Back with a very small bang

So, after the longer than expected summer break we are back on the hashing trail. Only the 'we' has been rather wee. The hash I set shortly after getting back to Porto initially appeared to have attracted a healthy enough group, but by the time we were ready to go, on a balmy Friday evening, it had diminished to a mere six stalwarts, the second lowest in PH3 history. Still, we did it, crossing both tiers of the Ponte Dom Luis in a circuit that took in historic areas of both Porto and Gaia. Titchy Percy stood out by checking for three or four others, often dealing with a checkpoint entirely on his own before the others reached it. All in all it was not a bad little hash, coming in at about an hour and a half, so, if you missed it, well you missed out.

If you missed it, the chances are that you also missed the next one, which the sturdy six decided would follow the following Friday, as that one attracted only nine. Also in town, leaving from Lapa church (which still had signs visible from a hash precisely a year and a day earlier) and covering a number of areas used in various ways over various hashes down the years as well as some new ground, it took in a fair bit of Boavista and Cedofeita. In contrast to the marks at Lapa, when we hit a checkpoint I'd used last week, the signs there had gone completely, but then so had certain hashers' memory of where they had been anyway. The pace was good and, again, we finished in about ninety minutes, after which there was a fair bit of Official Business for nine people, with a virgin, Hard Drive's 200th, and Anita Quigley's naming, with Kitty Fiddler finally decided upon, for reasons she may wish to relate over a bash bottle of wine some time. Slightly alarmingly, perhaps, she seemed quite taken with it.

Anyway, on to hash 388, for which, at the moment (Saturday), we have a decent turn out. But I'm not holding my breath!

Yankee Doodle Dandy

Albeit a day prematurely, we assembled last sunday for a fourth of July hash, set by Mrs Slocombe and me in the rural surrounds of Mosteiró and Vilar, near Modivas. There was a fair smattering of red, white and blue, with Hard Drive sporting a stars and stripes bikini top, which he managed amply to fill, almost to the envy of some of the female hashers. Quiz answers were provided at fifteen checkpoints but the questions were held until trhe end - the winner was, perhaps inevitably, one of the Americans, Nancy. Flasher, having in out-of-character fashion necked a beer upon finishing, was demonstrating why all around her steer her away from such wanton behaviour, teetering about and demanding that Nancy be 'discarded' - presumably on grounds of nationality.

The hash itself was of decent length, about sixteen kilometres without checking, and the running was strong and consistently maintained. We decided to forego the planned pit stop lest the momentum be lost through Superbock and stiffening legs and it finished at around two hours ten/fifteen. The ground was good for running although there was relatively little road work. We started through a cornfield freshly sprayed with muck and coninued through a mixture of fields, woods and back lanes, dusty, ripe with silage and with a stream to cool the feet with thrown in for good measure. On three occassions we crossed the previous hash, but as the only hashers other than me to have done that one were Hard Drive, Spanker, Droopy and Tongue Fu, there was little chance of anyone noticing, even though we used the earlier signs at one point.

Down-downs saw Spanker mark her 210th hash, two virgins - Greer and Aude - make their bow, and a few other misdemenours marked before a few went off to the American Community barbie at the OBS.

Now Spanker and I are away for a few weeks, but hopefully things will continue in the meantime. Until August ... on, on!

Douro II

I wrote the last post over a month ago, just before setting off up the Douro for the weekend hash up there; and what a magnificent weekend it was. Having driven through a thunderstorm on the way up, the advance guard arrived at the beautiful Quinta de la Rosa, just outside Pinhão, and awaited those who followed in the balmy early Summer evening. The weather was hinting at how good it would be over the following couple of days.

The next morning was spent around one or other of the pools, or mooching about the town, or seeking extra beer having realised how much would be needed, except for the hares, of course, who were off setting the hash, a process apparently somewhat slowed by Walkie-Talkie's timekeeping and fag breaks (I say 'apparently' because it is so hard to believe).

