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 HASH MAG ARCHIVE 1994: RUN NO.561 Run Date: 18 July 1994 How I Lost My Virginity Is this a record throughout the Hashing world? Only involved for two weeks and then privileged to be 'asked' to scribe! Only Skippy would have the temerity to make such a proposition to a novice so early in his career. What are my thoughts after participating in just two hashes? {In actual fact, it is two and a half hashes. I managed to arrive at Laployd Plantation just as everyone else was finishing. Not to miss out, I went on my own course, finding several random (mystic?) piles of sawdust. Fishermen around the reservoir were still recovering their composure after the tranquility of the early evening had been destroyed by the joyous cries of "On On" plus the other specialist phrases peculiar to hashers. Maybe, one day, these anglers will recover. Maybe. This was my first sight of human flesh and various artifacts of clothing left dangling from thorn bushes. This Is fun?) Well, there were thirteen years of studiously avoiding being involved with any of the local Hash House Harriers - being associated with the reputation hashes have for craziness and buffoonery would have been a severe handicap in progressing my staid career in financial management. Now, after just two weeks, I see life in a different light: I have lost my hash virginity. I am tainted. I will never be the same! There is probably no redemption - all seems lost. The Great Harrier has me in his/her grasp! How could I succumb? It was the intoxication of barbeque smoke, a Drake H3 sweat-shirt, sported by the fern-lover (you guessed, Skippy). The smoke made me thirsty, then brown nectar quenched my thirst but made me a bit tipsy. I spied the H3 sweat-shirt through the hazy smoke.............and all resolve was lost. So, onto my first official run. Over a moor, in a bog, across a road, in a bog (will my leg ever come out? will my trainers still be on my feet?), up a tor, across a leat. Puff, pant, pant. Nearly managed to speak whilst running! Accepted the strong advice, given with a knowing smile, to take the short run back. Introduced to some fleshy athlete tinkling a bell. "What's my name?" she asks. No oxygen, cannot think. "Tinkerbell". So bloody obvious, under normal circumstances. Sense of achievement and satisfaction at the end. More friendliness in the social arena. I reckon this is the regular local watering hole because locals in the local hardly bat an eyelid at us (or are they just as mad, but in a different sort of way?). Severe aches and pains through the week make it seem too much of a sacrifice. Maybe I would have saved my sanity, but come the Monday, the kit is adorned and off to Brisworthy Plantation. Went to the farm first and then just managed to avoid Wild Bill in a shower of dirt and dust who'd also made the wrong assumption. Soon found the tribe and then it's off. A selection of real novices tonight, one with one and a half hash experience along with two or three real novices! "Follow the sawdust" I say, displaying my full knowledge of tactics in one short breath. A beautiful run, up long drags of hills, mounting tors, crossing rivers deeper than I'd ever come across before. All performed like an octagenerian tortoise. Managed to get well separated from the pack when, blindly following advice of ????? who 'knew' which way the trail was likely to go, except it didn't. Oh, the peace of being alone on the open moor. Would you believe that a solitary marine, complete with full back-pack and a sizeable portion of the stores from Bickleigh or Stonehouse barracks was wandering aimlessly around, lost like a little lamb, desperately searching for the quickest route to Chivenor. I thought when we all grouped up at one point that we would observe the space spectacular from Jupiter. But no - On, On!! Actually held a mini-conversation whilst moving - must be improving. But keep being asked if I'm alright? What the hell do I look like? Apparently our route took us to ...................................... over to ................down to ....................... along .................... and finally back to the start. Marvellous, especially downhill. Learned a bit about 'checking'. That such deviousness should emanate from the mind of wo/man. The social pairings were in full evidence afterwards. Someone was presented with a pair of mudflaps for some obscure reason. Reckon the wrapping cost more than the mudflaps. Must not do anything silly to prompt being christened with a new name. Well, after just two and a half hashes and being a scribe, I feel .............. knackered, exhilarated, bewildered, stunned and a teeny bit fitter. Will I ever recover from falling into the clutches of Drake H3?!!
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