Oxford Hash House Harriers

July 29, 2010

#593 Oxford, Iffley, and beyond

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 6:26 pm

This is the sort of stuff I SHOULD be writing…Many thanks to Amnesia for stepping up and wresting the reins of scribe power from me.  The only thing I have to add is that as I approached Amnesia, Wrist Action and Mouthful, Wristie was explaining to Amnesia how she had just grabbed the first thing “long and large” that she could find (I guess Mouthful must come by his name honestly).

So without further introduction here’s the Amnesia version of events:

I am always wary of attending the Oxford hash; not that they are not a fine bunch but they seem to be a little quicker than I can manage these days and do tend to like a bit of road running, but as they were holding a Gispert Birthday Hash, I felt it was probably my duty to go. In any case hashers such as Wha De Say and Shagger attend regularly so I assumed they did have some provisions for slow old farts.

Having paid the £3 to park then have to walk the distance of a normal Bicester trail to get to the pub, all did not auger well, but when the landlord told me he had lager, Guinness or cider only, but the real ale would be on later; (is that later this evening or this year I wondered), I realised it may be a night to remember. The hash, sitting in the lager and cider garden, greeted me with their usual cynicism, but I sensed a touch of extra jollity in the their mood. It was only later when I realised Gadget had not arrived that I understood the reason!!

The hares, Webfart and Warm and Fluffy (Warm and Fluffy being one person not two)called the pack together for the Oxford customary briefing, normally long enough, in normal circumstances, for anyone to get another pint in, and we learnt in detail how difficult the trail was likely to be. Not that it needed an explanation as the husband and wife team immediately had a domestic as Webfart, sensing the repercussions, relinquished all responsibility, and allowed his beloved to take the blame. Now that, one may think, would be the normal action of any reasonably experienced  male hasher, which Webfart is, but the fact that there was no caveat, allowing him to claim credit should the pack hail the trail as one of the greatest, was a bit of a worry. More concern arose when W&F decided to stand there silent, watching her GPS on her wrist until she acquired the right satellites before she could call the on.

Well off we went with rumours of 10 clicks in our ears. (10 clicks to me is calling our cat 3 and a third times but I went along with it!) . Actually I went along with it for not very long as when we got to the check (in fact the first check), there was a choice between hashing on the green and tree lined South Parks or the wheelie bin lines back streets of Cowley Road. Those immortal words from the Oxford H3 web site sprung to mind! “We hash in the towns and smog during the winter months, and out in the glorious Oxfordshire countryside during the summer.” Off into the park I went along with Dr Slow Ride. How wrong we were! The last I saw of any hasher after that was DSR disappearing over the park horizon at a great rate of knots, but as discovered soon after, in completely the wrong direction. My lifesaving kit of £5 in my back pocket bought me a proper pint in the Port Mahan before I walked the 200m to the beer stop (about 47 clicks I think) and awaited and awaited the return of the hardy. Upon their eventual return, hot sweaty, exhausted and complaining, we were served an excellent chilly before the down downs were started and quickly and rudely interrupted by natives with big sticks, ranting on about kids being asleep upstairs. Skid Marks would have been proud of them! Abandoning the down downs we decamped to the Angel and Lettuce or whatever the Oranges and Lemons is called now. I can never understand changing a perfectly good name of a pub to a crap one. ‘Angels and Lettuce say the bells of St Clements’ Click, click,click!!!

OnOn

Amnesia

July 5, 2010

#589 Wytham (White Hart)

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 10:56 pm

Short editorial note: Writing the Hash Trash isn’t difficult, usually, and I would recommend it as an outlet, a form of therapy as it were. But, Dippy and Gee Gee are sucking the life out of the job. They are the living, breathing incarnation of a Carry On film, one speaking nothing but intentional innuendo and out the other all you get are perfectly innocently delivered double entendres.  I am beginning to believe they were fraternal twins separated at birth…Blithering and Blathering would have been good names.

