It was a dark and stormy night; a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in north west London that our scene lies), rattled along the housetops, and fiercely agitated the hashers that wended their way along the P trail through streets of Camden and Mornington Crescent to the Edinboro’ Castle for WLH3 run no. 1472
The dire forecasts of the greatest storm to hit these shores since last month’s great storm did not deter the hashers from their goal; not warnings of tempestuous winds, notwithstanding storm surges nor the raising of the Thames barrier did dampen their passion for the trail.
The door of the Castle creaked open to reveal In the midst of the assembled members stood the radiant form of the deputy Grand Mattress, Love Deuce. After calling the pack to order the GM conducted the conventional preamble: unable to even recall the correct run number she then introduced one of the three visitors as Kevin, despite this being neither his real nor hash name.
With a wave of her hand the Grand Mattress sent forth the pack onto the trail that snaked like a slippery serpent along the streets of Camden. Not once, twice but thrice the trail looped, checked, falsified and generally wobbled its way into the brooding darkness of Regent’s Park.
As the storm clouds abated slightly, soft starlight permeated through the treetops to illuminate the site of the drinkstop. The swish of the branches blowing in the wind mingled with the chink of glasses and the chatter of the hashers below, as they sampled the canapés that complemented the robust flavours of the Chateau Tesco that had matured well in its carton. Despite the forthright candour of the trail not all of the pack were able to find the drinkstop, creating some measure of angst amongst those who worried for the safety of their missing companions . Finally against the background the twinkling lights of the Chinese restaurant barge that glowed against the somnolent waters of the canal, the pack made their way out of the park, to head back to the tavern from whence they had come.
The door of the Castle creaked open again to gather up the returning pack into its warm embrace, and reveal the drink stop skivvers already arranged smudging the polished mahogany of the bar with their half-empty glasses.
As is symptomatic of a well run hash, the circle started promptly at 21:00. Under the glowering heat lamps the two R.A.’s Messers Plag and Nav dispensed praise and adulation, mockery and chastisement in equal measure without fear or favour, as well as dispensing the bountiful cups of down, downs.
The night remained dark and stormy as the circle ended…or maybe it was a pint of dark and stormy………………………..to be continued next week