A gentle, picturesque walk from the village of Provosende back down to Pinhão preceded a fine and generous wine tasting and tour at the Quinta. It was noticeable how many more appeared for that part than the walk, although we were yet to see Big Stick. That point arrived at dinner, by which point he still had not checked into the pensão, prompting him instead to opt for the sofa in one of the Quinta's houses (and breakfast, it should be noted). The dinner was great value and the drinks then flowed freely beneath the vines at the Quinta until, one by one, people dropped by the wayside.

On Sunday we assembled, a nice large group, for the hash, only to discover that we needed to make a large detour to get to the start, at the end of which I, for one, was reeling with car queaziness. However, it wasn't a long hash, although interesting and attractive (and hot), weaving in and around Lamego. Down-downs were quite involved, with several virgins, some birthdays (including my 200th), a naming (Jo Thorpe becoming Pink Extender - thank you Little Voice) and the usual array of plonkers needing punishment. Another great bash followed to conclude a top weekend.

Ave Breezer

Having missed the previous hash, set by Spin Doctor and Walkie-Talkie, Spanker and I were raring to go when we convened for Inspect My Gadget and Gender Bender's run in Vila do Conde. True, Spanker would rather have done it on horseback and there was a distinct lack of lithe gauchos on hand to ease her passage, but it was good to be back.


In the end, it was a select group of twelve that made it, starting with a whisper of sun on our backs from Vila do Conde mettro stop. This was only after waiting for Snorter to return from the Club to Miramar and back, having arrived without the key to his car, in which lay his hasing kit. There is indeed no such thing as a smooth start to a hash.

Anyway, off we trotted (I'd love to use a more dynamic verb, like 'bounded', 'charged', or 'spang', but I am bound to realism) away from the town and around the football ground. Due to bouts of heavy rain overnight (according to the hares - most of us living in town had only their word for this) there were few chalk signs to be found. Mind you, it was about fifteen minutes before I saw a sign of any variety, so perhaps the hash sign pixies had been to work.

We wound around the margins of the town, over the river and through the woodland on the other side, often touching on old routes, but maintaining a sense of something original. After a while, the clouds drew in and then opened, giving us a few fairly heavy dousings before easing off once again. It was enough to persuade us to eschew a pit stop at a café in the town, so we carried on, moving through the old cobbled streets until heading home. Predictably enough, Bunbasher decided he knew the route home and headed off near the end; almost as predictably, he got it wrong, went in the wrong direction, and got home last.

For all my jibes about the pace at which we set off, this was notable for the fact that there was almost no walking, the whole way round, apart from Droopy, who took about five minutes to break into a shuffle. We were back in time for a leisurely drink before the bash, and down-downs featured most people. It was nice to welcome back Ren for his second hash, around a year after his first, and duly punish his absence.

A Tale of Two Squirrels Episode Two: the one where Monica reached 100

A week after The Great Moan of Mindelo, Squirrel was back, her old self once again, in new(ish) trainers and determined to run. Deviant and Flasher had put this one together, with a start and finish in Arcozelo, although Horny managed to get us all comfortably parked in the wrong car park, the wrong side of the cemetary, through which we all then traipsed in our Sunday best. This one also saw the return of Boozy Woozy, now resident in London, and that brought back Family Jewels and Twirly, as well as a couple of Twirly's friends, who, sadly fell by the wayside rather early on. Definitely not falling, though, was Alex Mutter, who ran his socks off, eventually pipping me to the post in a thrilling sprint finish that must have had the watching throngs dreaming of the Olympics in 2020. His overall bounciness - seen at several excited moments on this one alone - later earned him the name of Tigger, which seemed apt. Meanwhile, his sister, Anna, as usual, glided round the hash in her usual manner, determined and unflappable, and was named Then there was Squirrel, a different runner completely from the week before, marking her 100th hash in fine form. The hares had nothing to fear this week, although the previous week's hares' absence might have reflected their trepidation upon realising that her hashing trainers had not been hung up after all. With another decent turnout of 22 who stayed the distant, down-downs in the sunny afternoon took a while before we repaired to a local spot for the bash

A Tale of two Squirrels - Episode One: The one where Monica lost the plot...

