So where were we? Ah yes, that regular subject of SH3 chat – medical ailments such as Pro-statectomy, that is, the removal by Do You of Le Pro from the day’s run. However, our GM (Uncle Gerry) thought it beyond the pale to support Do You’s request for a 2 minute silence ahead of the run in recognition of the Le Pro-statectomy and Do You’s freedom for the day.

  And so to the run. Well not yet of course, since I must procrastinate on other points of dis-interest as is my wont.

History

  Epsom Common, the home of Epsom Salts. Apparently Farmer Wicker took his cattle to a newly discovered spring during the dry summer of 1618, but they refused to drink the water due to its high magnesium sulphate content – fortunately Wicker spoke cow. Wicker then discovered the properties of these salts – healing wounds and scratches when applied externally, and as a laxative when consumed. Epsom’s miracle water led to it becoming a 17^th Century spa town. Mrs Beeton, also lived in Epsom, and in her Victorian ‘Book of Household Management’ of course also recommended the salts.

  Centuries later Robert Gubby was born in Epsom. Robert wanted to make his way in the music world, but with a name like that (bit similar to another G we know) he wasn’t going anywhere, so became known as Bobby G instead, and he was a right Bobby Dazzler. He had perfect skin through having been bathed by his parents in Epsom Salts from an early age. It was only later they discovered why they’d got through so many nappies when he was a baby, since he kept drinking the water while they bathed him. In 1981 the British Eurovision Committee, approached him, on account of his clear skin, to form a band, but they hadn’t a name. Bobby, the young buck, referred back to his fizzy bath salts, and so ‘Buck’s Fizz’ was born, which helped them win Eurovision that year with the hash song, ‘Making Your Mind Up’.

  ‘You gotta speed them up, and then you gotta slow them down, and if you think that the trail is heading left, you’d better check around. But soon you will find, that there comes a time, for making your mind up…’ Chorus: ‘Don’t let your indecision, mean they catch you from behind, trust your inner vision, and don’t let others (Stevie B!!!!) change your mind.’ And so on.

  So where were we? Ah yes the hash run.

Run and Circle

  We gathered at the Epsom Common Car Park, with its windy tracks, and hideaway car parking niches on All Souls Day, the 3^rd Day of the Allhallowtide triduum. J Arthur turned into the CP just ahead of us, and then promptly (to our Halloween horror) tried to reverse into us, in order to grab a parking space, for which he was duly on-downed in the Circle later on. We had to bring our ULEZ compliant Toyota this week, as we approached the scary city, to prevent us accidentally straying into forbidden territory, in our usual non-complaint hash vehicle.

  A bright but chilly start, we were glad to get moving and warm up in the autumnal sun. With apologies to Petal, we headed left of centre, through the trees and rapidly came upon Check 1. Then out into the open landscape, we tramped across fields including newly planted potato I think. Some slight confusion of trail in the open, we were soon realigned towards Rushett Farm and their trendy ‘Barn’ where coffee and cakes were disrupted by sweaty, shouty hashers. An unlikely check here towards the busy A243, was not fooling our experienced FRBs, so about turn for the back check left and forward to the forest again, only temporarily slowed by a forward check. Bearing left again, once into the woods (sorry Petal), we now approached Ashtead Common. I commented to Ms Bean as we bounded along, that this was her hash territory from a very wet and muddy run a year ago, which it was, to which she replied she hadn’t a clue where she was. It’s been a long while since we experienced this amount of mud on a run. There were many largely forward checks on this roughly circular anti-clockwise polygon of a trail, although our searching to left and right at the checks, seeking out something perhaps more mysterious on the myriad footpaths, meant that the pack was often together during the first half, through our own front-running misjudgements. At the southernmost check, not far from Ashtead Station, we took a sharp left. This held us for a while given that the flour ended up being about 200m from the check. Apart from one more check, from here onward the FRBs were mostly away, and the pack became more stretched. J Arthur was caught with his smartphone out at one check seeking the trail and the way home. This dastardly habit must be curtailed; it is just not cricket or hash. Fair enough if you have become separated from the pack and are lost, but when amongst other hashers, seeking the new trail unaided…??? This of course added to J Arthur’s misdemeanours back at the Circle.

  Rather a lot of hashers were already back when the main trail FRBs arrived in at 1hr 18 minutes. Although we were told it was a relatively short trail, the front runners recorded between 10 and 12km (6-7 miles) with wayward checking. The beer and snack tables seemed squeezed into a rather small area dominated by Teq’s moonshine cider wagon. Uncle Gerry rather bizarrely decided to call the post-run Circle right in the middle of the road. We tried to persuade him otherwise but to no avail. All became clear, as each muggle car tried to squeeze through our Circle of hashers. Uncle Gerry had his bright torch to hand, so he could peer into each car as it was forced to slowly pass through our midst. He seemed to know quite a few of the bodies going by judging by the knowing smiles he was receiving. It all became clear when he quietly admitted that it used to be his favourite dogging car park some years ago. Alas, lost youthful extravagance.

  The Hares – FRB and Atalanta were rightly thanked and on-downed followed by visitors and returnees (Miss Whiplash for one). A hasher from Bali was present along with his mate who had come across us on Box Hill at some point. Others called up for an on-down included:

• J Arthur – for dangerous reverse gear driving and overuse of smartphone to direct him back to the car park.
• A few characters associated with Halloween and scary stuff were called up, including:
• Teddy Bear – in the 2024 film (Imaginary) a little girl’s teddy bear comes to life, and dispenses evil.
• RHUM – RedRum, RedRum, RedRum. In the 1977 film, The Shining, the little boy, Danny, writes Red Rum with red lipstick on the bathroom door. Reversed in the bathroom mirror, it reads ‘Murder’. Additionally, as a supposed co-hare with a map of the trail, he was reported to be very lost during the run.
• In celebration of Cookie Monster Day, which it was, Miss Whiplash was again called up to thank her for bringing us lots of Halloween goodies, because the kids around her area didn’t visit in expected numbers due to the heavy rain.
• Atalanta was called up to wish her Happy BBC 89^th Birthday, and she doesn’t look a day over 88. Nov 2^nd 1936 was the first broadcast of the BBC Television Service.
• It was also World Ballet Day, for which Simple was on-downed because he is doing way too much dancing about on the run, when he should be gently convalescing after his recent op. He was instead spotted a good 2.5km into the reverse trail, away from the CP.
• Petal, as our resident Republican. This was the day in 1889 that the underhand Republicans split Dakota into two states to give them two extra seats in the Senate. He should also have had an On-Down anyway, since Raffles was again in a bitey-hasher mood last week. [Ed: He had a “conversation” with Belcher about wearing shorts in the bar]

  By this time we were exhausted from so much fun, but still needed more, so adjourned to the backyard of The Jolly Coopers pub, where we wore blankets in multiple styles. Before leaving the run car park, some kind dog-owner had let their dog shit round the back of our car, which was then walked in by us and stunk out the car thereafter. How thoughtless. [Not us, Guv]  A good job we had spare shoes with us. Shoes chucked into the garden right now, to let the rain work on them.

  On On,
  Bigfoot