L2H3 hashing in CornwallLooe & Liskeard Hash House Harriers
Cornwall UK
Cornish flagLooe & Liskeard Hash House Harriers


after fumy London - always such a joy

thoughts from a visiting hasher


hashingI think last night was my fifth time out with Looe and Liskeard Hash House Harriers. Every time I come down to Cornwall to stay with the Sneyds, I find myself impelled by some force far stronger than my own weak will, to put on my trainers and trot out into the countryside. I know I will love it once I start, but my awful townie reluctance used to kick in to begin with. I wanted to flop, believing that to be the way to relax.

No longer. After four hours on a train, and far away from deadlines, demanding clients and all the other nonsense of urban life, it’s just the ticket. We gathered in a random woodland clearing, with ash trees bound in ivy looming above us as if they might at any moment start to move purposefully down the hill, like the sentient trees in Narnia. Then we were off, no time for talk, just walk. One day I will break into a run. Soon we were climbing up and up slate steps, knowing the view from the top would be worth it. I felt quite proud of my townie dust-lined lungs for not wheezing, burning and rasping with the effort.


Highlights this year included in no particular order,  the sweetly nude ewes – clearly so pleased to be relieved of their daggy great woolly overcoats, the fresh, varied and green scents of woods, the river, clean mud in the air (after fumy London always such a joy), and most of all the Highland coos (that’s how you are meant to pronounce it – KOOOOs). Standing against the green all facing one way like cave paintings, with wide, graceful horns and in varied shades of beige, golden brown and almost auburn, they are an atavistic treat to the eye.

As usual, I had no idea what was going on. Ignorance is bliss as I stump along in the wake of fit-looking people in anything from tight lycra to voluminous T-shirts, resplendent with completely obscure acronyms, symbols and images as arcane as urban gangs but much more friendly. I think the little piles of sawdust mean something, the sinister rings, the strange ritual cries of On On must have some significance to this friendly tribe, but what I cannot tell you. It is my duty merely to follow and obey, and end up in a pub at the other end. Swallowing cold cider is always a joy, and goodness do I sleep well. It is immensely refreshing just to give up control of my actions, and go with the flow for a change.


Hashing is the perfect outing for me. Countryside, animals, kind friendly people who don’t demand that I talk much or perform, fresh air, sunshine, hills and woods. It is pure happiness to go out with the Looe and Liskeard Hash House Harriers and all reluctance has long since fallen away. There is nothing else quite like it in my life.


by Josa


Run 2152 on July 24th 2017 at Newbridge




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