So, with less than a week having elapsed we were up and pounding the streets again, this time in town with a hash that began and finished at the Club. It was particularly nice to welcome back Roger and Angela White - Dr T and Lilette - with Calum and Georgina, who were making their hashing debuts. We had another good turn-out, with twenty-three meeting on a warm evening and being asked to get into groups, each of which recieved a sheet of questions to be answered on the way.
Eventually we hit the road, a remarkably prompt mere twenty-five minutes late, turning left out of the Club to the first point at which most groups could miss answers. And did. We wiggled around Massarelos for a while, running behind the Club then back to the Rotunda da Boavista, back to Campo Alegre and, inevitably, down, down the old cobbled lanes and passageways to the river front. Naturally, once there we would have to take the steepest path straight back up, a route that induced some language and sentiments of the sort to make a GM blush. Eventually, via the old back streets of Arrabida, we made it to the Bairro do Aleixo, and, my, wasn't the hash moving quickly at that point! After some surprising little suburban streets, seaside-themed and the cause of some quiz-controversy (I was right!! Anyway, 'who's queen, sorry gm?'), we headed through the pleasant Parque da Pasteleira, to Serralves then back to Campo Alegre and home to the Club, in all a long run, taking two hours for front-runners (without a pit-stop).
I said at the time and I'll say again, by gum, you all ran very well for a bunch of clapped-out hashers. Back at the Club we had draught down-downs on the field with waiter service and went through the answers. Brunei Babe, Inaction Man and virgin Vinay won, impressively getting just one wrong (and it was wrong - we've been through this!). I know with whom I'd want to be stranded in the wilderness. With a bash at local eating icon, Franganito, part two was complete. On line for the Triple Crown were Spanker, Horny, Squirrel, Snorter, Tongue Fu, Mrs Slocombe, Hard Drive and me. Nerves and knees were quivering with excitement.
To be continued...
Tuesday, 15 June 2010
Friday, 11 June 2010
Triple Crowned
What a week of hashing - a hashtastic, bash-a-go-go, jog around the clock of a week! The weather was with us (as were the Whites), the numbers were high and the scenery fine. I hope everyone had a suitably good time.
We began with Horny and Spanker's hatted affair up from the river bank near Gondomar. A fine sight we all were, resplendant in bizarre headgear as we assembled at the Club. It was a warm morning, which meant that, after the short drive, the decidedly pungent aroma at the start point was enhanced. Walkie-Talkie swiftly denied having anything to do with it, pointing instead to the sewage centre beside which we had brilliantly parked, but I wasn't so sure.
The hash was a good old slog up and around the semi-urban areas looking down over the river, with a remarkable pit-stop on the first floor of a three-quarters built house, with white port and tonic (and a sprig of mint plucked from one of the pleasant fields through which we had just come) the beverage of choice. Full marks for the pit stop, but a D for the French grammar!
To be continued...
We began with Horny and Spanker's hatted affair up from the river bank near Gondomar. A fine sight we all were, resplendant in bizarre headgear as we assembled at the Club. It was a warm morning, which meant that, after the short drive, the decidedly pungent aroma at the start point was enhanced. Walkie-Talkie swiftly denied having anything to do with it, pointing instead to the sewage centre beside which we had brilliantly parked, but I wasn't so sure.
The hash was a good old slog up and around the semi-urban areas looking down over the river, with a remarkable pit-stop on the first floor of a three-quarters built house, with white port and tonic (and a sprig of mint plucked from one of the pleasant fields through which we had just come) the beverage of choice. Full marks for the pit stop, but a D for the French grammar!
To be continued...
Monday, 17 May 2010
Blog Off!
No, despite appearances, the blog is not off, it is very much still on. I've found myself rather busy of late, but let's see what has gone on over the last few weeks.
Well, we had a nice little jaunt around Afurada with Squirrel and Snorter. It was interesting going through the old bacalhão factory (again, for those with hash memories that extendback some nine years), but by that time we had already had the big drama of the day when Hard Drive launched himself at the Afurada pavement in a flagrant attempt to draw attention to himself; not that I knew anything about it - I was waiting at the next checkpoint huffing and tutting impatiently. On a warm day, the long run-in was heralded by a splash through the sea's edge - like 'Chariots of Fire' Spanker rather optimistically observed. The bash was great as well; just as well the booked restaurant had not bothered keeping us a table and showed no inclination to find one - the alternative we found served wonderful vats of fish stew.
