After the previous year’s torture that was a drive down to Topsham, the Herts away team decided to let the train take the strain. With a day off, just for good measure, they had time for a few beers in Exeter before making their way down to Topsham. Arriving around 16:30 with the belief that they would get the pick of the camping spots at the Club, but The Exeter Inn was between the station and the Clubhouse.
Already ensconced within the pub were Sheila and Mona Lisa, this would mean that the idea of just having the one pint would now fly straight out of the window. Lots more beer and waffle ensued before they finally left to bag the pick of the camping spots, how wrong they were! For as they climbed up the steps to open the gate to the cricket pitch they were greeted with a scene of around 30 tents already erected!
Having thrown up their own temporary homes, the Herts trio staggered over to the Clubhouse Bar. A little later on they staggered back up the field to be registered for the weekend and collect their goodie-bags. Soon it was time to get out the old red dresses for the annual stagger around the town. A photo-shoot was called under the glare of the bright sunshine out on the pitch and with the pack assembled outside the Clubhouse, it was clear to those taking the pictures that some of the men need to learn some decorum on how to sit while wearing a dress, legs shut lads!
Now, the Herts Lads mistakenly thought that they could pre-empt the Hare and broke off from the trail, they believed that they would cut through the back streets to the first pub on the crawl, which was The Bridge, so what went wrong? Somehow they went awry and ended up wandering down a lane. They couldn’t account for this error as they have been to Topsham a few times before, surely it couldn’t have been the consumption of alcohol?
Eventually they realised the error of their ways and the Herts trio stumbled into The Bridge, just as most of the rest of the pack were setting off. On the bright side there was no longer a queue at the bar – well, the serving area, as this wonderful pub doesn’t have a bar. Everything is straight out of the barrel from a pantry off the kitchen. By the time they had finished drinking with Made Marion, they caught up with the rest of the pack in the Lighter Inn.
At the Lighter it was again Mr. X’s round and on one of the hand-pumps was a badge advertising “Nettle Ale”, My Lil’ Sperm ‘ead wittily asked what the sting was? The answer to this was £3 a pint price, at least the Barman did warn them before hand and as Mr.X was flush, he decided that the Herts trio would all have a pint each. None of them found this “organic Ale” to be anything special, so they reverted to the non-organic stuff afterwards.
The pack moved on to the Passage House Inn to enjoy the evening sitting at the tables across the road from the pub, overlooking the River Exe. The final pub on the crawl resulted in another visit to The Exeter Inn. Things became a bit more raucous in there before the pack finally staggered back to the clubhouse. Mona Lisa was disappointed to find that Sheila had disappeared off to bed early. No one else was!
Somehow Mr. X ended up with Mona Lisa’s T-shirt near the end of the night, this he went to stash away in his tent as lost property. He failed to return to the bar after hitting the airbed and crashing out.
Morning had broken. Some were up and showered before breakfast, a grumpy Hyena awoke from his slumber and then berated the other two Herts members for not waking him! Mr. X said that as he had stopped snoring, or was he chain-sawing some logs over night in his tent, they thought the silence was an indicator that he was already awake. Hyena went of to feast, and what a feast it was. As in past years, there was a splendid spread that included black pudding and kippers to go with the usual full English breakfast.
Time moved on to the early circle, 09:30 is a lot premature than the usual 11:00hrs but then again this is not a usual Hash. Wick Dipper had some help from Sheila and Mr. X to pack away the collapsed heap that was her tent until Stretch got his gangly hands on it and removed all of the tent pegs.
Sheila looked pretty fresh this morning, unlike most of the Hash. His early night had paid off but where did he sleep? Mr. X queried the ivy around Sheila’s head, which was supposed to be laurel leaves; he said it looked as if Sheila had slept in a graveyard!
Now, it must have been a bit too early for Wick Dipper as she was suddenly informed by some one wearing the same outfit that her Roman dress was on the wrong way around. So she took it off and turned it around to reveal the gold sash and trimming on the front.
As a ring of Roman Hashers assembled outside the Clubhouse, there was one notable exception and that was Mouldy Dick who was dressed in a Deckchair. Mouldy Dick then placed a plastic crown upon his head and Mr. X asked if he was supposed to be King Cnut or something like that with the letters changed around! Aren’t you lucky that I am only half pissed while typing this?
