Run to the hills! Run for your life!

Monday 13th July, 5.15pm
Run No. 2711

Your humble scribe managed the rare double act of being both scribe and hare. Having used this venue before on a CH4 run, I thought getting there would be as easy as finding the beer stop. Oh, how gloriously wrong I was.

I grabbed a taxi to one of the other hares' houses. He then kindly drove us to the run site, although "drove us there" is doing some heavy lifting. It was more of a magical mystery tour. His sat nav clearly had other ideas, and, with his head firmly in the shed, he made a determined beeline towards my house instead. We were practically close enough to borrow my kettle when he suddenly realised what he'd done. A few colourful words later, we turned round and actually headed for the run site.

One hare was still on his way, so we started laying the trail a little later than planned. No panic. It's hashing. If everything goes to plan, somebody has cocked it up.

The trail started with a bit of the main road before our resident squirrel hare began peering up every lane like Sherlock Holmes after six pints. Naturally, Google Maps decided the best route was straight through a building. Thanks for that. Then it proudly suggested we scramble over a wall to reach the next section. Sadly, nobody fancied becoming an Olympic hurdler. Shame really. I love that sort of nonsense. Walls, stairs, back passages, and dodgy little alleys. That's proper hashing.

The only snag was I couldn't quite remember which lane led to the lovely lady who lets us cut through her garden. Cue another ten minutes of wandering while the other two hares provided the usual expert commentary, otherwise known as bitching. I ignored them completely. They're following my trail. They can moan all they like.

Eventually we found the right house. Our wonderful garden lady smiled, waved us through, and we went over the beam into some absolutely glorious shiggy. The sort of stuff that makes runners grin and walkers question every life decision that brought them there.

Then came the highlight of the evening.

Our tiny squirrel hare decided the quickest route involved splashing through water before casually charging past a temple. We stood back to admire the unfolding disaster. Suddenly a dog erupted into life, barking like we'd stolen the collection box. I've never seen anyone's little legs move so quickly. The hare absolutely flew. If only he ran that fast during the actual hash. Worth every second just for the entertainment.

Back onto the road we popped, carefully avoiding the office building belonging to one of of our regular runners. No point giving the sneaky bugger an unfair advantage. If he'd spotted fresh paper, he'd have been halfway round the trail before running off.

Speaking of which, Runs Off arrived right on cue.

The runners drifted back wearing the usual mixture of smug smiles and expressions normally reserved for people who've just tried to assemble IKEA furniture blindfolded. The general verdict was that it was a cracking trail, with just enough confusion to remind everyone what a proper hash looks like. Apparently there were a few moments involving bars and checks where confidence rapidly turned into complete guesswork. Perfect.

The walkers rolled in just before darkness swallowed the place, so nobody needed mountain rescue or a search party. That's always considered a success.

Circle was decent enough. Nothing spectacular, nothing scandalous. It kept my attention, which is more than can be said for some circles after the third down-down.

Food? Couldn't tell you. Last time I looked, it was still sitting in the fridge patiently waiting for someone to remember it existed.

All in all, another cracking Monday evening. Good trail, good company, quality shiggy, one terrified squirrel, a hare and a dog that definitely earned Hare of the Day.

On-On, you magnificent bunch of muppets. May your knees creak louder than the circle songs, may your flour always wash out eventually, and may somebody remember to change your nappies before the next run.

🍺 Upcoming Mischief

CH₄. Wednesday, 15th July.
It is the middle of the week, and it is exactly where sensible people are not. Expect flour in places flour should never be, checks that will split the pack into geniuses and idiots, and at least one runner confidently shouting "On On!" while disappearing completely the wrong way. Standard Wednesday then.

CH3 Mixed Hash. Saturday, 18th July.
Saturday means the mixed hash is back. Expect plenty of laughs, plenty of moaning, and someone claiming the trail was "obvious" after spending twenty minutes lost in the bushes. The walkers will insist the runners' trail looked easier. The runners will insist the walkers had all the fun. As always, everyone will somehow end up in the beer circle together.

CH3 Men's Hash AGM is on Monday, 20th July.
It's the Annual General Moaning. Sorry, meeting. There'll be elections, debates, exaggerated promises and enough opinions to fill a brewery. Thankfully there's also a trail beforehand to remind everyone why we're here. The main purpose is to get lost, get muddy, and drink beer with fellow idiots.

CPMSH3 Ladies Hash. Monday 20th July.
Never underestimate the ladies. They'll smile sweetly while absolutely rinsing anyone unlucky enough to end up in the middle of the circle. Expect cracking trails, plenty of laughs and enough sarcasm to strip the paint off a down-down mug.

CFMH3 Mixed Hash. Thursday 30th July.
The month finishes the only way hashers know how. Chasing paper through the dark, blaming the hare for absolutely everything, then declaring it was a brilliant trail once the beer appears. Bring a torch if you like. You'll probably still end up in the wrong plantation.

Disclaimer
The events described above are based loosely on reality, heavily influenced by beer, and almost certainly improved through selective memory. No hares were harmed during the writing of this report, although several probably deserved it. If you recognise yourself, buy the scribe a beer. If you don't recognise yourself, you were either checking the wrong trail, hiding behind the beer truck, or still trying to work out that last false check. On On!