Google maps, moments before her phone ran out of battery and died!
As we debriefed the incident a disgruntled Re-Entry complained that no-one had actually seen his neatly arranged stone circle on the Puffing Billy, but Blown Off rightly pointed out the path was in fact completely made up of stones. At this point Pugsley offered up the suggestion of painting stones purple in the future. Just one word: NOOOO!
As it was too cold to tell my joke at circle up, and not wanting to break with tradition, here it is now…. What’s funnier: the moors or a forest? The moors of course- they’re hill-areas! (yes I can hear your groans from here!)
Tonight down downs were awarded to:
Re-Entry – hare
Filth – for a weekend on her back
Miss Mouthful and Yuk – for their birthday celebrations
Goolie – for the worst parking of the financial year
Barbie and Barberella – for getting lost
Little Chef – for her bravery
Ching Chong – as a representative of DNA (the National Dyslexia Association)
It’s On On to East Prawle.