Buzby stepped forward to explain a few things that the Hash Legion would encounter on the way around. There were also a couple of facts that he would keep under his hat. He couldn’t have stressed any harder the fact that name tags had to be worn on the run in order to get a 10% discount at the Buccaneer.
After a photo-shoot, things got under way and the pack set off from the site this year. Postie was away like a ferret up a drainpipe as he led the way up the main road towards the fly-over of the M5. He and Mr. X went off at a footpath running off just before the local football club, but they found nothing off of the main drag that side of the road.
The pack bunched up before the concrete carbuncle spanning the road, Mr. X searched under the M5 But found nothing. Eventually someone crossed over the road and the trail was picked up again, this had the pack running down Retreat Drive toward a boatyard. Some wondered if the water borne transport part of the hash was going to start of there. It wasn’t!
The trail continued by a lorry dropping off timber for the boatyard, then it moved up through the grounds of the “Retreat” which was a large white stone building, but not too grand a scale for Mr. X’s likings.
The pack were taken on a little excursion around the backstreets by the River Exe and as the trail turned from Riverside Road and back toward the centre of the village, a sign was spotted on the front gate to one property on Hamilton Road. Mr. X patiently waited by it for Mouldy Dick to arrive there and then he asked him if he wanted to play “Knock down Ginger”? Mouldy was offered first dibs at running up the garden path and knocking on the front door, then he saw the sign on the gate which read “Trespassers will be shot, survivors will be shot again!”
Mouldy turned down Mr. X’s offer and he continued with the trail back up to the main drag. The trail almost immediately turned off of the main street and headed back down the hill side toward the river once again, Postie was soon searching in the park from a CHK by the green space’s iron railings. Mr. X stuck with the road and found the trail leading on to the lane back up to the main Follett Road.
The locals were impressed as the legion of Romans advanced through the town and headed up to a CHK by the railway station, where the more stunned locals looked on at the sight of the Roman hoards gathering. They must have thought that the Romans were going to the coast for the day as they had a deckchair with them!
A few looked on the platform to see if there were any markings to indicate that the pack would be boarding the train mode of transport there. There were no markings at all at the station. Eventually the trail was found over the level crossing and around into Elmgrove Road where two white coaches were found parked up. Night Screecher made sure that the FRBs knew that they had to board the buses there and the Hash were soon herded aboard.
As the hash embarked on their first type of transport the weather turned and the rain came down. Shelia wondered if the first stop was going to be at Buzby’s house as they were heading that way? Buzby didn’t seem very upset to disappoint those at the back that the hash weren’t going to stop at his place. The journey was a bit of a mystery tour in places and there were a few worrying moments as they struggled up Telegraph Hill. Some blamed the lurching on having Fat Bastard and Hyena on board.
Aboard the lead bus, at the back where the naughty school kids sit, were Mr. X, Sheila, Mona Lisa, Hoggy and a few of the not so usual suspects! Mona Lisa was becoming a bit dubious as whether to go on board the boat having heard the sea was forecast to be a bit on the choppy side.
The buses finally pulled up beside a green park in Torquay, which brought about many a comment on Fawlty Towers on the way there. There was some confusion as whether to disembark or not, a few did but it seemed only to use the near by toilets, which they couldn’t as they were shut! Eventually the hash were called off to circle up on the green behind the hedge.
The pack found out that they were kept on the buses long enough for the hares to get away and set the trail. A few photos were taken by a friend of Buzby, though some thought that he was a stalker when he popped up at various points along the trail to snap the hash. [Ed: This was John Lawrence from the Friends of Babbacombe Cliff Railway].
The hares had time enough and the pack moved on as the trail started by leading across the green to disappear into the woodland at the far end. Suddenly the trail descended as the trees gave way to the large gorse bushes lining the footpath on top of the cliffs.
The Legion now advanced in single-file on the South West Coastal path, a few walkers and even a proper runner, looked surprised to see a hoard of Romans marching down the path toward them. There were a couple of view points where there was a gap in the shrubbery – it was a long way down to the rough looking sea!