The next one I missed in favour of football, but I gather that Bunbasher and Walkie Talkie's Ancara hash was well worth the journey up the coast, with beautiful scenery, and even a clean river, something PH3 doesn't get to see very often! Mark Macedo's name of Gump appears to have pleasingly annoyed him - he'd have preferred the alternative of Pole Dancer.
Then we came to hash 355, hared by Titchy Percy and Tongue Fu. It was a gorgeous day and we set off from Mindelo metro stop on a wide loop through the villages, woods and fields, down to the seafront for a chilled pit stop, along the boardwalk and back into the villages, woods and fields. It was a good running hash, with some long stretches finished off by a great bash. It was good to see Dutch Cap back, and surely no-one will forget her Dutch hashing outfit - top to toe fashiontastic! Poppycock, too was back for the first time since Christmas, which was good to see.
So, on to the Triple Crown - three in a week, beginning with Horny and Spanker's hash on Sunday the 30th and followed by Friday the 4th and Sunday the 6th. I am trying to get t-shirts done in time, and if I do, anyone who does all three will receive one free.
The first of them will be themed: hats. We will be Porto Hat House Harriers for one day - headgear is mandatory, and the most imaginative/interesting will win a prize. So, on, on!
Well, we had a nice little jaunt around Afurada with Squirrel and Snorter. It was interesting going through the old bacalhão factory (again, for those with hash memories that extendback some nine years), but by that time we had already had the big drama of the day when Hard Drive launched himself at the Afurada pavement in a flagrant attempt to draw attention to himself; not that I knew anything about it - I was waiting at the next checkpoint huffing and tutting impatiently. On a warm day, the long run-in was heralded by a splash through the sea's edge - like 'Chariots of Fire' Spanker rather optimistically observed. The bash was great as well; just as well the booked restaurant had not bothered keeping us a table and showed no inclination to find one - the alternative we found served wonderful vats of fish stew.
The next one I missed in favour of football, but I gather that Bunbasher and Walkie Talkie's Ancara hash was well worth the journey up the coast, with beautiful scenery, and even a clean river, something PH3 doesn't get to see very often! Mark Macedo's name of Gump appears to have pleasingly annoyed him - he'd have preferred the alternative of Pole Dancer.
Then we came to hash 355, hared by Titchy Percy and Tongue Fu. It was a gorgeous day and we set off from Mindelo metro stop on a wide loop through the villages, woods and fields, down to the seafront for a chilled pit stop, along the boardwalk and back into the villages, woods and fields. It was a good running hash, with some long stretches finished off by a great bash. It was good to see Dutch Cap back, and surely no-one will forget her Dutch hashing outfit - top to toe fashiontastic! Poppycock, too was back for the first time since Christmas, which was good to see.
So, on to the Triple Crown - three in a week, beginning with Horny and Spanker's hash on Sunday the 30th and followed by Friday the 4th and Sunday the 6th. I am trying to get t-shirts done in time, and if I do, anyone who does all three will receive one free.
The first of them will be themed: hats. We will be Porto Hat House Harriers for one day - headgear is mandatory, and the most imaginative/interesting will win a prize. So, on, on!
Friday, 16 April 2010
Hashes 351 & 2
Ooh la la, je suis desolée! Spanker and I spending the time between hashes 351 and 352 en Provence has caused a long delay in blog production. Quel horreur! Okay, enough of the schoolboy French.
On the 28th of March, Mrs Slocombe and Gender Bender (on her first haring) took us to the margins of Maia on a good length run that was part suburban, part rural. On the initial stages we kept together, which was as well when we crossed a field to find the way out, through a gate, was locked, requiring a fair detour. This came shortly after Horny had had a moment with her invisible friends, who appeared to number in their thousands as she raised her arms in salute, like Paula Radcliffe finishing a marathon, the only, slight difference being that she had gone off checking a hundred yards down a road from a checkpoint and in fact she was saluting (or airing her armpits, perhaps?) a couple of old women and a scabby dog.
By the end, it had become two groups, with the runners getting in at the end of a long run-in after a couple of hours and a small group (who had spent far too much time walking!!!!) skulking back some time later. At down-downs, Dave Noon was awarded the fabulous name of Titchy-Percy for reasons into which I will not go here.