Hash 278 saw us assembled at the seafront in Vila Chã, a cool wind coming off the waves to mask what was actually quite a warm day. Within minutes of the start various hashers were discarding the extra clothing they had donned on emerging from the cars. Titchy Percy and Adam O'Connor were the architects of this one, that took in a good deal of road work, often over quite punishing cobbles and that saw some substantial gaps emerge at times among the nineteen runners (yes, I will use the word, because Walkie-Talkie was glimpsed through a gap in the trees, like one of those old grainy film clips of Big Foot lurching through the American wilderness, running at one point). Running past TP and Gender Bender's house raised brief hopes of an early pit stop, but that was delayed until we reached Angeiras, after about an hour and a half. You'd have thought that the following four-kilometre run more or less along the beach home would have been a welcome, pleasant finish, but when the majority had reached the finish and were tucking into the beer and crisps, the final stragglers were still way behind, so down-downs began. As Tony Robson was awarded the name Inspect-My-Gadget, Walkie-Talkie, Squirrel and the injured Rhythm Stick emerged from the beach, darkly. Welcomed straight into the cirlcle, Squirrel took her beer with rather more than rodent-like gentleness, swearing and vowing never to hash again, threatening the hares with all manner of physical harm, and declaring a rule that hashes should not exceed and hour and a half. It was, indeed, a flounce to remember, and as, the bashing few sat down to their (rather good) food, the questions came: would Squirrel hash again? would the hares be safe in Miramar? what would it have been like if she'd been pissed? Only time would tell...

Fânzeres Frolics

At the risk of sounding as though I'm a catholic in confession, forgive me, hashers: it has been a few weeks since my last post, in which time I have committed two hashes.

Still in February, the two Tonys, Robson and Baker, took us to an obscure area of village, woods and farmland inland from Espinho. It was a good hash, with two namings and a 190th birthday, but I won't dwell on it now - it's all in the hash diary, which comes with me to every hash and bash.

No, enough of talking about other people: let's talk about me. Originally, last week's hash was to be hared by Spanker and me, but my better half couldn't get out of bed on the Saturday morning, so two became one and I set off to set it. The new metro extension was my focus, but as I found out in time, the final station is not exactly where its name would have you believe so I had a bit of a walk before finding a suitable starting point. The slightly convoluted start was echoed on the way to the hash itself, thanks to Hard Drive - who had earlier expressed his mistrust of Google Maps' directions, which I had used - deciding to divert the convoy on a magical mystery tour all of his own creation, for which he later received the requisite down-down.

Eventually, we reached the start. The hills that rise above Valongo had been noted as the cars approached, and, to no-one's great surprise, I think, that was the way we headed. It was a fabulously warm day for March, obviously adding to the joy of the upward paths, but the route meandered rather than took the direct line, so we kept reasonably together and fluid. The views as we ascended were fabulous, stretching down to Gaia, over Porto, the refinery then to Maia and beyond. I knew that once we reached the ridge at the top and headed to the inevitable little chapel, we would be able to take comfort from the café there, so as I brought the tail-enders in to where the rest were enjoying the views and waiting for whatever liquid treat I surely had in store for them, I looked towards the little brick block. That was closed. That was supposed to have been open. Bugger.

Oh well, on, on it is then.

We took another path back along the ridge, gradually veering away from our route out and arriving in the terrain of the paint-ballers. To escape their stray capsules we scrambled down a thickly wooded slope (very Brunei-Babe-friendly) but by this time all my talk of gunfire had rather spooked Alex Mutter, who transformed into the scardiest little hasher for the next few minutes, fearing imminent attack, fearing the downward path we had arrived on, fearing stones and shadows, but, unwisely, failing to fear the increasingly frazzled nerves of his mother.

We got back after about an hour and a half, with plenty of time before the bash, which unfortunately gave time for me to receive multiple down-downs. Excellent chicken and plenty of wine was the order of the day for lunch before we tried to work out how to get home from there. Hard Drive kept quiet.

On, on!
Plunger