Don’t get me wrong, if you were just going to report they funny shit that was spoken at the hash then all you need do is follow these two around with a digital voice recorder and transcribe the results.  But, if you write this crap for the shear love of talking bollocks then you find yourself outclassed rather quickly.  It is disheartening.

Officer GG was in especially good form at the White Hart in Wytham, serving up a hot steaming platter of “this lingerie salesman I know,” and “he needs to be ridden hard at least six days a week,” and “oooo! I’m picking up my new uniform this week with extra room for my stuff down here.”  It’s simply more than my job is worth to try to compete with all that.  I give up.  The whole thing could have been finished before the first prelube pint. [End of editorial rant, bitching and moaning.]

Here is a dry report on some of the other details of the trail.

Co-hares Sargent Bilko & Victoria took us on a journey through the Wytham Wood Wilderness but the trail was almost undone at the first check.  Most of the pack ran due north along the road, one or two back-checked and I looked off into a field.  “Are you?” Road Enema inquired as I propped against the fence but I told him it just appeared to be a bunch of butchers tenderising a palm sized rolled roast. “That’s a bleeding cricket match, y’daft American! Fockinell!” he muttered as he dashed past me crying out, “Onon!”

Clearing the cricket pitch, we were treated immediately to a sprint straight up a 70% grade for at least 6 miles.  Passing some concerned looking sherpas close to the tree line, several of us stopped by the Shaggermobile to catch our breath while the partial pressure of oxygen was still high enough to sustain our existence.  Further sustenance was found in some wee brown bottles which we found in the vehicle before continuing our ascent.

Suddenly–blessedly–we trudged downhill through thick nettles and blackberry thorns and then just as suddenly back up the hill and repeat and repeat.  Actually, the true trail was fairly clearly marked, but I am a strict adherent of the code “if you ain’t bleeding, you ain’t hashing,” or at least you ain’t shortcutting properly.

Too tired to properly bother sheep on the way back to the beer stop (quite a bit further away from the pub than has been allowed on some trails I could mention) we also skipped opportunities to make our juvenile jokes about the hot dogs and the stuffed potatos and any number of other naughty food-related quips we might readily churn out. Perhaps we all matured a bit due to the ordeals of this trail.  As for myself, I came to realise that simply reporting the facts without embellishment is the one true way forward; to that end, I leave you with this photo of Gee Gee in her new uniform:

June 10, 2010

#586 Little Milton (Lamb Inn)

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 11:15 am

For want of a hare the trail was lost:

Okay, that’s sorted. We had 2 hares (Hot Shot and Pony Express) due in large part to the Herculean efforts of our esteemed hare raiser, spotted here doing, uh…erm…hmmm, well, something that he does from time-to-time:

For want of a trail the On-Inn was lost:

The overpopulation of hares resulted in a vigorous and stimulating trot through farmland, some gardens of stately homes, and across raging torrents.  And, as if the streams caused by my urinary tract infection weren’t enough, we crossed rivers a couple of times, too:

Dippy, FBJ, GeeGee, Whadesay, Tinkerbell, and Salty braving the river crossing

For want of an On-Inn, the Circle was lost:

Wrist Action provided the treats as she scooped up our spiced and lubricated noodles with gusto and didn’t even bother to clean off the accumulated cheese.  The On-Inn took place in a sheltered area of Little Milton and was a right socialable event, although no one felt comfortable discussing the ugliness spotted at the parish church a few meters away:

Cremation or barbeque? I hear it tastes a bit like pork.

For want of a Circle, the Hash was lost:

It has been a busy couple of weeks for the Oxford hashers and apparently they lost track of the inventory, using up all the Circle at the Canoe trip, on the Otmoor r”n, and in Milton Keynes.  Fresh stocks have been back-ordered by the suppliers, but as soon as we have a tracking number for delivery we shall update you on the progress.

June 3, 2010

Canoeing down the Wye.

