Brighton H3 Run #1356
The Absolut Hash Sussex BH7 Reunion Tour(Brighton & Hove Haywards Heath Hassocks Hash House Harriers)
First on the scene, for this warm July evening run at The Crabtree, a pub on the outskirts of Lower Beeding deep in the heart of the West Sussex Weald, were Banker and Malibog who somehow (for the first time in their lives) managed to arrive 30 minix early. The Brightonians started to arrive some 15 minix later and duly evolved into quite a large and varied pack including one dog. Go-days were made all round as the visitors introduced themselves to this pack of rather uncouth and unruly hooligans. A choral moan went up as the hare arrived, he having a renown for laying long hard runs. A few words about the run which nobody really listened to, a few shoe laces tightened, the dog watered and they were ready to leave.
The run started by heading straight out the end of the car park and down the hill, after being told by the Hare “Go straight out of the end of the car park and down the hill.” Simple really. So why did two of the local hashers hurtle off in the opposite direction like demented fools? Did they know something the rest of the pack didn’t one wonders. The road part did not last long however as a quick left led the pack onto a narrow path overgrown on one side with the jagged leaves covered with stinging hairs of the nettle plant and to the other the evergreen prickly holly shrub, both seemingly competing to sting or tear the legs of the passing hashers. A couple of so called fairer sex had obviously been here before and had the sense to wear tights, but then what has sense to do with hashing. Even worse was to come but for the moment the pack was to be seen trying to skip hop and jump over the protruding branches and stems of the stinging leaves. With great relief the pack soon headed out into an open meadow inhabited by a large heard of Merinos who gave the hashers a sly look and a wide berth possible trying to see if there where any Kiwis lurking in the back of the pack.
The run consisted of a lot of down hills and a load of fucking up hills with one or two flattish bits thrown in to completely stuff up the pack. Banker spent a large part of his time extolling the delights of the Sussex countryside and in doing so managed to lose himself at least twice during the first half of the run. Meanwhile MaliBog spent most of his time looking at the ground about three yards in front trying not to trip up on the many tree-roots criss-crossing the trail. Banker and Malibog did however come together in good Stockholm style by finding the trail from a very difficult check (which left the B’ton hashers milling all over the place) with a mark tucked neatly away nestling behind an old brown barn. So away they went whistles blowing, on-oning followed by the grateful pack only to miss a mark further down the trail, shooting of to the left (the trail going to the right) and after about 300 yards reaching a complete dead end. Thus undoing any respect the locals might have gained for the two hardy visitors from Stockholm.
The next check in the middle of a dark foreboding wood had the pack running around in ever-larger circles. Fortunately a couple of B’ton hashers, who always seemed to get it more-or-less right and after nearly every check always seemed to be in front of the other runners going in roughly the same direction, found the correct trail although by this time most of the pack were well spread out over large areas of the West Sussex countryside. At one point the main pack were on a narrow lane and the others in a field running parallel, unfortunately they couldn’t hook up owing to a 15 food high 5 foot wide bracken hedge-row and were forced to make a half kilometre detour. At last they came to what they call a main road in Sussex (just enough room for two Land Rovers to pass each other) and were informed by those who pretend to know that they were in the middle of nowhere and miles from Crabtree’s amber fluids. Waiting slightly for the lost runners to arrive the pack entered a farm lane minutes after a heard of Jerseys had past along and it was our pleasure to plow through the piles of wet dung left in their wake…. It was hot and it was sticky and the pack was hot and the pack was sticky and the two Stockholm ex-pats asked. “My God what happened to the Beer Stop”, nothing happened to it, there just wasn’t one they were politely informed.
Well it could only get better they thought as the pack entered a corn field and somehow managed to wake the occupants of a wasp nest, a sting here and a sting there and, hastening the pace, they entered into a rather pleasant wooded common. This last part of the run seemed to be easy which lulled the pack into a false sense of security - you crafty bastard hare – and it was not long before the pack was once again split into three separate groups heading out in three entirely opposite directions. Fortunately the pack found itself again and the last part was made easier by the fact that the last ½ mile was downhill and along a nice even concrete road. The pack had probably forgotten all about the rest of the trail by the time they ran into the car park, the only thing on their minds being the pints of ale ready to be ably consumed at the visitors end of Crabtree’s public bar.
A Good Run with the hare forgiven and the ales and beers begotten