The long short hash!

Hash No. 360 on Sunday 4^th July

Leca de Palmeira

Hares: Tongue Fu/ Dutch Cap

Proceedings got off to a good start with Dutch Cap arriving 20 minutes late at the Club for her own hash. By this time Droopy and Snorter had just about recovered from the injury caused by forcing down scalding coffee in the Club Bar when Hard Drive insisted everyone was waiting to leave at 10.30am.

Eventually the convoy arrived at the pre-designated start point outside Exponor, and hashers massaged and lubricated themselves with sun oil (calm down, Droopy) as protection against the blistering temperatures forecast for the whole of Portugal – with the exception of Leca, as it turned out, which was favoured by a cool breeze wafted in from the Atlantic, mingled with pungent gas fumes from the Galp Refinery.

The hash got off to an enthusiastic start with Snorter immediately sniffing out the trail and urging the following pack to advance at speed. It was at this point that Tongue Fu interjected “Slow down, Snorter – we will be finished in 40 minutes at this speed!” Needless to say, said Hare received a well deserved down-down later. Debate will rage for years whether the motive was to lengthen the hash or to conserve the worlds dwindling supply of natural resources by a very efficient use of chalk. Whatever the reason, the postage-stamp-sized arrows spaced at one km intervals certainly had the effect of slowing down the hash and turned what would otherwise have been a 40 minute affair into a very respectable 90 minute run. As confusion reigned at every checkpoint, Dutch Cap was heard to malign the hashers for not checking properly!

Despite the difficulty in finding the arrows, the hash progressed rapidly down to the beach, (as hashers rushed to get upwind of the Galp Refinery) and then, more sedately, along the promenade as walkers, skaters and cyclists all dived for cover as the hash pack advanced.

After twisting and turning through the residential streets of Leca, the hash approached the Exponor start point, only to find a sting in the tale in the form of an extended loop through the dockside park. Unfortunately, this was missed by Mrs Slocombe, Pussy and Snorter who, while valiantly checking for miniscule arrows inadvertently became lost, and were very fortunate to stumble across the cars some 10 minutes before the rest of the pack arrived.

There then followed a lengthy circle as down-downs were handed out by RA in celebration of birthdays, initiation of virgins, and in punishment of the many offenders. A show of hands was taken for those attending the bash at OBS which doubled as an American Independence Day Party. Bunbasher was seen to rapidly take his hand down again when it was learned that only soft drinks were being served.

On on!

Snorter

Muff ado about nothing

It was another bright day when we headed up to Castelo da Paiva on the 20th of June for another collaboration between Walkie-Talkie, Hard Drive and Family Jewels and the party from the club got out in the hot and dusty yard of a derelict factory expecting to be late yet only to find that Walkie-Talkie himself, and those who had made their way up separately were absent. Never mind - we could prepare ourselves for the sweating to come by getting some in early whilst we waited.

Eventually, we set off down a rustic little path that led past HD's in-laws' place at which we pit-stopped the last time we were in these parts. Familiar paths were trod for a while thereafter, but largely in reverse, as we climbed through a wooded hill to emerge onto village lanes. Beyond that it was mainly new territory in and out of the rural margins of the village, with some charming areas and beautiful scenery, not to mention the rather delicious cherries to be plucked. Bunbasher and I felt it to be an opportune moment to allow others to check whilst comparing the relative merits of the red and the black varieties.

As between them, HD and WT appear to have a hold on much of the village, we were able to wander (Sorry, did I write 'wander'? Surely I meant 'bound', 'hurtle', 'power' or some other verb far more fitting to this group of athletes? All right, 'amble' then, or 'pootle') through someone's lovely property to enjoy a pit stop with a view in a quinta whose gates one might more ordinarily drive past sighing.

Virgins Vitor and Laurent acquitted themselves well, although Gabi and Laurent were unfortunate to be sent by W-T to find stray hashers late on, with the only effect being that they became the strays instead and needed to be found. Whether it was my shouts or the smell of my beer that brought them back, I can't say, but I think I can say that they were not entirely unhappy to be lost in the woods together.

Gabi was named during the down-downs. There were only two of Beavis and Butthead, but we had a line of snorting schoolboys who were determined that the word 'muff' was going to feature and nothing was going to get in their way, hence the bizarrely marvellous epithet Wündermuff which which she is now landed. The bash was a wonderful, lazy repast underneath a vine in Walkie-Talkie's quinta with his mother, as ever, a delightful hostess, a great end to another excellent hash supported by another big turn-out.

Unfortunately, I missed the next hash, by Tongue Fu and Dutch Cap, but I hope to get something up in due course. If anyone would like to add their own comments, or posts, whilst I am away, thta would be great.

On, on!

Triple Crown (3)

On to the final stage of the Triple Crown, and an early start on the second Sunday in order to get up to Póvoa do Lanhoso to begin from Pretty Vacant and Big Stick's great work-in-progress/house. By the time everyone, including Horny's carload, had arrived we were around an hour late, but, well, it was a beautiful day so who cared?

From the start, a checkpoint outside the gates, we spread out and managed to lose Inaction Man immediately; probably his military prowess enabled him to slink away like a panther on the prowl, but whatever it was, Big Stick missed him as he led the assembled throng off in the opposite direction. Down the road we headed, wary of the impending ups and downs, rightly as it turned out as the next move was up, through a field, then down a road, then up another, then down again. And so it continued.

Through wooded paths and fields we moved, at a decent pace. At one point I found myself treacherously tipped over by a mound of earth, for which I was inevitably punished later. The heat began to rise as our sweat began to pour, so it was a relief after another steep climb to find a pit stop with beer, water and white port with tonic, not to mention a fine view of the area. Hard Drive's sorry attempt to look helpful for the video camera involved trotting alongside Big Stick and the cool box waving a hand vaguely in the direction of the handle but he fooled no-one.

The biggest talking point came later, towards the end, when Big Stick decided to short-cut, pragmatically acknowledging that trying to get Snorter to stick to the route at that stage would be a fruitless effort, and taking two-thirds of the hash with him. This left a group of about eight of us - the real men and women, the true hashers, this noble band of ... sorry, I came over all Henry the Fifth for a moment - well it left us to find our own way back, which we did, eventually, and by the correct route I'll have you know. Rather indignantly, but with an air of, shall I say, indomitable superiority, we reached the quinta to find the evil hare and his henchmen sunning themselves with beers in hand.

Down-downs were duly completed, with Guiseppe named Castrato and Irena Flashdancer. The bash was a cracking barbecue punctuated by the unusual feature of sessions of granite-shifting. It was a late arrival back in Porto, but a great way to finish the Triple Crown. Well done everyone on another big turn-out, and especially to those who made all three.

Triple Crown (Part Two)

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...

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...

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!

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.