It took me all day to decide, but at five to seven as we were eating our tea I finally got brave and summoned up the courage to go out hashing on my own. The run was out at Horndon by Peter Tavy and, mind set, I dashed around the house stealing dad’s headlamp and sticking reflective tape to my all black running gear before frantically leaping into the car and forgetting to say goodbye to Samuel and Bill. Well, I didn’t really forget, I just didn’t have time to go back into the front room and make Sam cry. Sorry!
After a bit of confusion and having to call pater for advice I navigated myself to the start and thankfully couldn’t have missed the sprawl of hasher cars up on the moors, and badly dressed hashers adorned in tinsel leaping around in the cold supping mulled wine and dining on mince pies. I signed in, paid my pound, and as directed, dropped my car keys into the bucket, wincing as they disappeared into the tangle of metal as it then occurred to me that they weren’t actually mine and I had no clue what Mum’s fob looked like! Oops. I then joined in the chilly foot stomping and shivering, and just as I got handed a nice cup of warm alcoholic beverage the hash was called to attention and everyone went charging off.
Slightly concerned that I didn’t want to be lost out there on the moors by myself I hastily followed. I needn’t have worried though as after trail led us nicely out into the darkness it transpired that the rest of the flour must’ve been used to make those mince pies and with narry a splattering to be found we were all lost.
The rest of the run was spent haring to and fro scouring for any trace of trail and trying to decide whose torchlight would be less folly to follow as everyone began to string out across the moors. The only person I recognised from my previous TVH3 forays was Glani so I caught up with him and reintroduced myself. He wanted to know where Dad was and why he was at home playing at being old.
After much shiggy, tiptoeing through an icy stream and meandering around a bog we eventually came across what appeared to be a bridge with a troll blocking passage. This foul beast turned out to be Exocet to guide us back on trail and onwards home.
Recovering my keys from the bucket wasn’t as challenging as I had feared as I waited in the cold until most others were clutching theirs and then fished some out and pressed buttons until Mum’s Toyota flashed merrily back at me. Phew.
One pint at The Elephant’s Nest later and the hash turned festive and bawdy Christmas carols were sung.
At this point I shall revert to the On Sec’s scribbled report of proceedings:
“Once again many of us thought we had lost the plot. Goodness knows what Tasty Pie thought of it all. She last hashed with TVH3 twenty years ago in the days when Bloodnock was still roaming the range. She was a mere child at the time, running with her dad, Kool Kev. She subsequently moved to Atlanta, Georgia, where she earned the soubriquet, Tasty Pie, in recognition of the fact that it was Thanksgiving which was being celebrated with Mother Springett’s Pumpkin Pie. She’s back with us for six weeks.”
Yes, not entirely accurate. And, yes, that is Martha Screw It getting a mention in the TVH3 hash mag!