The route became more wooded as it headed downward but it wouldn’t reach sea level, unless someone was daft enough to search off from one of the few CHKs on the cliff top path. The height that was lost would have to be made up; most realised this as the mention of the pub stop being on top of the cliffs went around!
Hoggy and Mr. X were ambling along quite nicely with a little group of hashers, they got to hear some strange things along the way, especially the two harriettes discussing menstruating bitches and special pants that you can buy these hounds when they’re in season! However, this was less alarming than passing by Buzby, who was on his mobile to the skipper of the boat and deep in a conversation about how to keep the pack away from the rougher sea!
The trail began to rise with the steep climb to the end of the small peninsular. The dust led out to a green space, which according to someone with local knowledge was the same green space the pack had started from!
There was another up-hill bit for the hash to negotiate. This bit was easy for most as there were a series of wide steps cut in to the red earth. Stretch was doing his Good Samaritan bit and was looking after one of the harriettes who had a bit of an asthma attack on the way.
While running through the trees, Mr. X wondered if the 9th Isca outing would end up with the same fate as the “Missing” 9th Legion, who were massacred in woodland ambush while on their way to defend Colchester from the Icini. Londinium (London) and Verulamium (St Albans) were also raised to the ground by the Icini, after the 2nd Legion refused to leave Isca and aid Paulilinus. After the Icini were finally defeated, the Commander of the 2nd Legion fell on his sword! Buzby beware! The trail reached the level of the plateau above and emerged from the foliage to cross the open heath on Walls Hill, a few of the dog walkers looked on in amazement as a long stream of Romans cut across heathland to Babbacombe part of town. Here a few hashers got to hear about Buzby not being able to get any money out of his bank account after moving his mortgage. This is the type of stuff best saved for the Circle!
The trail came out to a road just as a bit of drizzle was felt in the air, this spur road ran along the side of a pub, except it wasn’t the Beer Stop, Doh! The inspiring words “On Inn, near!” and an arrow was found by this pub and it directed the hash up to the coast road, this turned left and there among the hotels and restaurants was the Buccaneer.
There was a bit of a queue at the bar, for the Herts Lads were in luck as Tablewhine was at the bar and their order of three Tribute Ales (as it sounded Roman) was added to his and a tenner passed forward. It was still a lengthy wait until supping of the Tribute beer could get underway. This was due to a combination of a lot of customers and only a few staff with the ability of being able to work out the ten percent discount without the aid of a calculator!
Meanwhile outside Warbler had seen hashers, who didn’t want to queue up, coming back from the next door premises with ice-creams! So she went off to buy one and offered to get one for Mr. X, if he didn’t grass her up like when she tried to bribe him with one on the Isle of Wight hash. So she returned to present him with a Knobbly Bobbly! If only he hadn’t promised not to give her a Down-Down, a Knobbly Bobbly indeed!
A spot of rain saw the hash all bunch up inside the open fronted bar, but it soon passed and they returned to the front deck, though One Loos and Blitzen remained within the bar to watch the end of the rugby and cheer the All Blacks on to beat the Aussies. It was here that Whyno realised that the silver paint on his homemade breastplate wasn’t as waterproof as he had thought as some of it had rubbed off on his hands.
The shout went up for the trail to resume! Now a lot had seen the hares disappear over the green in front of the small promenade. For Mini HaHa she enjoyed the ribbing that Mouldy Dick was getting for wearing a deckchair, especially when he had to have his picture taken with his brothers and sisters of the seaside furniture world.
Mr. X stood there with camera ready, as Mouldy moved behind the deck-chairs, Mr. X said “Where’s he gone” as the Geordie lad blended into the background. Suddenly Mr. X declared in a pantomime way “There he is!” as Mouldy stepped aside from the chairs, then it was “Oh, he’s gone again as he stood in front of them once more!”
With a picture finally taken it was time to move on, some went to the right and were corrected by those who had seen the hares exit from the pub! The pack moved on down the cliff top path to a small wooden Victorian building perched at the edge of a considerable drop, this was the top station for a Funicular railway [Ed:The Babbacombe Cliff Railway, no less!].
The Station Master was bemused at the sight of the invading hoards, but not as much as the civilians emerging from the carriage that had just come up the rise. Mr .X asked the Station Master what the fare was to take a deckchair down on the railway? It wasn’t marked up on the tariff, it turned out that the Mouldy deckchair would cost the same as a dog to transport to Oddicombe Beach!
