Lune Valley Hash House Harriers

Monday 6th July 2020
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R*n 34 location

R*n 34 started from the On Inn - Barbon Inn, Barbon.

Who ran 34? - data up to & including this r*n

Hash HandleHareHoundTotal
No More Cum - Hare51419
P-dough - Hare246
Piggy Dough - Hare112
Cousin It11415
Fart Arse022
Forever Blowing62632
The Accused21618
Tight Arse044
Who's My Mum?077

Click the header columns to change the sort order


Sunday 26th May 2002 at 11:00am

DaytimeR*n 34 »


The morning sun shines from an azure sky, waves curl up into breakers and crash into pure white sparkling surf. It washes up onto the soft coral sand of the beach.  Fresh, ozone-scented air, carried on a gently breeze, caresses girls in the fresh bloom of youth, with flawless, well-contoured flesh. They laugh and giggle with men whose bodies are lean and bronzed from surfing and beach volley ball...

Meanwhile, Bubbles and Forever Blowing assemble the Lune Valley Hashers outside a pub in Barbon. 11 o'clock comes and goes without sight of the hares.  The landscape lies under a grey leaden cloud sheet. The sheet has a few punctures from which drops of water are leaking - a mere foretaste of pleasures to come.  Another 5 minutes and No More Cum appears, no sign of P-Dough though, probably died of exposure and left in a muddy ditch somewhere.

RA welcome virgin hashers Helen and Janet into the circle and the hash is sent off, the author being presented with a rucksack to collect empty cans from the refreshment stop.

Slackbladder and Tightarse have devised a new form of hashing, the ordinary form not being sufficiently challenging. The new form takes the form of running whilst carrying a baby. Against all common sense, the baby (Michael) appears contented and happy.

Anyway back to the hash, a veil (of water) clouds my mind as I try to remember some details. Ah yes... the grounds of the hall at the foot of Middleton Fell are full of people with guns shooting in all directions.  Modesty compels us to walk whilst in view of them. No doubt they thought us as bizarre as us them.

Up through the sylvan part of the Barbon valley, the rain increasing in intensity as we go on and emerge into the grassy uplands. A pointless check slows the leaders down with a trip straight up a steep hill with no sign of path. Back en-route, a meander into the river, and across to the road and another check.  Chicken disappears up a track opposite, not to be seen for a while. A trip up the road proves equally unedifying and so its Bubbles in the lead with Harry not on a lead.

Up hill again and the running has become walking. Do others ponder the question the meaning of life at such times too? At the top we pass a cave club hut as this is caving mecca. A huge coach is discharging hopefuls into the soggy landscape. Good luck, you won't catch me in a cave when so much water is pouring into the land.

The tail enders (Morticia and Cousin It) gain a march where the trail left the road and the front-runners have carried blindly on. A final climb takes us to the highest point of the day and the beer stop. Chicken, Bubbles, Slackbladder, WhoseMyMum are looking even more chilled than the refreshments when the rest catch up, Helen, Janet, Forever Blowing, Morticia, Cousin It.

So down we go, the path a fine roaring stream. Bubbles finds the first Rambo split and obliterates it. Lurch decides it has to be done, and finds it shorter than the Wimps split! A fine path keeps a line along the foot of the hills above us as we head back. We all ignore the second Rambo split and head back.

No More Cum passes in his BMW and enquires whether we're all right so we suggest he checks the tail-enders. He tells Morticia (who is still a mile away) that Barbon is only a few hundred yards away, and seeing as his car has supple white leather upholstery and Morticia has acquired a large, wet and smelly dog off Slackbladder (how?), returns only with Cousin It.  P-Dough is despatched instead and valiantly returns the missing hasher and smelly dog.

Somehow, no-one can find the enthusiasm to form a circle (is this a first?) and instead we change and test out the meat and potato pie in the pub, except for Chicken who is dragged kicking and screaming from his well-deserved heap of chips by his mother. Excellent beer, but soup and double chips looked the better options. Virgin hashers, remarkably, threaten to grace us with their company again. They will be most welcome!


Write up by Lurch

1st June 2002 at 5:53am