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , — fbj @ 11:57 am

10 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

10 green hash canoes floating on the Wye…

With the Gases  running late, we all compared our Viking-themed clothing – mostly just hats, axes, shields and swords, but we  looked pretty fearsome I can tell you.

I'm a Viking

I'm an 'orse, man

Finger Flasher was Faffmeister General as he arranged the cars to be filled with tents and camping gear ready for taking to the campsite.  It seems that everybody except himself and Barbie Doll had ignored his request to travel light.  Pillows, camp chairs, deck chairs, tables and a birthday cake were among the things that might have been left back home, but weren’t.

We got out onto the water a little later than anticipated, but there were soon plenty of rapids to waken us up.  Did I say “rapids”?  The rapids could more accurately be described as torpids, I think. We were in far more danger of grounding on the riverbed than capsizing!  In fact, the riverbank was far more perilous – as the Gases found out.  Having been briefed at the start that if the boat starts to tip one way, you should lean the other to try to avoid capsizing, the Gases didn’t seem to move at all and the inert Gases toppled into the water.  To be fair, Mrs Gas did consider leaning in towards the bank as instructed but didn’t fancy a tree trunk smacking her in the face for her troubles, so the water was the only way to go.  Mind you, as it was raining anyway, they didn’t get much wetter than they already were.

10 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

10 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But then Wee Joker had to go and wreck her neck.

There’ll be 9 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

Hardcore emerged from her tent with a horned head and furry shoulders .  Not, as it turned out, how she looks before she showers, shaves and puts on her make-up, but her Viking costume for the day.

Partly because it was Full Term’s birthday, but mostly because the sun was finally out, we broke open the cava at the first bend.  And that was followed by yet another treacherous piece of riverbank where a drunken tree leapt out in front of the sober FBJ and La Crease and overturned them.  A minor drama turned into a crisis when we couldn’t find their beer nor La Crease’s helmet that also fell out, but at least today the sun could dry us out.

On on to a narrow gap under a tree that Shagger and Mummy’s Boy decided to take sideways, causing everyone else to pile up and crash into them.  Whisper hopped across the boats and cadged a lift in the canoe of Wrist Action and Mouthful, but after a later stretch of rapids/torpid/shallows, they came a bit too close to the bank and Whisper leapt out and ran off to find a stick.  Wrist Action exercised all of her authority, running up and down the beach while Whisper ignored her.  Eventually she (Whisper, that is) managed to follow the sound of Pyro’s whistling and get back aboard and we were back on our way.

On on to the campsite, but not the campsite that we passed that had the showers and toilets, oh no.  Our campsite was a 100 metres further on with a standpipe and 2 portaloos.  However, the lack of facilities was made up for by the fact that we could make up a camp fire!  “Woohoo!” cheered the harriettes!

After Full Term’s birthday cake and champagne, we set off for our evening meal. The pub was quite a bit further away than anyone had realised and it was a cosy little place, full of candles to create that cosy atmosphere.  Or was that because they had a powercut?  Despite the lack of electricity, they were still serving food.  The chef was cooking on gas as we were served with roast chickens (for meat eaters) and chilli (for the veggies) and huuuuge amounts of vegetables.  A marvellous, never-ending feast, it was.

Back to the campsite and a load of drunks building the camp fire!   Hotshot’s military survival training came to the fore as he got the fire going.  Blowing on the lit kindling is a good way of starting things, but cider-fuelled Finger Flasher’s breath was enough to set the fire roaring!  It’s a good job that the wind didn’t blow the flames towards him – he’d have gone up like a Molotov Cocktail.

9 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

9 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But then Big Stiffy had to go and knack his back.

There’ll be 8 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

Why were the tent-carrying cars taking so long this morning?  We filled in time with a game of I Spy.  “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with W.”  “Wye?”  “No, W.”

