Following Easter we have had a couple of interesting hashes, and somehow, given the weather we've been 'enjoying', the only showers have been in trainers and t-shirts.
We began with what was to be Snorter and Walkie-Talkie's run but, due to the former's injury, became Squirrel and Walkie-Talkie's, with Snorter as Hash Director, driving between checkpoints in the expectation that front-runners might need a bit of direction. As it happened, the trail was well set and required little intervention but it did add the challenge of trying to beat him to his next rendezvous without knowing where that might be. It was probably just as well that Mrs Slocombe missed this one, otherwise his nose might have been put out of joint by someone else taking his cherished role of standing around at checkpoints doing nothing.
It is hard to say where we were, exactly, other than it is called Fiaes, after a long and winding journey to the start, but it was a pleasant area, featuring a cava pit stop in a wooded glade, some sloppy splashing through a marshy loop that W-T gallantly left Squirrel to lead and a delightful run home through an area that seemed to have been turned into a reserve or park - strange, given the location, but very nice. This was possibly the first time all the hashers made it back before the hares; indeed, W-T only just made it in time for the down-downs.
Two weeks later we headed south again but this time stayed near the coast, starting from a patch of waste ground on the edge of Espinho. A bigger turn-out for this one included little Diniz, on his second hash, and, whilst Mrs Slocombe had to improvise a bit to get him round, the many twists and turns inevitably creating too great a gap, he still managed to overtake W-T at one point. However, this is the new, slimmed-down, sometimes-running, W-T, so he wasn't to be beaten by a mere five year old. Everyone else, obviously, but not a five year old.
Enough digs at W-T - there must be someone else. How about Bunbasher, who, when the hares (Horny and Ladyboy) were looking for a place to pit stop, strangely managed to locate a spot in the woods with a carpet already laid for a purpose I for one did not relish contemplating? Local knowledge is everything, isn't it?
This hash, though, will be best remembered for its superb bash, at a little place on the seafront that served up loads of excellent tapas followed by Thai chicken curry all accompanied by some very good wine for the price. We were there long enough to make the most of it, too.
So, on we go, but before I sign off, congratulations to Pussy Galore and Whippit-out, who - just two hours ago as I write - produced the latest future hasher, a seven pound baby girl.