Next stop was Campanhã for hash 352, which I set shortly before we ran it. Lengthwise, it was one of the shortest hashes I've set, at about an hour and a quarter, but for a hard-running, up-and-down run around the city it seemed about right. We had an almost-complete Donnelly contingent (come on Squirrel, get your kit out!) for this one even though Gnasher and Tintin nearly fell off the end.
The bash was memorable for Liverpool's thrashing of Benfica, to Snorter's delight, and the menacing moustache of a rather aggressive Benfica fan seated alongside us. Oh, and the company of course - you're all wonderful, marvellous people.
On, on to 353.
On the 28th of March, Mrs Slocombe and Gender Bender (on her first haring) took us to the margins of Maia on a good length run that was part suburban, part rural. On the initial stages we kept together, which was as well when we crossed a field to find the way out, through a gate, was locked, requiring a fair detour. This came shortly after Horny had had a moment with her invisible friends, who appeared to number in their thousands as she raised her arms in salute, like Paula Radcliffe finishing a marathon, the only, slight difference being that she had gone off checking a hundred yards down a road from a checkpoint and in fact she was saluting (or airing her armpits, perhaps?) a couple of old women and a scabby dog.
By the end, it had become two groups, with the runners getting in at the end of a long run-in after a couple of hours and a small group (who had spent far too much time walking!!!!) skulking back some time later. At down-downs, Dave Noon was awarded the fabulous name of Titchy-Percy for reasons into which I will not go here.
Next stop was Campanhã for hash 352, which I set shortly before we ran it. Lengthwise, it was one of the shortest hashes I've set, at about an hour and a quarter, but for a hard-running, up-and-down run around the city it seemed about right. We had an almost-complete Donnelly contingent (come on Squirrel, get your kit out!) for this one even though Gnasher and Tintin nearly fell off the end.
The bash was memorable for Liverpool's thrashing of Benfica, to Snorter's delight, and the menacing moustache of a rather aggressive Benfica fan seated alongside us. Oh, and the company of course - you're all wonderful, marvellous people.
On, on to 353.
Thursday, 25 March 2010
PH3 get taken up the Douro
The long-awaited 350th weekend was met with wonderful weather to complement the fantastic scenery. In the end, fewer than expected made it, but numbers were healthy nonetheless and for those who were there it was certainly memorable.
A small group made it to Sabrosa on Friday afternoon, with time to relax in the very pleasant hotel. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had had to cancel Friday and would be up the next morning. It was noted that hash accommodation has definitely moved up-market in the past couple of years. There was time to wander around the village (not difficult, really, as the time required was little more than five minutes), drink a coffee (yes, coffee - restrained bunch, we are), then get the beers in (ah, that's more like it), before realising that we had little time left for a shower before re-assembling to go to dinner. That was in a tiny tasca, in a village to which we would return the next day, but whose name I have temporarily forgotten, with a kitchen so small that, as Andy pointed out, you genuinely would struggle with the cat-swinging, were you so inclined. After a cracking meal we headed back to the hotel to test the bar and pool facilities - all in the name of quality control for the benefit of those coming the next day. After the slowest game of doubles pool this country has probably ever seen, featuring me, Never-a-Fokker, Whippit and Dave, everyone had lost the will, if not to live then to remain awake. So we went to bed.
The next morning afforded a leisurely rising, breakfast and various means of whiling away the time before everyone else arrived and we set off for the walk. Once complete, give or take a Big Stick or two, we drove off amid stunning scenery, to Quinta Nova, on the banks of the Douro about a winding hour away. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had had to cancel this part, and would join us later. Getting out at the Quinta we were reminded that Andy had suggested we be discrete with our packed lunches whilst there, as the owners had wanted us to eat in their restaurant. It was then interesting to hear the history of the place from one of the owners as we chomped on sandwiches before setting off on the marked trail. We got about half a mile and decided we'd found an ideal place to eat after so much hard work. Half an hour later we hauled ourselves up and carried on, up and down the terraced hills until we were faced with the dilemma of 'that way for half an hour more walking' or 'this way for five minutes more walking and on to port tasting'.
Half an hour later we arrived at a fabulous old solar for port tasting. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had to cancel this part and would see us for dinner later. The house, owned by an old friend of Walkie-Talkie's late father, was like a museum piece, a wonderful old place, colder than a witch's whatsits, and with a room laid with home-made meats and nibbles to accompany the wine. Dodger and Whippit led procedings and we all followed enthusiastically, supping our way through a range of fine ports from Nieport (thanks, Nick), Taylor's and Graham's. We listened dilligently to the expert information, wafted, sniffed, gazed sipped and rolled it over the tongue, then guzzled merrily. Those who wished to taste but not drink it all had a jug into which the dregs could be collected. At the end I poured it all into a bottle, which Liam, Monica and Allan (yes, he'd managed to make it for the booze) tucked into, sagely expounding its balanced qualities. What remained became the GMs Blend, for use at down-downs the next day.
