Run Details

Burns hash - please register early!

#2450 White Hart, Henfield – Burns hash: On nights like this the hash itself is almost incidental to what comes after but arriving at the pub, we learned that Scottie Pat had experienced a trying week so On On Don hadn’t prepared her or himself for the addresses. Ride-It, Baby quickly stepped up to do the lassies response, as Prince Crashpian led us outside for a number of awful Scottish jokes before sending us off to the first check on Furners Lane. Trail was north on London Road and through a couple more checks to a footpath on the left for PC’s sales pitch for the forthcoming new builds and the first mud of the evening. Fiddling round the Deer Park estate, real mud was then encountered after the sports field as we crossed the Downs Link heading west then south towards Stonepit Lane. PC’s sweeper co-hare Slash Gordon had been keeping me company at the rear until now but, realising RiB needed something to respond to, I persuaded Bathe-It, Daily to take on the Address to the Lassies, and he set about the task with gusto and Google mid-run! A 2nd FH was met here, but not much action taking place with age and infirmity drop outs, leaving myself to drag Fukarwe back to SG. And on we went, West End Lane (some debate about station or Upper Station Road!), Lawyers Lane (I missed the joke with Rebels query here!), Hollands Lane and even shiggier shiggy, before we hit solid ground again on Lower Station Road. Gromit was very excited about Grommets, actually late hasher Sid Wells business now being run by his daughter Jo. The inevitable twittens led us to the inevitable and excellent whisky (or Harveys) stop with some very nice flapjacks and shortbread before the on inn along Church Street.

As we settled with brimming cups, PC continued the bad jokes revealing that they’d been pinched from his panto, and Rebel WHK recited a hash/ Scottish effort he’d managed to squeeze out of ChatGPT after a lot of prompting, encouragement and rejecting of 30 or so rubbish efforts:

Here’s tae the Hash — ill-bred an’ loud, Aff trail, aff pace, but alwa' proud;
We sweat, we swear, we drink too fast, An’ still crawl hame — no’ first, but last.
The hills are bare, the glens are wide, The heather parts with gentle pride;
What enters there needs nae debate — For Scotland seldom shuts the gate.

PC then introduced Scottie Pat who gave us the Selkirk Grace, following which I informed the room that (as of St. Andrews Day 30th November 2025) the Scottish dialect has now been officially recognised as a language in its own right, and so a book of translations was available for anyone struggling to comprehend the broader accents present this evening. Slash Gordon on the accordion played in the haggis to “Highland Laddie” before toasting chef Lorna who gamely necked a dram. This was followed with the traditional address by SG slashing as only he knows how, assisted by Beat the Barman and Local Knowledge in cameo roles (check out Whose Shout’s videos on Facebook!). As the food was brought out PC then gave a Trump twist on the old Burns Unit joke* and: “There was a man whose name was Lang/And he had a neon sign/Now Mr. Lang was pretty old/So they called it Old Lang's Sign”

Proceedings were interrupted for the circle up with thanks to the hares PC & SG, followed by shaming of those who hadn’t entered into the spirit by not wearing tartan: Gromit, Wilds Thing, Spreadsheet and Whose Shout. On On Don had redeemed himself for the après but came up anyway to neck his drivers water while WT sank his own whisky to All Australians as they’d gone south on the dress code! The inevitable FH downers went to Fukarwe for cheating by running back 10 feet and puffing his way back (as well as turning up with his trackies inside out!), while Angel and Rebel had both pleaded injury. SG was back up to join them, downing to Donald Where’s Yer Troosers, for being baffled on his own trail, and denying that haggis were real (there was even an allusion to the similarly confused Meerkat being a relation of the haggis!) Penultimately, thanks went to Bathe-it Daily and Ride-It, Baby for stepping in at the last minute, but also the former for demonstrating with his mechanical sporran lifter that, indeed, nothing was worn under HIS kilt (all in perfect working order), while the latter had moaned about marks on the left forgetting that, had she not been returning from going wrong, the same marks were actually on the right. And finally, one last beer went to PC in gratitude for pulling the evening together.

Getting back on track, BID gave a good account of his appreciation of the lasses centred around Burns’ My Love is Like A Red Red Rose, and RIB responded well, with reasons why it’s great to be a woman*, and a very apt take down of red red rose among several other verses*. This was followed by a reprisal of To A Penis* (allegedly Burns but probably not!), followed by an extract from QI on Scotland* by YT. SG was back in the chair again to recite Wee Cock Sparrer* as song sheets were passed around for us all to join in Mull of Kintyre (the hash version Irian Jaya* being summarily dismissed!); Wild Mountain Thyme; and a rousing Tatties and Herring. That prompted myself to recall the Jeely Piece Song* to the tune of You Cannae Throw Your Granny Aff the Bus (cos she is yer Mammy’s mammy), and another great Burns hash evening was rounded off with us all joining up for Auld Lang Syne. - Bouncer

* this already being an overlong review, these entertaining bits will appear in full in the February Trash along with more photos.