On the way down, those in the carriage could see the figure of a centurion running down the zigzagging footpath beside the tracks, it was Foghorn and he had no chance of beating the carriage, not with Mouldy and Hyena on board, ask the brakeman!
Night Screecher was at the exit when the pack made their way out, she was keeping a tally of who had used this novel form of transport. So this year’s Isca Hash had an extra form of Railway transport on the trail!
Down on the beach and there was no sign of the boat, however the pack made the best of it by going straight to the beach hut bar, the Cider seemed pretty popular! Well, not all went to the bar as Push Harder and Stretch went for a little dip in the briny, for everyone else it looked too cold to venture in to the sea.
The Pride of Exmouth arrived and beached her bow on the pebbles, the crew put out a gang plank for the hash to board. Mona Lisa had bounced back after taking that well known remedy of alcohol to regain her sea-legs. Most made their way to the bar only to find it shut, officially it isn’t allowed to open until it goes to sea. The Romans would have to wait until the vessel was at “ramming speed!” before getting a beer, next year Buzby will have to get a drum to beat out the stroke for this!
Hyena was installed in the queue at the bar and given the Herts Lads beer tokens, which had all been pooled together. Mr. X had to shout over to him as he was no doubt “talking shit” to some who weren’t queuing and a few naughty Romans had sneaked ahead of him when the shutters went up!
For the meal on board the veggies were first to be served. For the rest, the choice was of roast pork or beef, sage and onion as well as apricot and walnut stuffings, condiments and plenty of veggies to go with it. There was plenty of this fine fare to be finished off, a fair few had seconds.
But for Wick Dipper there as no eating until the boat had reached the calmer waters of the estuary. She patiently sat upstairs with a plate of food until such a time as she could bear to eat it. She didn’t look too well, a bit shaky and her lips had turned blue. She now looked more like a wode covered Ancient Briton than a Roman. Was it the motion of the boat, or as it the fact Sheila was up on deck as well?
The rough seas meant the chaps would have to be on their toes down in the head below (who said head?) because as the boat moved, the liquid in the trough kept on the level and built up on one side as it rose up and it accumulated there. You didn’t want two hashers peeing at the same time as it came dangerously close to spilling over. This was when some where glad not to be wearing an authentic outfit with sandals!
Back up in the bar and Mr. X wanted another beer, so he approached a feasting Hyena, which is a tricky thing to do at the best of times! He asked Hyena for the Herts Beer Tokens, to which he received the reply “What do you want them for?” Mr. X responded with “To buy some cocoa!”, which funnily enough wasn’t far away from what a lot of the girls were drinking, they were on hot chocolate and brandy.
The Pride of Exmouth slowly made her way against the waves and tide to the shelter of the estuary, there the Hash could marvel at the kite surfers’ acrobatics. Mouldy was on hand to add a depressing comment on how a friend of his crashed on to some rocks after being hoisted to a great height by a gust of wind that suddenly dropped! Miserable bloody deckchair!
There were a lot of comments to the flash bastards, Mona Lisa called out to one of the black-wetsuited action men “Where’s my Milk Tray?” Blimey, does she want Cadbury’s salmonella poisoning?
The boat chugged along the River Exe until it reached Exmouth, where it docked and the pack went ashore. “Let the Romans off before boarding!” should have been the call from the skipper to the bewildered civilians trying to embark.
The pack circled up on the Point Quayside long enough for the Hares to sprint away and set the last leg of the trail. They won some extra time as Stretch had climbed up on to a couple of concrete filled tyres acting as a bollard and the laces of his trainers were tied to the metal loops protruding from the top. Fortunately for those gathered, he was wearing a second pair of shorts when the outer pair were yanked down!
Stretch proved to be no Houdini as he couldn’t release himself and he had to be untied. Who said bring on a tank of water for his next trick? After these shenanigans, the pack took an easy approach to this next stage and everyone walked through the area of new apartments by the sports centre. Well, they did until Mr. X went to get a photo and the likes of Dr. Z and Buzby made out that they were running! The people on one balcony above looked on and weren’t sure if to wave back at the mass of Romans below.