We met for dinner a few (very few) hours later. Sadly, Brunei Babe had to cancel dinner, but would no doubt see us the next day, but Inaction Man appeared (hooray!). Dinner was another pleasant affair, and the rather unfocussed pool afterwards a highlight for those able to remember it. Several hashers burnt the midnight candle to its end, although, once again, my pool was the cue (sorry) to retire sometime before the hard-core.
The next day we emerged at the frighteningly early time of nine-thirty to leave for the main event, the hash (remember that?). Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had to cancel and they would no doubt see us at some indeterminate time in the future. Squirrel was discouraged in her theory that Inaction Man had secretly 'done away with' BB whom we would actually never see again. Down we wound once more round the curves and contours of the valley, driving towards the Douro beside which we were to start.
Eventually, after the inevitable Varanda-related delays, we set off from the river beach at Pinhão, on a sometimes challenging but beautiful run/clamber that took us through the town and quintas, with fine views, steep ascents and descents, stories of fearsome dogs and a pit-stop for port and tonic at a chapel clearly reserved for hashers in distress. Running up and down schist paths proved quite tricky at times and more than one person felt glad to be doing it now rather than at the height of summer. When we made it back, after a good long run-in, Squirrel, in her car the whole time, awoke in time for down-downs that saw Harry Davis named Gender-Bender. We also said goodbye to Alan Never-a-Fokker Roberts, returning to the UK almost immediately. Your hash avoidance down-down is in storage, N-A-F.
A small group made it to Sabrosa on Friday afternoon, with time to relax in the very pleasant hotel. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had had to cancel Friday and would be up the next morning. It was noted that hash accommodation has definitely moved up-market in the past couple of years. There was time to wander around the village (not difficult, really, as the time required was little more than five minutes), drink a coffee (yes, coffee - restrained bunch, we are), then get the beers in (ah, that's more like it), before realising that we had little time left for a shower before re-assembling to go to dinner. That was in a tiny tasca, in a village to which we would return the next day, but whose name I have temporarily forgotten, with a kitchen so small that, as Andy pointed out, you genuinely would struggle with the cat-swinging, were you so inclined. After a cracking meal we headed back to the hotel to test the bar and pool facilities - all in the name of quality control for the benefit of those coming the next day. After the slowest game of doubles pool this country has probably ever seen, featuring me, Never-a-Fokker, Whippit and Dave, everyone had lost the will, if not to live then to remain awake. So we went to bed.
The next morning afforded a leisurely rising, breakfast and various means of whiling away the time before everyone else arrived and we set off for the walk. Once complete, give or take a Big Stick or two, we drove off amid stunning scenery, to Quinta Nova, on the banks of the Douro about a winding hour away. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had had to cancel this part, and would join us later. Getting out at the Quinta we were reminded that Andy had suggested we be discrete with our packed lunches whilst there, as the owners had wanted us to eat in their restaurant. It was then interesting to hear the history of the place from one of the owners as we chomped on sandwiches before setting off on the marked trail. We got about half a mile and decided we'd found an ideal place to eat after so much hard work. Half an hour later we hauled ourselves up and carried on, up and down the terraced hills until we were faced with the dilemma of 'that way for half an hour more walking' or 'this way for five minutes more walking and on to port tasting'.
Half an hour later we arrived at a fabulous old solar for port tasting. Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had to cancel this part and would see us for dinner later. The house, owned by an old friend of Walkie-Talkie's late father, was like a museum piece, a wonderful old place, colder than a witch's whatsits, and with a room laid with home-made meats and nibbles to accompany the wine. Dodger and Whippit led procedings and we all followed enthusiastically, supping our way through a range of fine ports from Nieport (thanks, Nick), Taylor's and Graham's. We listened dilligently to the expert information, wafted, sniffed, gazed sipped and rolled it over the tongue, then guzzled merrily. Those who wished to taste but not drink it all had a jug into which the dregs could be collected. At the end I poured it all into a bottle, which Liam, Monica and Allan (yes, he'd managed to make it for the booze) tucked into, sagely expounding its balanced qualities. What remained became the GMs Blend, for use at down-downs the next day.
