On a bright Sunday morning, the sun shone and 25-30 hashers found their way to the Ave de Cagny car park in Pirbright.  Prior to the run and during the chalk talk the hares, Mother Brown and Master Bates, promised they had set a relaxing trail to get us all back to mother nature.  The trail was said to be around 8km for the fitter ones, but with optional short cuts for walkers that would reduce the course to around 5km. [Ed: I saw three of them!]

  The group was a patchwork of hashers of very varying abilities: from FRBs who treated every incline like a personal marathon to amblers who strolled as if the forest were an art gallery.

  Within the first few minutes the front runners disappeared like hares around a bend.  You’d have thought they were preparing for the next Olympics!!

  At checks, coordination was all but impossible.  The front runners led by Big Foot searched for the continuation of the trail whilst the other half led by Bolshie wandered around the checks patiently waiting for the “On On!” call.

  Behind them came the middle pack led by Chunderos, Missing in Action and Bon Bugle.  And then, at the very back, came Uncle Gerry and Pole F*cker dragging their feet and quietly reminiscing about days gone by.

  At one point, a heated discussion broke out: was the rustling in the trees a deer, or Atalanta’s stomach growling?  (It was Atalanta’s stomach which was eagerly waiting to consume the cake she had bought to (once again!) celebrate her 21st birthday!!

  And then … there was Wally, who decided to lead a “nature education moment” despite having the botanical knowledge of a brick!  He pointed to a large leaf and said, this my friends is poison ivy.  It was a fern.  Ten minutes later, he confidently identified acorns as evidence of oak trees.

  When the trail crossed itself chaos inevitably ensued with hashers debating which was the right way to go.  One individual (who must remain nameless) shouted “On On This way!”  Only to realise seconds later that he had been pointing back towards the out trail. True, there are no rules in the hash, but should a trail intersect, I think not?

  As the trail came towards its conclusion the pack bunched back together, united by mutual exhaustion and the creeping suspicion they may have accidentally walked the same loop twice.  Spirits sagged until the car park and beer table appeared in the distance.

  So, by some miracle, all hashers had staggered back to the car park just after midday.

  They were divided about whether this had been a great trail or grounds for deleting the hares Mother Brown and Master Bates from the group chat/email circulation list.

  Everyone, however, agreed on one thing: it was time for a few beers and the circle.

  Machinist appeared from nowhere having decided he needed a time of self-reflection forging his own personal trail through Brookwood cemetery.

  The circle was great – not too long and not too short.  The GM praised the hares.  Atalanta and Tosser’s birthdays were celebrated with gourmet snacks of sardines and birthday cake. The RA failed to give himself a down down for committing the cardinal sin of making the hash a race, by sprinting past Atalanta with 10 yards to go back to the RV.  (She had set off last and came in first!)

  But in truth, among the chaos and the confusion and the chorus of mismatched hashers turned what could have been a simple trail into a story worth telling.  And if hashing teaches us anything, it’s that misery plus company and beer equals fun!!

  (Please note that like in the movies some embellishments have been added to this report for dramatic effect.)

  On On,
  Pole F*ker