There were a few who found that now on terra firma that their first port of call would be the long standing attraction of public conveniences. Perhaps they avoided the sloshing head on the boat? For Knead and Sheila it was time to part from the trail and catch the train up to the village near the Beer Stop.
The pack were led through a small park, after which the trail took them over the railway line, then up a private drive to a large house before taking to a footpath back alongside the railway. The pack would now get stretched out as they crossed the lines once more and the route became single file trapped between the railway and the River Exe on the East Devon Way to Lympstone. There were scenic views looking out over the mud flats of Cockle Sand along the way.
The skies became more overcast as Postie led the way, the wind began to pick up and there was some shelter from the gorse bushes beside the line, then on a rising embankment the On Inn was found, the hedged-in path descended to a lane and on the hairpin bend by the edge of the estuary a Renault was found parked up, this was the Beer Stop.
There was a good selection of bottle beer for the pack to enjoy. This would be the spot for the Down-Downs to be held, with Buzby kicking things off by calling the Hash out from the shelter of the bushy bank and down to the beach below the stone wall. It was noticed that it wasn’t that far away from a sewer outlet pipe, what a charming spot! Fortunately the attempted dunking of one Harriette failed before she could reach this spot!
There were loads of hits so here’s a taster of just some: The Hare’s received theirs for a great trail; there was a large contingent of “Cheapskates” (quoting Buzby here) who were all dressed in the same costume-hire legionnaire outfits. Whyno was out for the silver paint coming off of his breast plate. Mouldy was awarded a Down-Down for wearing the same deckchair he had on last night, and the year before! Postman Splat and Redlight were called out as their togas had some green writing on them that read NHS! No wonder the Health Service is so hard up.
Hoggy was introduced as one of the Guest RAs, of course he had Buzby out for his name was spelt on his ID tag as H.O.G.G. fucking I, fucking E!” Hoggy invited Hyena into the Circle and then went on to tell of Mr. X asking him for the Herts pooled Beer Tokens, to which he asked “What do you want them for?”! Hoggy said that Mr. X was the only one to have his name spelt correctly, but Whyno piped up that it was spelt E.X!
Whyno had already been called out by Buzby, but he was soon back in the Circle for he was one of those who had made their own Standards to take around the trail and Hoggy had him out for the workmanship of his Standard. Whyno, like the other Standard Bearers, had put some effort in to make the eagle out of layers of cardboard bonded together, cut to shape and mounted on a pole. This looked pretty good from a distance but the whole thing wasn’t quite right, the blue plastic handle on the end kind of spoilt it!
The pack moved on to the Redwing in Lympstone, while a few who sneaked away before the Circle was broken found themselves in the Swan where Kneed and Sheila were already ensconced, after they got the Train up from Exmouth. Mona Lisa was none too happy that he had abandoned her in favour of going straight to a Pub!
Somehow nearly the entire pack managed to stagger around to the station from the two different pubs to catch the same train, which was the final mode of transport, back into Topsham.
Back in Topsham and some soon found that the landlord of The Exeter Inn had carelessly left the pub door open and Mr. X just happened to fall through this empty space. Having told the landlord how dangerous this could have been, he ordered a round, just before the rest of the pack invaded the pub.
Among the varied topics discussed in The Exeter were body piercings, which led to the exposure of some pierced nipples and the embarrassment of the Harriette’s daughter [Ed: Could this have been Hornie?!]. Things went in to decline when it came around to hearing about Hoggy having been defoliated down below as his better half refused to go anywhere near it until he had something done that sounded like a large South America country with an excellent Football team.
Urgh, too much information! But it did bring around talk of the next InterAmericas Hash in Mexico, as well as lots of tales of when Mr. X and Hoggy were out in Texas and Toronto for previous InterAms.
Hoggy, Catflap and Mr. X finally managed to drag themselves away from The Exeter, the last to leave. They returned to base only to find that they had missed out on the splendid evening meal.
With only a few bits of meat left on the grill, Mr. X volunteered to go and get some fish and chips from the near by take-away to bring back to Chez Hoggy et Catflap to devour with some beers.
