The previous Hash weather was perfect, this Hash weather was even better, with the sun on max and air-con on comfortable.
The Christians in Holy Trinity were quietly celebrating Palm Sunday and The Blackdown Clay Pigeon shoot at Schoolhouse Farm was in full swing as we observed the preliminary rituals. Hairbrush introduced Hash-Virgin Lisa from Down-Under who is on a world tour of cultural highlights, and welcomed back Head Boy from Haslemere HHH.
After the usual list of anniversary events Canman stepped forward, riding crop in hand (you WILL! listen), and waxed lyrical about the church and local flora and fauna until he could no longer read his handwriting, at which point we took the opportunity to rush off east towards The Hoe, just as Mussolini arrived, late as usual.
Easy going to start, except for spotting real flour amongst the bright dappled forest floor, so we were soon well spread out. This was rectified by an early fish hook that snagged Flash, Panda, Sinbad, Mussolini, Pink Flamingo and Canman.
With Head Boy out in front we turned south east and got badly lost in the boggy valley south of The Hoe, some finding the true trail through the shiggy while others overran the falsies to cross the nice dry footbridge, something that Splasher seemed to resent as he stood there in his soggy trainers using language befitting a Hasher.
Then out of the blue, another fish hook, this time it was Old Faithful, Flash, Pink Flamingo and Prancer that were caught.
The going became decidedly challenging as we turned south west into a valley that has been carved up by a mighty tree harvester, with a falsie up one of the stump strewn slopes providing some amusement for those not involved.
Next it was due west into Willand Wood and out onto the road at the sharp bend where we had a short unofficial regroup while no one could find where to next? We would have still been there now if the hares had not given someone a nod in the direction of Swedes Copse, starting by clambering up the embankment and into the undergrowth.
It is said that Britain has almost half of all the Bluebells in the world, and we might have trampled a good portion of them as we meandered in the copse following Spiderman, heading north to re-emerge on the road and reach a check on the cricket pitch.
A short tour round the boundary was followed by everyone watching Prancer head off towards Colhook Farm, stop, make hand gestures towards his audience and return, mumbling as usual.
We were now within spitting distance of the Chariots, although not obviously, except to Mussolini who charged off on his own On-In, leaving the rest to take the official route, reaching the church after one hour and five minutes of idyllic hashing.
Panda, Vixen and Flash were summoned to The Circle to account for themselves. Panda had displayed too much shoe pride and Flash was accused of using a van chariot as a tax dodge, while Vixen was given the Hash-It for Facebooking snaps of her non sailing "Sailing" holiday.
Notice that Two Ferrets Fighting still has a plastered paw, but don't worry she is having it off on Thursday.
Then we braved the Petworth traffic jam to get to The Cricketers in Duncton where we wetted our whistles on the decking.