Oxford Hash House Harriers

May 28, 2010

OH3 #583 The Black Bull, Launton

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

“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

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

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.

Powered by WordPress