R*n 221: Wray Scarecrows

I followed the scribe rules perfectly this r*n. As we sped into Hornby we passed the rest of the hash running the opposite direction, heading towards the institute. Morticia put her foot down and we were soon parked and raring to go. A lesson I should have learned some time ago: masses of food before trying to catch up with a group of athletes is not a good idea, but after turning down the side of the institute and heading up the mini hill (possibly a knoll) and past a large tank of excrement, the gang were in sight. We thundered back down the hill and tramped through some fields towards Wray. Much stile crossing followed and we passed yet another pile of manure before arriving at a check on a lane somewhere near Wray. I cleverly decided to run the opposite way to Wray, even though I had heard gossip of seeing the scarecrows that evening… genius. Of course a few moments later after no signs of trail, the distant call of “on on” came and I headed back to follow the rest of the crew.

The lane wiggled its way towards Wray and soon houses were in sight. The Scarecrow Festival was in full flow and we were greeted by the sight of various stiff figures and cardboard scenes. The theme this year was Hollywood and there were plenty of movie scarecrows, including a cowboy scene and several Wizard of Oz characters, and Rapunzel, who desperately needed to condition her straw hair. We did a loop round part of the village, taking our time to admire the Blue Peter-style efforts of its inhabitants.

To anyone who didn’t come on this hash, you were missing out. We headed on inn at the George and Dragon with the promise of a drink “on the hash”. Soon everyone was lined up to order their drink, which was paid for by a flash of Master Baker’s credit card. It was a glorious evening so we gathered in the beer garden, where Baldbrick kindly gave us another of his side splittingly funny jokes:

Q. “What food causes the most grief and suffering for years after eating it?”
A. “Wedding cake”

Once the laughter had died down (it didn’t seem to take long), the hares gave us the choice of a quick loop that would have us back at the pub in five minutes, or stay relaxing at the pub. You would think we were a group of keen r*nners or something, because the entire group stood up and headed out of the pub, turning right and past the second institute of the evening. More scarecrows appeared, including Cruella de Ville and 101 Dalmatians (a personal favourite) and Pirates of the Caribbean. We crossed the river and lost trail, thanks to scarecrow tourists loitering on it. After some gentle abuse from Baldbrick we found the route and headed out of the main village, through a field with a scarecrow tennis match taking place, where Twisted advised that r*nning through the game would be rude, so we headed round and back onto the road which led uphill to another check. The front r*nners quickly found the trail and we crossed the river and followed a path through woodland onto a lane that led back to the main village.

We were quickly back at the pub, where there was further unusual behaviour: the hash opted to carry on rather than stay for another drink. (I think they were hungry or something, it’s the only explanation I could think of). The group headed back through the village, where the trail led them along the riverbank. The main road eventually came into view and we crossed it and followed a track. The hares had kindly decided a fish hook would be a fantastic idea, so the front runners were soon retracing their steps to find the knitting circle at the back. After a regroup, we annoyed a real runner by blocking the entire track, but he quickly moved past, looking slightly alarmed by the shouts of “stand aside and let the proper r*unner pass, make way for an athlete!” The fitness freak didn’t put us off and we carried on, along more track and through more fields. We soon reached familiar territory and followed the footpaths back across the fields to Hornby. There were some issues for Sid with “getting her leg over” on one of the stiles but after some male assistance she was on her way. We speeded up to the on inn in the hope of food, but with 5 minutes ‘til last orders Mr Smiley Happy the landlord refused to deliver and so we made do with a drink instead.

Overall a terrible run: too much glorious evening sunshine, not enough shiggy, too many scarecrows, too much pub, etc. Good effort though to the Twit and Tw*t.

Our sympathy went to Bitter that evening. Twisted informed us that he couldn’t make it because he had a huge election to worry about. On the plus side, Twisted now matches his runs total… girl power!