Happy New Year!

Happy New Year, hashers.

Okay, so I'm a little late in greeting you thus but at least we're still in January. So, we've had the Jingle Bells and the two Tonys' New Year cobweb-blower since I last wrote and they've provided plenty of moments to remember.

Let's start by going back to that grey day in December when Matosinhos was brightened by a record number of hashers (thirty-nine) arrayed in a variety of costumes and poised with keen athletic intent near the sea front. To paraphrase Linford Christie slightly, the pack set off on the G of BANG, trundling off round the roads leading to the bridge over the docks to Leca. In Droopy's absence, I looked for a replacement Religious Advisor and it was soon obvious that Snorter, dressed as a cardinal, had to be the one. As I (Scrooge) ran alongside him on Rua da Serpa Pinto, looking ahead at the masses of santas and elves, a pair of pirates chasing Peter Pan and Pocohontas (the Mutter-Allard clan), a Christmas tree in trainers (Master Baker), a wrapped present (Twirly), the least delicate looking pink fairy you could wish to see (Whip-it, presumably dressed by his daughter), and behind at the World's slowest motor racing driver (Walkie-Talkie), I could not help noticing the look of total indifference on the faces of some of the locals: nothing to be interested here, then, they appeared to be thinking - it's just another Sunday morning with costumed foreigners gallumphing round my town.

Similarly amusing were the looks that appeared on the faces of a pair of men out for a proper jog when half of us overtook them on the bridge. Emasculation was a word that sprung to mind as a pantomime Johnny Depp-alike (Horny) sprung past, cutlass gleaming in the faint morning light.

Among the thirty-nine it was good to have no less than five virgins, but especially to welcome back Hooker and Chalky, the latter for his first PH3 run in quite some time. Hopefully, they may be able to join us from time to time now they are back in Europe. There was ample time for catching up at the delightful pit stop, featuring mulled wine and a marvellous biscuit assortment all created by Spanker's fair hands in the pleasant environs of Quinta da Conciecao, that took some dragging away from.

Eventually, we did move again and headed for home via the back-ways of Matosinhos. Down-downs, as might be expected, were quite lengthy and drew a crowd of observers. Twirly was awarded best costume, then we repaired to a nearby restaurant for our attempt at recreating a British Xmas lunch in Portugal. There, Titchy Percy was nominated Hasher of the Year and Family Jewel's 'wine lecture' at Quinta de la Rosa was announced as the vote-winner for Hash Moment of the Year.

And so, suitably fed and watered, we said goodbye to 2011 ...

... only to emerge, like fattened butterflies from the cocoon of Christmas, in a cul-de-sac in Gulpilhares in 2012, ready to shake our thing for the Two Tonies.

As might be expected, it was an expertly constructed hash that managed to maintain a lot of off-road work in a fairly built-up area. Perhaps the phrase 'off-road work' is a little to purposeful-sounding for a hash, but, although not particularly quick, we all kept going steadily whatever the terrain. Okay, there were a few fallers, and Mrs Slocombe's Pussy had to get wet in order to avoid crossing a little cataract by means of a thin plank, but nevertheless ... it was all pretty steady and sensible, wasn't it?

Ah, but then there was Horny, who decided, even with the hares telling her it was completely unnecessary and not considering how some of the other hashers and animals would follow, to scale a ten-foot wire fence, then to return the same way, only for us all to get to the same point two minutes later via a nice path through the woods onto the fenced-off road. Still, she seemed to enjoy herself. What is it about Horny and fences or gates? Later, she tried something else with a fence to procure a short-cut home - I don't know what exactly, tunnelling, probably - but that also failed.

In between the two, Deviant had announced himself to the neighbourhood with a pee whose public nature could only have been outdone by a four-legged hasher - in fact, I'm sure little Harry Trotter's ears were drooped with embarassment - and Flasher had taken a tumble, so it was an auspicious day for that particular hash dynasty.

After a refreshing pit stop of cava and Bounty rip-off chocolate bars in a copse we headed for home, where we were treated to some barracking from a grumpy South African resident who complained that Gadget's parked car was dangerous for children ("So is shooting them in the streets" was Horny's feisty retort, soon followed by a v-sign (her fourth of the day!) flicked at the twattish driver of a car who made a show of accelerating past us. My, what a day she was having.).

All in all, it was a fine re-commencement. Now we look forward to Kitty Fiddler and Gender Bender's affair (no Droopy, con't get over-excited by my turn of phrase) and then the 400th weekend. If you haven't yet, get you booking for that in now.

On, on!