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 HASH MAG ARCHIVE 1997: RUN NO.721 Run Date: 8 September 1997 Farewell, 0 Torchless Run, Then (attrib. E.J.Thrib) There is some curious attraction about Norsworthy Bridge which seems to exert a strange pull on yer average Drake hasher. Hordes of them there were, like moths around something very attractive to moths. Even a truck load of dogs and a horse turned up. The horse quite sensibly headed off at the first opportunity. There were a worrying number of people carrying torches. Those without casually pretended it was all part of a carefully judged decision to leave them behind and silently prayed that Anon would not produce one of his marathons. The old farts contingency ( no names etc.) were wondering aloud which of the Nosworthy permutations we were in for tonight. Interrogation of Mudflaps revealed that "I was only the donkey and had no idea where I went" There was a silence whilst we mentally wrestled with this interesting visual concept and were only rescued by a timely and prompt departure. Now the good thing about a Drake sized large turnout is that it ensures a relatively gentle start. None of this manic lunging uphill . Anon had thoughtfully laid plenty of checks as we gradually worked our way up Newleycombe Lake to the tin workings. Of course I soon spotted his double double bluff, as I noticed did Rudolph, using the little known Von Schiser-Scrotwarblebaum gambit of ploughing straight through the whole lot. We then refused the bait of the treble double double bluff to cross the stream. This resulted in ending deep in a gully further up, realising that we had fallen for the quadruple double treble bluff and missed a fine oportunity for SCBing lower down. Bugger. Even worse, emerging from the depths it appeared that the main body of the hash was miles away across the tundra, rapidly vanishing into the gloom. I pounded after them but after 20 yards decided to rest. Medlock and Sarah cruised past. At least I would not die alone. To cut a long story short, after many weeks of hardship and adventure we caught up with everyone at Down Tor. Like the darkness and the midges the mob then descended to the cars. I followed some mad hasher from Tamar Valley H3 on his knackered old Triumph to the Royal Oak where he promptly tried to flog everyone £10 tickets to go drinking with the Tamar Hash. Grief -would they pay a tenner to come drinking with Drake? Certainly no-one in Drake H3 would. Snakehips probably couldn't afford it anyway since he had just spent the entire weeks housekeeping on a pair of running shoes of excessively contemporary design. Ferret was grinning widely relating the tale of Zippy, who took up Ferret's uncharacteristically generous offer of free holiday accommodation, drove five thousand miles non-stop to Ferret's chateau, arrived totally unanounced to find it shuttered and barred, (Its owner having departed but one and a half hours earlier (ho ho). The subsequent insertion and extraction of a stethoscope (sans anaesthetic) by his co-driver apparently made Zippy's eyes water. Tinkerbell carried out her rounds, Stasi fashion, with 'the list' ; one of her victims being the hapless Sarah. The poor girl's protestations and denials counted for nothing in the pitiless grip of the hare raiser. For this crime, seeing she has not yet been christened, she may now be known as 'No Way Lay'. On a more serious note may I urge you all to to vote Yes on a most important constitutional matter. Yes to a drink every week for each hasher. Yes to Deadly paying for it.~Yo.
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