Every year, Cardiff H3 have their Summer Camp in some small corner of the Principality. Two years previously, the joint Portsmouth / Isle of Wight expedition had descended on the "Back to Basics" camp and had experienced possibly the best Small Hash Event ever, with a weekend of runs, beer, food, games, and topped off by an ascent to the 2350 ft summit of Ogod Ys Effyns Diep. Would such a memorable event be matched at Dysniland, Powys? - otherwise known as Llanidloes and birthplace of that famous son of Wales, GBH. One thing looked the same, anyway, as we crossed the Severn Bridge, we were greeted by a rising storm of black cloud.
We had left Portsmouth early in order to miss the afternoon Welsh rush hour (rounding up sheep on the M4?). As a result, the usual early pub stop was out and we took lunch to eat on the move. Our token Welshman, Ironballs, had jumped into the car clutching his kit together with the lunch that his wife had left in the fridge for him. After a few of Kanga's egg sarnie's, he brought out a large plastic Flora tub and offered "Anyone for a chicken leg?". At this point it was discovered, on internal inspection, that the large plastic Flora tub was actually full of a large amount of Flora - and we have yet to find out what Mrs I had on her toast the next morning! Staying with the sarnies, and ignoring the erroneous instructions relayed from Ironballs' mobile GPS, we reached the welcome way-point of Talybont for a pint or two of Banks' Bitter.
Now, Llanidloes is an old market town, characterised by a historic Market House in the middle of the central crossroads and not famous for much, apart from the birth of GBH. On each leg of the crossroads are some 3 or 4 pubs - most with a total lack of taste for good beer. "We've got some lovely Worthington on for you" was the normal warm, but tasteless welcome. Thus we progressed for an evening Seriously Social around town in 3-legged fashion - the live trail becoming increasingly complex due to lack of any significant route choice. In the end, our lot checked out the chippy and sat under the Market House until the final lock-in was identified by GBH ("Did I tell you I was born here?").
On Saturday, the run was Seriously Sporting as Nail led us up a beautiful Welsh valley for picnic lunch at the local reservoir. This was the scenery that we'd come for and he didn't let us down. Fields, woods, rivers, leading finally up to moorland where we picnicked by a tumbling stream.
Now a bit about Welsh culture. That afternoon, Wales thrashed South Africa at rugby and the Sons were all sat there in Llanidloes football club watching it on the Welsh channel - in Welsh of course. "What are they saying?" I enquired of one of the locals. "No idea, Boyo" came the reply, "it's all in Welsh." Which rather supported my theory that perhaps all this Welsh stuff is just a show put on for the tourists. And again, take local places like 'Dol-Llys Farm' for example (the genetically modified sheep connection was not hard to spot) and 'Ty Coch' (that sounds more like a Dogbolter party trick than a real place).
The evening games were hilarious as we finished off the hash beer, scoffed the Easy Squeezy, Cheesy Peas (a bit heavy on the Stilton) with Nail demonstrating his amazing flexibility in the floor games and later in the naked cartwheeling competition.
We got up for yet another good greasy breakfast (Full Welsh Breakfast?), and then once more off for Phallus and OddJob's Hangover Run - memorable for a first class demonstration that there are no rules in Hashing - only XAmathus rules. Ever heard of the 180degree check and the flour that wasn't there when you checked but appeared as the on-on was called?
Attended mostly by Cardiff and Mountin Sheep locals with visitors from Bristol Greyhounds, Xystus,Donnington,East Grinstead, GBH (look you, there's the house I was born in) and us, this was all-in-all a very satisfying weekend, even to the one occasion when I awoke from my afternoon slumbers to find the Hash Circle around my tent.
Honours go to Teasemaid,Bo,B'Day and the rest of the dis-organisers for a first class welcome in the hillsides. And to Berks, who were supposed to come, but didn't, goes a copy of the Worthington Good Welsh Beer Guide.