We met for dinner a few (very few) hours later. Sadly, Brunei Babe had to cancel dinner, but would no doubt see us the next day, but Inaction Man appeared (hooray!). Dinner was another pleasant affair, and the rather unfocussed pool afterwards a highlight for those able to remember it. Several hashers burnt the midnight candle to its end, although, once again, my pool was the cue (sorry) to retire sometime before the hard-core.
The next day we emerged at the frighteningly early time of nine-thirty to leave for the main event, the hash (remember that?). Sadly, Inaction Man and Brunei Babe had to cancel and they would no doubt see us at some indeterminate time in the future. Squirrel was discouraged in her theory that Inaction Man had secretly 'done away with' BB whom we would actually never see again. Down we wound once more round the curves and contours of the valley, driving towards the Douro beside which we were to start.
Eventually, after the inevitable Varanda-related delays, we set off from the river beach at Pinhão, on a sometimes challenging but beautiful run/clamber that took us through the town and quintas, with fine views, steep ascents and descents, stories of fearsome dogs and a pit-stop for port and tonic at a chapel clearly reserved for hashers in distress. Running up and down schist paths proved quite tricky at times and more than one person felt glad to be doing it now rather than at the height of summer. When we made it back, after a good long run-in, Squirrel, in her car the whole time, awoke in time for down-downs that saw Harry Davis named Gender-Bender. We also said goodbye to Alan Never-a-Fokker Roberts, returning to the UK almost immediately. Your hash avoidance down-down is in storage, N-A-F.
After a bash at the local fire brigade headquarters (sadly, Inact - oh, you know what I'm going to say?) it was (for some of us) a sleepy journey back. Big thanks to all those involved in the organisation, and, if you weren't there, well at least you can buy the t-shirt!
On, on!
Monday, 22 March 2010
Friday, 5 March 2010
Snorter's back like the wind
As the country huddled away to avoid the wind and the rain last Saturday, Snorter and Hot Pants were getting lost - sorry, temporarily misplaced due to the GPS - in Serzedo, laying out the trail for Sunday's hash. As we arrived at the starting point, the wind having dropped overnight but the cold, slicing rain beginning to come down heavily, we were startled to see the roundabout at the end of the muddy track being used as a racetrack/skid course for the local special needs school (I may have made that last bit up - they did not look that bright).
"Honestly." Tongue Fu and I rolled eyes at one another, tutting. "Ridiculous." The rain began to drip from my eyebrows as my feet sunk into the mud. Far better to do something mature and sensible, like us.
We set off at a clip, following Snorter's encouraging "0n, on" only to be called back after a hundred yards. Apparently, "on, on" meant "checkpoint" and in the end we headed in the opposite direction. It was a tight course, winding round and around the area, crossing itself a couple of times and showing Snorter's experienced touch. It was running at pleasing pace, without the need for a single re-group, and we made it back, after a wet pit stop, in about an hour and a half.
Having managed to lose Hot Pants and Hard Drive - and thosae following them - when they followed Monica back to her house on the way to the start, they managed heroically to repeat the feat on the way to the bash, at Monica and Liam's regular chicken place. This came after incurring the mandatory down-down for the crime, after Snorter had been recognised for his 170th.
So, now we get ready for the big one - the 350th. Let's all take it up the Douro!
On, on!
"Honestly." Tongue Fu and I rolled eyes at one another, tutting. "Ridiculous." The rain began to drip from my eyebrows as my feet sunk into the mud. Far better to do something mature and sensible, like us.
We set off at a clip, following Snorter's encouraging "0n, on" only to be called back after a hundred yards. Apparently, "on, on" meant "checkpoint" and in the end we headed in the opposite direction. It was a tight course, winding round and around the area, crossing itself a couple of times and showing Snorter's experienced touch. It was running at pleasing pace, without the need for a single re-group, and we made it back, after a wet pit stop, in about an hour and a half.
Having managed to lose Hot Pants and Hard Drive - and thosae following them - when they followed Monica back to her house on the way to the start, they managed heroically to repeat the feat on the way to the bash, at Monica and Liam's regular chicken place. This came after incurring the mandatory down-down for the crime, after Snorter had been recognised for his 170th.
So, now we get ready for the big one - the 350th. Let's all take it up the Douro!
On, on!
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