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Report 1479
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THE WORDS: BBQ, WOODWORK & BRINGS ‘EM OUT OF,
SPRING TO MIND.
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And came they did. Sun, Surrey or BBQ? Who cares! Old Courlsden dogs, Hare's family, Free Willie, Made Marion - all welcome.
Mind you I did hear the beginnings of a pre-hash announcement by said Maid, but it seemed to be drowned out / overcome by the private business of meeting and greeting everyone. So a little under 45 second early the largest group of Hashers for weeks ambled, and I mean AMBLED, slowly across the road in the traditional direction of Betchworth Hills.
More out of morbid curiosity than real expectation, I went past the "dead ringer as a back check" check in a desultory "I'll back up the lone down hill checker and call him/her back". I couldn't hear a thing from whoever it was, the obvious solution was called back up the hill, and I never saw whoever it was again!
Well, we dalied with the various steep chalky paths on the Box-Hill escarpment, then, thankfully not going to the bottom, struck back up and crossed the road to an exceedingly boring bit of semi-black top to meet up with the ample number of shortcutters and knitting circlers.
Eventually finding a bit of country - and it was real back of Box Hill stuff - we hung around for a few moments until Dormouse cracked and gave the game away, prompting Chunderos to go in the direction of the impressive Highland Cattle sheltering under the trees.
A couple more "Checking - OnOn" checks followed, which presumably stretched out the pack - certainly stretched me out, and then a smidgin past "Come to the Cookhouse Door Boys (12:00 - opening time)" we find the "On In" and we can amble though the mobile home park and pop out just up the road from The Gland in Hand and find some warmish COLD BEER at the bucket.
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On arrival back one could detect the waft of something like a 1987 Laphroaig, medicinal, seaweed tang or rather TCP - yes it's TCP, and it was! Redeye, looking quite a bit worse than usual had taken a nose dive down one of the steep rocky chalky bits and was dabbing neat TCP on various of the cuts and abrasions adorning his countenance, we asked him to go down wind a bit as he was spoiling the aroma of the warmish COLD BEER.
Mad Marion took up the gauntlet and enlightened us on some curious local upside-down burial habits, apparently to be the right way up on resurrection day (??)
He could have had quite a job with the plethora of virgins and visitors, but Old Coulsdon were not all feted as we would have run out of beer!!
Arfur got silence of a sort and set about the usual suspects - I really must get her to email me her notes, the only one I can remember - no two - were Mad Marlon, for abandoning rather than parking, and Do You for her forthright analysis of the Red-Eye accident as being his own bloody fault for running down steep bits too fast - he was falling, Do You, falling!!
Having taken up most of the pub's parking it was thought only fair to have a few beers before the BBQ, so we were advised that arrival at the Lighthouse before 14:00 would be frowned upon. Mind you at 13:40, Clever Trevor - for it was he and Terminator, as may be expected, manning the coals - telephoned a plea that all was ready and could we please turn up now?!
The BBQ was excellent, eventually de?generating into a massive PIMs drinking circle, with de-creamed strawberries, mint from the garden and frozen ice slices of dubious provenance lemon acting as adornment.
OnOn Tequil'over
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