Twice Nightly's word

  Isca Hash House Harriers         ​​​​                16/05/2012 Run Number 809     Trail: Poppleford’s              Hares: Lilo Lil and Cousteau                        On Down: Poppleford’s   A veritable battalion of hashers gathered together for a fine evening of frivolity in the car park of Poppleford’s restaurant. To the delight of HRH No 2, winner of Tatler magazine’s 'Horsebox Honeys' nationwide model search, there was a good showing from the canine contingent. In fact, so many loyal hounds had turned up that the casual passerby would be forgiven for thinking he had stumbled upon a hunting party instead of a hash. Alas, the disappointingly shabby attire of many of the pack (how one longs for hashers to adopt the red jackets and ironed breeches of their betters) would have rapidly put paid to any such misconception.   Hare for the evening was the delightfully effervescent Lady Lilo of the House of Lil. Only recently having been presented to Society, with all the giddiness and excitement that entails, the dear girl is prone to occasional bouts of disorientation (Princess Puss brought a head torch in anticipation of this). To aid her in the evening’s task she had therefore enlisted the help of young Corporal Cousteau, a most steady and reliable fellow sure to keep proceedings in order, at least as long as he could restrain himself enough to run at subsonic velocities.   In the circle we were heartened to note the presence of Duke and Duchess FF and PP, recently returned to their Farringdon estate following extensive travels to foreign climes. We were also pleased to welcome a visitor, Baroness Freezeframe, who entertained us all with tales of her recent ‘Moon Walk’ expedition. She had even brought along some photographs of this no doubt worthy adventure. Being of a delicate constitution however, one had to look away after glimpsing what appeared to be Paddington Bear laced with women's undergarments. The potential combination of cross dressing and bestiality ... no, it was just too much! One narrowly avoided a swoon. But one digresses. Back to the circle.   The usual announcements were made by Lady Lilo - three and on, a sweetie stop, five (impressive, one thought) long-short splits, etc etc - and then we were off.   The trail began in a very pleasing fashion, with a brief canter around the paddock followed by spot of showjumping. One by one, the eager hashers demonstrated their skills, all performing beautifully apart from one flighty stallion going by the name of Menage à Trois, whose circuit was blighted by four faults and one refusal. Quite frankly one expected better of him. Unfortunately one’s own performance was rather lacklustre as one’s entrance into the arena had been impeded by the hindquarters of Kura. The hound, as is her custom, was too busy barking at thin air to notice one’s presence, and hence one’s time was over before one had even begun.   Confusingly, we were then back at the car park, the exact spot at which the trail had begun. One felt rather disgruntled, not having seen even one of the advertised five long-short splits, until it became apparent that there was a fresh arrow pointing across the road. Relief! We had not travelled so far in vain. One must admit that one was disappointed when most hashers ignored the sage advice of the kindly Mr Prowse and charged across the tarmac highway with nary a 'stop look or listen'. Nevertheless, within seconds the pack was safely across and deep into the wilds of the Common.   It turned out that the original route of the trail had passed through the Aylesbeare Reserve. However, the landowners had decided we were of insufficient breeding to be permitted onto such refined territory and banished us to the Common with the rest of the proletariat. Although initially offended by this slur, a glance at such ragamuffins as Squires Receiver and Imelda convinced me that unfortunately this discrimination was entirely justified.   No matter – the Common, despite its lowly name, is full of natural wonders. Indeed, the pack entered one straightaway: a deep, dramatic gorge filled with lush vegetation. One was just contemplating how ideal a spot it would be for faeries and the like, when lo and behold one spotted a sprite by the name of Woof Woof.   Soon it was time for the first split. Feeling more athletic than was wise, one plumped for the long, which turned out to be a 'Ha Ha'. Now, in one's experience these are ditches designed to keep hungry deer away from the forsythias, but apparently on a hash they are much more cruel. Despite being berated by Duke FF, oneself and Viscountess Whoopsie decided it was beneath us and turned back to rejoin the shorts before reaching the mark.   On the next short the spectre of deep mud reared its ugly head. Despite one's best efforts one became rather spattered with the stuff. We almost lost Kennelmistress Soapy as she took a tumble earthwards. One was slightly concerned that little Pansy would disappear into the mire completely, but Princess Puss bravely stated that she would pull him out if he did. In one's opinion this would be the least she could do - after all, she had been using the puppy as a propulsion mechanism for the majority of the run.   The first re-group was quite frankly wicked. Lady Lilo distributed the sweeties to the eager pack then demanded their swift return as it wasn't the right stop! She was lucky to avoid a lynching. After a tic-intensive long we were granted the sweeties a second time: a rum selection, although one heard a rumour it was actually the bald Baronet Menage à Trois who provided them. They were certainly good enough for Lethal Weapon, who in her quest for sugar managed to completely take out Dame HT2. Never has one seen such unruly behaviour from man's best friend.   Headmistress Coffin led an animated discussion on the finer points of courtship. Apparently, at her school all the governesses liken the process to a jolly game of rounders, with each base signifying a different level of intimacy. To spare blushes one will not divulge any further details, but suffice to say one is now having grave doubts as to whether the Headmistress should continue to be allowed near small children.   As we progressed onwards talk turned to tic removal. As this grisly topic is not suited to refined conversation one attempt to avert one's ears, but one still caught some of the more outlandish suggestions. Archduke Larks Vomit wanted to douse them in hydrogen peroxide, Squire Receiver wanted to lubricate them with Vaseline (ahem) and Baron Spocky von Bitz wanted to use a corkscrew. This last idea can be excused as the Baron was still recovering from the trauma of Son von Bitz taking out X von Bitz earlier in the day, and so he was not thinking clearly.   A gladsome scamper more, punctuated by bouts of cheating (mentioning no names, Count Dick), and we were back at the car park. Down downs were awarded, some ordinary souls trying to park were deeply unsettled, and then the pack headed indoors.   The On Down saw everyone in good spirits, mostly because the sprite Woof Woof had constructed a fabulous, paw-topped cake. The Popplefords staff seemed somewhat overwhelmed, and their entire ale supply was exhausted in the space of ten minutes. It really is quite frightful what a beer-guzzling, unsophisticated, noisy rabble these hashers are. It is at times embarrassing to be seen in their presence. No doubt one will be back next week however.