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Report 1474
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WEYBRIDGE TORTURES: NETTLES AND THIRST
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All in all, a bad-hair day for your scribe. Portaloo was not pleased that we had been using his real name rather than his handle in the Receding Hairline; Elle T-shirt, who was responsible, bent my ear over her mobile phone (since she had not made it to the Circle) for going to print before her social life permitted her to update the data; and the RA called me in for my pre-hash appearance. Either my physique has neither the width nor the breadth of her Invisible Man (was there ever a misnomer!) nor yet the depth of his tan; or else she did not approve of my choice of a book to read. (Since you ask, the Laurel and Hardy-like farcical scene in Hell where 2 sinners in the tenth and last of the bolge come to blows: you will all recall the lines. "Quella sonò come fosse un tamburo; e Mastro Adamo li percosse il volto/ Col braccio suo, che non parve men duro" )
And even the trail seems to have been my fault. Last week we reported how the the hare took us all round an extant aerodrome; so this week the hare took us all over an extinct aerodrome. With nettles thrown in, to illustrate the change of venue; my legs are still tingling as I write. In all other senses it was what we usually do from Ripley, but without the canal; Pyrford Mill then under the A3 then those bloody nettles;over the footbridge to Wisley, and back along the customary footpath. At least it kept the pack more or less together; the Cunning Linguist chose to run the whole thing backwards, and the Knitting Circle seem to have done their own thing.
Full marks to Lord Raleigh for solving the only hard check; the trail had gone through the one wet patch left in Surrey after our heat wave, and we could solve it neither forward nor to the right nor back ( and some of us tried all three). You will see that we did not try to the left; this because there was no path to the left, but Lord R found it anyhow.
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The Circle included a 20 year returnee called Charlie, whose most distinct memories were of GG groaning (Ah, the joys of continuity!); and a fast virgin called Sue who could keep up with him. Charlie, not GG....... Most of us can manage that much.....
The RA was perhaps unaware of the conjugal lack of communications between the hares; we had no beer when we came in. Mother Brown had believed Pink Pussy would be there to open the car, while she knew that she was Checking Chicken and would be in almost last. (May I confess that I had to refer to an old Little Black Book for her handle: it is years since we saw Stephanie).
Some hashers asked where the lines which begin "For I have known them all already" come from; which prompts me to ask you all, dear readers, to reflect on your own love and sex lives. (Yes, please keep them apart, even where there is fusion or confusion between the two)
Do you feel pride? regret? frustration? embarrassment? humiliation? satisfaction? surfeit? exaltation? Do you resolve to act differently in the future? Do not, for heaven's sake, answer: all replies to sex questions are completely untrustworthy. (40% of husbands but only 8% of wives admit adultery..) Just think it through.....
As for the quotation, it is from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: "I have known their evenings, mornings, afternoons;/ I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."
Which is what we were left with; Weybridge do not drink down-downs, whereas we rather enjoy it, and so ran out of beer.... But thanks to them anyhow for an enjoyable joint run. Well, at least the sun shone!
ON ON FRB
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