There were far less landing places today and the first opportunity to have a wee break was opposite a stately home and the riverside path there provided a perfect viewing gallery for the visitors to watch Shitstix having a pee up against the wall.  And we saw loads of wildlife today: swans and cygnets, geese and goslings, ducks and ducklings, herons, jumping fish, crows chasing off a buzzard, and not forgetting the water ‘otter at breakfast.

And then it was suddenly over.  About an hour earlier than expected, we came into Hereford and our finish point.  It was good timing in that it was just about the right time to finish, but a pity that we had to end at all.

8 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

8 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But all too soon, we reached the landing beach.

There’ll be no green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

[Pause to wipe a tear from my eye. ]

No green hash canoes starting on the Wye,

No green hash canoes starting on the Wye,

But have no fear, we’ll be back another year

And there’ll be 10 more hash canoes floating down the Wye.

Tintin

Shagger

#

May 28, 2010

OH3 #583 The Black Bull, Launton

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 11:20 am

We were all baffled by the trail on Wednesday.  It was supposed to be live but it appears that was just a ruse perpetrated by Slow Ride (the hare) so he wouldn’t have to talk to any of the stragglers–quite antisocial.  Worse still, he didn’t even know where the On Inn was, arrogantly assuming that it was at the location stated in his text to the Chef (Bollard) and the Beer Donkey (WhaDeSay?).  Typical American, eh?…I won’t more than mention his complete lack of respect for rights of access or questionable hygiene.

We all should have read the signs of doom better.  It all started out badly as Gee Gee, fresh from the cop shop, wandered into the pub and was immediately mistaken for a stripper.  Perhaps this was fair enough since she went in wearing her uniform and without any cash and came back out in a skimpier outfit, some sparkling new shoes (according to the RA) and enjoying a frosty beverage.

Next came a plague of toads from the sky or, at least, Daglocks and Sperm Sailor flying in on ultralights.  Finally, some Bicester hashers showed up which is always a bad omen–may I remind you that Gadget is one of them.  As storm clouds gathered, we decided to soldier on in the face of certain destruction.

The true trail was sussed by members of the pack and has been published elsewhere (at this link, in fact).  The pack, cleverly, fell for none of the false trails set, as shown in the supplementary map, below…the red lines were laid at 16:30 and the blue lines were the path of the hare starting at 19:00 (intended On Inn and the actual one are also indicated).  In the interim, the hoax was ruined by rabbits who, following on from the evil signs of confusion, wanton behaviour, and plagues from the heavens, pooped on several of the prelaid blobs:

Sorry, no photos of Dippy doing something rude, this week.

May 20, 2010

OH3 #582 The Bell Inn, Adderbury

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 6:18 pm

“These taste like shit,” was heard from several of the hashers gathered around the walls of the Old Vicarage in Adderbury.  The residents of this stately abode were safely locked behind a gate and could probably not make out the resemblance the offending foodstuff indeed had to poo, but we were assured by the chef that these were “vegetarian sausages.”

No complaints were heard regarding quality or quantity of the “non-vegetarian sausages” and those of us that stuck to these as god intended (“And thou shalt have dominion over the chorizo as you do the kielbasa, lo, and over all forms of spiced and minced meats” — Book of  Wurst 4:15). “These aren’t nearly as bad as the sausages in Chiang Mai,” we were informed by our visitor from the far east, Sperm Sailor. But, your humble reporter was handed this photograph taken near the On Inn of a possible production line for these commestibles:

The run, itself, was quite lovely but the large number of pubs in Adderbury were all passed within the first 5 minutes of trail and, though we drew within sight of Banbury the opportunities to stop at a drinking establishment other than the official venue were well past us.  This was not a problem at all as the Bell Inn had a variety of Hook Nortons and a guest on tap, the regulars were a friendly lot, and we were able to keep Gadget away from all of them by asking him his opinion on, well, it doesn’t matter, does it…we just said, “so Gadget, what do you think about…?” and then waited until he ran out of breath.

