Run 1465, from Raynes Park. We met at a lovely pub.
It was called the Rock, had but two real ales, but also did wonderful grub.
With our GM absent, we had a fine stand-in – Stay Over, well practiced and drilled.
He took over precedings with consummate style: concise and expertly skilled,
The Hare was Butt Plug, of whom great things, had been said and proffered before,
There was talk of luxurious drink stops, with Shiraz, olives and more.
But the greedy-eyed pack were left wanting, ‘No drink stop?!’ they cried, ‘It’s a con!’
So with hopes dashed and some grumbling, we all set off with an ‘On On!’.
We welcomed our virgins and visitors who, had travelled here from afar;
We had some from London H3 for the night although they’d not travelled so far.
We had late arrivals – Rambo, again – who left early before all the drinking,
And Tango caught up with the pack finally, but by then beers were already sinking.
The moon was full, the sky was clear, the hashers gathered together.
Suitably dressed in neon and black and prepared for inclement weather.
Torches were held, or strapped to our heads, as we ventured off into the night.
With eyes peeled and ears cocked, we made a formidable sight.
Initial confusion was the call of the day, as our FRB lost the chalk,
Summoned back shortly to follow the rest, they set off once again at a walk.
Some loops through suburbia rapidly followed, with hashers sent hither and yon,
Utterly failing to find the true path we enthusiastically blundered on on.
Our Hare was too clever, and in the pitch black, we followed a false trail or two;
But having already lost the original trail, this created a hullaballoo.
Some hashers went this way, some hashers went that, it was something of a farce;
It was only when Butt Plug showed us the way, that we with both our hands found our arse.
Under the beautiful hunter’s moon, our torches stretched over the moors,
Up hill and down dale and back on ourselves the pack and the stragglers toured.
‘Much further?’ was heard, and ‘How far to the pub?!’ as stamina’s waned like the moon.
‘On in!’ was heard, to the delight of all and the FRB took off like a loon.
Social drinking ensued and all were enthused, by the run in the open air.
The circle was called – inside the pub! – and the RA was heard to declare.
‘Hash hush! Hash hush! Before we begin, there’s some committee business to address!
Our Hash Song Meister has deemed to attend – Reach Around himself, no less!’
After water was downed, for not turning up, more was downed once again,
This time for inaccurate scribing as last weeks write-up was a pain!
Shakesbeer was welcomed back from the East, Moscow to be precise.
She’s not lost her knack for drinking and put it away in a thrice.
Our visitors – Dagwood and Saffron – both from the land down under,
Along with a virgin called Dave – who stared around in wonder,
Were all given the traditional hash welcome, we save for our Ozzie sports,
You’re worthless, colonial bastards without fathers or proper passports!
Our Hash Cash, Man Magnet was also called in, to answer for sartorial crimes,
To explain the holes, in the knees of her tights – which sounded like interesting times.
F*cking Shakespeare and Charlatan, Stay Over and Fickle, were also called in for a drink
Stay Over for super-keen running and Fart for moaning, I think?
Some announcements were made, but I will not attempt, to relay them here in pen,
After last weeks debacle I don’t wish again, to be given Hash Scribe duties again!
A pleasant nights hashing on an autumnal eve, had left us all with a warm glow,
I look forward to long, dark wintry nights – and hashing in the snow!