It was appropriate that Dr. Death set a run from St. Mary’s where parishioners are being asked to decide whether to reuse graves in the churchyard to make space for others soon to be laid to rest.

  Several hashers assumed that our trail would lead us south up and around Sheepleas but no, Dr. Death wanted to continue his ghoulish tour, so soon looped us around and took us across the A246 to run past West Horsley Place where it was said to have once housed the severed head of Sir Walter Raleigh following his execution in 1618.  The head was reputedly taken to the house by his heartbroken widow following the explorer’s death in London.  If this was not macabre enough, an ancient executioner’s axe was discovered there among debris during conservation efforts in 2017 – despite there being no known records of executions being carried out at the estate.

  It wasn’t the largest group of hashers, but one expects that on a bank holiday weekend.  Front runners today were Ms Bean, Simple, Chastity Belt, Doug the Tub and Spud; Stevie Blunder was limping along with the knitting circle.  We were reminded of fun times at Popeye and Olive Oyl’s former home next to West Horsley Place.

  The trail became confusing at times where check circles disappeared like ghostly apparitions, so we ran stretches with no flour at all.  But it was an enjoyable trail nevertheless past Grange Park Opera, through fields full of sheep and spring lambs and woodland carpeted by heavenly bluebells.  J Arthur was sure that the trail had taken us to areas untouched by previous hashes, a feat in itself.

  As St Mary’s church spire came into sight our gaze was drawn to a couple – Do You? and Madonna sitting in the long grass in the sunshine commentating on our efforts as we ran past.  Ms Bean and I found ourselves running back on the out trail for a hundred metres or so, though our hare was adamant his trail had not come close to crossing.

  FRB was curious to know what time the front runners had returned to the car park – it was certainly before 12 o’clock and FRB came in under one hour by one minute; so, a relatively short trail of about 7 kms or perhaps one where the checks were swiftly solved? Always a blessing to return to the happy faces of those who do their own thing – Terminator, Clever Trevor, Strumpet, Teddy Bear, Lord Raleigh, Tiller and Teq.  Soon to speed back into the car park were Bolshie, Arfur Pint, First On, RHUM and Cooper, Isnees, Machinist, Petal and Coolbox.  Not sure what happened to Birthing Blanket, seen at the off but never again…
All were satisfied it was a great trail and the weather looked after us too.  Our GM was away in Spain celebrating his 85th birthday with Mrs G, so Chunderos stepped in to toast our hare, though she had forgotten what song we needed to sing him into his down down.

  Belcher, the RA, called her straight back into the circle to take a punishment for him being conned into agreeing to be a part time RA yet having to conduct the role on every hash since his appointment – he threatened to call in a member of the committee for a down down until Big Foot returns; Chundy retorted that she too is only meant to be a part time JM but until Mee Sing returns she and Bolshie are also being overworked.  Other sinners were CL who was somewhat bemused to be accused of belonging to a cult that worshipped strange shades of blue – also known as Cyantology!  Stevie Blunder was punished for changing his clothes on arriving in the car park, apparently they are his dogging outfits, some of which he is trying to sell on eBay – whilst he had no offers 12 people were looking!  Machinist was called in for the waves of nostalgia recalling Hong Kong days gone by.  Belcher then bemoaned the fact that he is left plodding along at the back of the pack due to long legged harriettes that he is unable to keep up with – Mrs Robinson was duly punished for that sin and had to then endure his smutty (though quite funny) joke about long legged birds with tight pussies (Veggie Queen – please come back soon and get your husband in order!).

  It wasn’t the closest pub, but The Barley Mow always welcomes hashers, we nearly got hash chips, but the kitchen was closed so perhaps we can be treated in Dorking next week.  Raffles made his feelings known and nearly bit the landlord’s leg off – an ASBO to be awarded next week perhaps?

  On On,
  Atalanta