Surrey HHH 2026 trails have really upped the ante. We’re talking entirely off-road, zero of those impossibly long back-checks that certain past Hares (Bonn Bugle  & Hash Flash!) dared to inflict upon us. A true elevation of hashing standards!

  This week, the magnificent (and diligent) run set by Chastity Belt & ‘Isneesrbuggered was a masterclass. We had everything: stunning landscape, hills (but the polite, non-murderous kind), rivers (no floods, thank you very much), and shiggy so perfect it felt like a spa treatment for your ankles.

  Things looked promising, even when Uncle Jerry performed a classic GM move by failing to arrive on time. But hey, we managed! We can clearly survive without a head, which is exactly what we proved until we—gasp—hit the road. I know, I promised no roads! But this particular asphalt aberration appeared at a check and led us into such a spectacularly wrong direction that we encountered the mythical Tosser lost, who was still looking for the car park. He eventually materialized on foot from a completely unrelated dimension and, thankfully, made it safely to the beer. Blue Suit and Miss Whiplash did, too, but let’s save that scandal for later.

  I started off taking it easy, chatting absolute nonsense about my attire and (for some reason) my sky career—classic hashing conversation, zero relevance. I noticed the front runners, while faster than our usual geriatric shuffle, weren’t actually getting anywhere. I put my foot down and quickly found a confused cluster of humanity. Naturally, I pointed at Spud and commanded him to lead. Things dramatically improved until Spud and I, in a moment of pure, synchronized failure, got utterly beaten to a check, went the wrong way, and led everyone astray. This was so successful that even the Hares managed to catch up the pack. These two, however, are crafty bastards—unlike others I could mention—and gave absolutely zero hints. Once the trail was miraculously re-found and the pack reformed, that’s when the new, young recruits started hinting at competence.

  Now, my recount here is probably going to wildly differ from anyone else’s. Spud callously abandoned me for faster runners (or, no, apparently even for Atalanta, who is currently in the Hash Doghouse). Determined not to lose the plot, I found myself slowing down, engaging in deep philosophical chats with some  walking hashers, following a random dog and her owner (Satisfaction Guaranteed) that wasn’t mine, and getting spectacularly, utterly lost.

  I came back so late that I missed most of the Circle and the RA jokes. In fact, the only thing I caught was someone saying Veggie Queen was funnier than the RA, which she confirmed while we were standing there with RHUM trying to locate the other missing people, Blue Suit among them.

  Now that I’ve had time to reflect, I can establish: The Glorious “Pros” of Getting Older

• Trail Whisperer: You have “a good feel of where the trail goes.” (Translation: You’ve been doing this so long, your knees instinctively know which way is home, or at least which way leads to the beer.)
• The Turtle Method: You have learned to “pace yourself.” (Translation: You know better than to sprint the first five minutes and then spend the next hour wondering if you need an ambulance or just a nap.)

The Pathetic “Cons” of Not-So-Young Legs

• Socializing Yourself Lost: You might “talk and lose contact with front runners.” (Who needs to know where the trail is when you’re mid-story about that time you joined mother hash)
• The Talking Blind Spot: Similarly, you might “talk and not see where the trail is.” (Your brain is a single-core processor, and chatting has currently commandeered all resources.)
• The Youth Gap: Keeping up with the young’uns is a struggle. (They’re “generally more appealing, attractive,” and their stories—in this case, all about Underwater Hockey World Championships—don’t begin with a 15-minute monologue about a physical ailment.)

Did I mention the hashes this year are far, far better? One thing, however, has gone tragically downhill: there are no more chips at the Pub!

  On On

  Stevie Blunder