{Next week, I should recuse myself of the scribe duties, but since I already know the trail I can probably have it written three or four days in advance.  If anyone else wants to take over for a week, I can email you the photoshoppable photo of Dippy.  Alternatively, if anyone else would like to pose for a picture or two (still kicking myself for missing the one of GeeGee with a sausage in her mouth and mustard on her chin), then that can be arranged.}

May 14, 2010

OH3 #581 Forest Hill

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 12:37 pm

Forest Hill, a village on a hill with no forest but rather is surrounded by fields and pastures (although there is a wood not too far away) was the scene of the Oxford Hash on the birthday of Ian Dury.  Our own band of Blockheads met at the White Horse for a few bevvies and then out for a wee trot around the countryside.

The trail was laid with treacherous intent as Shagger included a number of backchecks while scrupulously avoiding the worst of the shiggy available.  Some of us made up for the latter problem by diving into thickets on a regular basis and opening manly wounds that we could only hope would endear us to the ladies.  Dippy decided not to count on such war injuries to impress the girls and near the end of the counterclockwise loop he sprinted off.  At first, it was thought that he was trying to turn this into a race that none of the rest of us were fit enough to compete in. But as we caught up to him in the last paddock before the On-Inn, we realised that he was just in a hurry to meet his date:

That ugliness aside, we continued on to Minging Court (a bit misnamed, but the massively wealthy that can afford such places have strange ways beyond the understanding of us peasants).  Here, Bollard had set up a feast suitable for the new Ox/Cam/Public School coalition government, but as we were the only folk in attendance we ate as well as if we belonged in these posh surroundings.  We were treated to a baked salmon, new potatos, prawns with mint, and some steamed asparagus poached from a nearby garden not half an hour before tea.  In deference to our lowly station, this sumptuous feast was served in a manner befitting the rabble as Bollard scooped up the portions in his sweaty hands and plopped it on the plates.  But, no one complained, least of all the neighbour’s dog that wandered over and quickly cleaned all the dishes for next week’s hash.

Back at the pub, Dippy collected sponsorship money ostensibly for a charity event last month, although it was rumoured to be for some psychological treatment…either way, it was worth a tenner.  Those of us that paid up were then treated to a few of Whadesay’s own crisps:

not photoshopped, that really is Whadesay

May 6, 2010

OHHH #580 UK Election Special in Oakley Wood

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 12:47 pm

With the UK general election only one day away the Oxford Hash staged a politically themed trail.  To start, three parties with largely indistinguishable philosophies were supposed to run the show even as it turned out that one of those might as well not even have been there…in point of fact, she wasn’t there: Gee Gee was off on a tropical fact finding junket leaving us at the mercy of co-hares Tinkerbell and Gadget.

As a typical constituent, I was struggling to even get to the start whilst heavily laden like some pack animal. This is no metaphor as I was actually r#nning to the start with a loaded backpack but the trek took on eerily parallel symbolism when compared to the current election: a half dozen red cars each slowed slightly, some swerving toward me as they pulled alongside before hurriedly speeding away. Then when I was just a hundred meters from the hash start having empowered myself to provide myself services that others withheld, a classic blue roadster pulled over and Animal offered me a lift in exchange for directions…”an invitation to join the governance of this vehicle,” as it were.

Soon thereafter we were surrounded by what might pass for the Monster Raving Looney Party convention (Oakley Wood Branch). And not long after that, we were away on the trail.  And, quicker still, we were lost and scattered around the wood. “These bloody foreigners, coming over here and screwing up our trails, they should be sent back,” observed Mouthful, the Other BNP Supporter from Turkey.

And, indeed, this begs an issue of transatlantic politcal interest: it was both the Mexican national holiday Cinco de Mayo (5 of Mayo) and there was a pack member from the not so great state of Arizona where the police have new responsibilities to hassle anyone that appears to be an illegal immigrant.  With our local copper AWOL this left the visiting RA, Shagger to mete out the penalties to visitor Cocktail and to kiwi Mummy’s Boy who might be the right colour but speaks with a funny accent (the author will now take a short break to regain composure).

