WHERE: The Prince’s Motto, Barrow Gurney.
HARES: Brigadoon, Rebore and Cowslip.
WHO: 43 hashers (including 8 juniors and later expanding to 45) and 6 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Time for Bristolians, Greyhounds and Bogs alike to work off that Christmas turkey. Father Abraham warmed us up physically on a pretty warm-for-winter morn, while an On Out checkpoint solved by trial and error warmed us up mentally. Santa’s little Rebore brought back some order at the main road and pointed us back uphill - we soon found the hares had even had the chivalry to include a “Shut Gate” symbol for backrunners. A pileup next to a shiggy stile gave us the chance to admire the views stretching to Long Ashton. That shiggy, though, was a mere mud pack when measured up to the runners’ next adventure. After saying goodbye to the walkers for what felt like half a hash, they charged towards grazing cattle (Deep Throat doing his herding job with customary aplomb) and quickly abandoned any hope of staying clean as they squelched and squirmed through a cow shiggy quagmire, miraculously without losing any shoes. The slightly less exciting terrain of main road and bridleway then pointed us back upwards, though still without any sign of the walkers. Rebore lightened/worsened the mood here by branding Massive a “massive failure” for misinterpreting a False symbol (inter-club rivalry!), and by this stage we decided to take a runners’ photo to tempt the walkers out of hiding - a eureka moment. They were found, and appeared no worse or better for wear, at a Cadbury Heroes sweet stop. We then passed St Mary and St Edward Church twice thanks to a good ol’ Bogs turnback, and then into the undergrowth we went again. Another signature of the bogs (a falsie) pointed us yet again uphill towards a gate which everyone except Brigadoon went through (co-hare privilege), and then came another farmyard shiggy swamp with a route that continued past some madly barking non-hash hounds. Here we drank to inter-hash-club relations with a beer stop of apple and orange juice, Strongbow and Fosters. As we neared the home straight, No Shirt made an heroic effort to be his handle by hashing the wrong side of a barbed wire fence; unfortunately his shirt stayed with him all the way, though. A nice straight descent through the crops to finish, coupled with the same Somerset panoramic views from earlier. That’s our gluttony guilt gone, then!
CIRCLE: “Off with his hat!” screamed the pack about Rebore; “no shortcutting!” was the riposte for far too many to count. Latecomer runners were Up Yours and Fondue, latecomer non-runners were Paella and Waynetta. I believe Smacker and Dungeon Dragons were accused of toned-down sex on the hash - if I’ve got that wrong then may my cheeks glow brick red. Finally a welcome to junior virgins Hannah and Rebecca from Portishead; touching to think they chose us ahead of watching Xmas TV.
ON ON ON: Scribe on family errands so only a taster of the pub’s cosy feel - bangers and chips were on the menu, along with a merry 2012.
WRITTEN BY: Bogs scribe,
Too Early.