Now most of the Hash had changed out of their Roman garb, though a couple of the really pissed ones didn’t bother to stagger away from the bar area. One couple returned from changing out of their hash gear and they were wearing a fancy dress, they had furry outfits on and looked like something from 1 Million Years BC, or Hoggy before being defoliated! Something they later admitted was a bit of a mistake on this hot evening. [Ed: This will have been Hornie – again – and her hubby, Pork Torpedo].
The Disco was soon in full fling. Of course it doesn’t take much to get the hash on the dance floor, but it wasn’t going to be packed out as is the norm, for the day’s hashing had taken its toll on a lot. There were some, who like the 9th Legion, were pretty well slaughtered by now. Many weary bodies sat outside, making the most of the pleasant evening after an overcast day.
Those who did have energy left to burn off included Mouldy Dick – he just happened to be on hand when Tony Christie’s Amarillo was played. So, in a chubby, northern comedian kind of style, he set about leading a line of hashers around the clubhouse, through the changing rooms and outside in the same stylised walk that Peter Kaye had in his video.
By 22:00hrs it had all became too much for Knead and he crashed out on the sofa, it wasn’t long after this that Mini HaHa gave in to Somnus and she too crashed out, right on top of Knead. This was an ideal picture shoot for many!
Once Knead had awoken from his alcohol induced slumber, Mini HaHa was left on her own, sprawled all over the couch. The sight of a crashed out damsel was too much of a temptation for Dishy Goolies and he went and fetched his camouflage cream. He returned to smear great lines of it down her legs, arms and any other exposed bits of white skin to leave her looking like a Zebra!
A handful managed to survive into the really early hours, Stretch, Mr. X, Hoggy and Catflap were among those remaining when the barman put up the shutters on the bar. Mr. X decided that he would have some of the chocolate cake that was left from the meal, though he didn’t bother with a plate or a fork, he just scooped it up with his fingers and ate it. Stretch had a little more decorum as he ate his portion off of the cake slice! These two now looked like a couple of two year olds with chocolate covered faces.
Around 02:00hrs a civilian came into the clubhouse and asked if anyone had seen Paula? Who the f*ck is Paula? Then he wandered off to the changing rooms, all in a manner that indicated he knew the place well. In an act of politeness, Mr. X got up and went to fart outside of the clubhouse, there he found a taxi driver waiting to be paid his fare for dropping the civilian off!
The cabbie came inside in search of his money, he found the bloke and they stepped outside for a considerable time to argue over the fare! The bloke eventually came back in and headed off to the changing room to crash out, though he may have ended up in one of the caravans on site. The remaining hashers decided that they too would retire.
Morning had broken and it was pretty damp outside but the sun would soon burn this off, it was a glorious day. Hyena wasn’t as grumpy for he awoke around the same time as the rest and didn’t miss out on anything!
Another great breakfast was in store, this only slightly spoilt by the sight of Sheila and Borange as the day’s Hares getting ready to set the Sunday trail. The Herts gang knew that these two would set a long trail and took this portent as reason not to go around the r*n. In fact the hares only arrived back as the hash was about to get underway, some two hours after they had left to lay it, so it wasn’t a 40 minute recovery run!
One harriette was worried she would get a Down-Down for telling about the late night feasting, where “Dr. X ate cake by picking it up with his fingers!” So Mr. X has been promoted to the title of Dr! Meanwhile Dr. Z departed early, he did leave Mr. X with the thought that they would have to find a Y, or name one, for next year so they could have an XYZ Down-Down in the Circle. The nearest Mr. X could come up with was X, whYno and Z! Well, he was pisht as Hoggy puts it!
Mini HaHa wasn’t going on the Run either as she had to spend quite a while trying to clean off the black stripes covering her body. The option of using sandpaper, as suggested by Mr .X, was ignored by her! She still didn’t know that Dishy Goolies was responsible for her decorated state. It was pretty obvious that he was the culprit as he looked like he was member of the Black-hand gang.
Unfortunately due to engineering works on their mainline home, the Herts Lads had to leave early and they departed before the pack returned, so they missed the final Circle.
It was another damn fine weekend again from Buzby and Co, the Herts trio decided there and then that it’s now On! On! to the 10th anniversary next Year. Remember as Fred Pontin used to say “Book early to avoid disappointment!”
X