Having run around aimlessly in the wilderness with little effective leadership we found ourselves right back where we started except now there was food and drink available.  Bollard continued the internationalist political theme by serving enormous plates of pasta; if it was good enough for the Italians as they waded through fifty elections in twenty years then it should be good enough for some Englishmen as they prepare to suffer two or three elections this upcoming year or so.

The last of the down-downs coincided with a vote of “no confidence” from some Community Support Officers that arrived on the scene and dissolved the government for us.  We then gave up the analogies and retired to a pub in Oakley village where the locals were throwing heavy blocks of wood at an effigy of an old woman….

May 3, 2010

#579 Shit Shoveler Memorial–Trash of trail still pending

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 11:03 pm

I hope someone else will write a proper, respectful trash for this event.

I only met SS once, on my first visit to Oxford last fall and he seemed like a perfectly hip sort of old guy, the type I hope I someday, erm, mature into.  We have a few mutual friends scattered about the globe and I passed onto as many as I could remember him telling me about (that one drunken evening in Woodstock) the sad occasion of his passing.

I hope you lot did right by him at the hash; for my part, I finished off a bottle of Lagavulin that afternoon which will have to pass as my respects.

Swing low, and on on.

April 29, 2010

#578 Silent’s big Ducklington adventure course

Filed under: Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — Dr Slow Ride @ 9:58 am

The Strickland Arms in Ducklington promises clowns the second Sunday in May, but that is not such a tall order as the place was overrun with them the last Wednesday night in April.

We were there, of course, to support Silent’s feeble, erm, that is ‘heroic’ attempts at setting a trail without even a semblance of spatial awareness.  Five-point-eight miles, indeed; it was easily 5.8 miles along the shortest vector through the centroid of this mammoth loop.  However, the countryside was gorgeous, pocked as it was with the ponds formed in the dormant quarries and filled with the colourful leachates of the mining industry.

An additional trail feature was the statistical sketch and analysis of variance presented before the run in which the distribution of the flour blobs and chalk markings were detailed. Salty Nuts spent the next hour-and-a-half counting blobs on the left, right, center and in koo-koo places as an aid to navigation.  Spotting a random outlying chalk mark on Gee Gee’s trousers (talk about your ANAL-ysis!), I dashed up to help correct the sample population in a rare case of cooperation between the scientific and law enforcement communities; and, since this is a family forum, that is the only mention of rubbing one out that can appear here.

Another nice feature of this trail was the proximity to so many Welsh brothels on the last 17 miles of rural track, but as Lock Jaw approached the sheep made a mad dash away from the fence.  “Girls, come back, I’m a changed man,” and other protestations were heard to echo in the hills, but the daylight was ebbing and the death march had to continue.

Eventually…mercifully, we found our way back to Ducklington and the beer and food tables on the green near the Bell Inn.  The pack trickled in and soon we found ourselves surrounded by locals in a scene that bore a disturbing resemblance to the latter acts of The Wicker Man.  Ducklington is named after these web-footed pensioners that overpopulate the place (medical terminology like NFN and Departure Lounge sprung to mind), but FLK Animal Magic speaks their language and dashed over to calm the mob.

Most of the behaviour already noted above met with the wrath of our guest RA, Shagger, but his fundamentalist rage was also directed toward Pink Pussy who received a grudge down-down dating back about a year to some sin committed at an away weekend.

And, then as quickly as the trail had been r”n (in case you missed it, not quickly at all) the circle was finished and the assembly dispersed.  The last noteworthy thing I heard was Web Fart turning down an offer of crash space at Silent’s Ducklington batchelor pad: “well, if you were young, hot, and female, maybe” he offered the lonely hare as an excuse…leaving the rest of us thinking, “nil out of three.”

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