RIDE no :: Nash Bash#4
Sat 20th July High Lodge, Thetford Forest
Hares:: MrBossy, Eliott & Mummy’sBoy
So it was that with consultation with Gobbler we planned our summer sojourn to this sceptred Isle to coincide with biennial festivities known as Nash Bash. On the first eve, as I dined heartily on Far Eastern delights, I was approached by a rotund jovial chap, by the name of Bossy who cordially invited me to write a report on the following days events.
It all began very well, with a fine breakfast, and the three hares long gone into the woods to spin their web of mystery in blobs of flour. Our leader, TalkingBollocks, assembled the masses, and after a vast amount of bollocks had been spake, the pack of over 50 strong-hearted bashers galloped off into the woods.
The morning’ s ride was spent meandering through the forest, idly seeking blobs of flour, far from the maddening din of the Iron beast, left and right the packed searched with much calling, and good-hearted merryment. Just as people were getting thirsty, we chanced upon a hostelry, and as the landlord served us one by one, the heavens kindly watered our steeds.
Refreshed, the pack charged on, appetites whetted with the mention of single track, or perhaps the thought of lunch. In the depths of the forest the Black Run was found and brave knights demonstrated their time-honoured skills, of riding fast, and falling off. So after some gnashing of teeth and gnurling of gears, we arrived upon a clearing in the undergrowth designated as the lunch stop. Awaiting us was a veritable feast prepared by the finest cooks in the land Neil and Debbie. We feasted heartily on fish, foul and ox and quenched our thirst with the brew of Red Beard of Milton.
A brief respite as the pack dozed in the summer sunshine, dreaming of endless downhill, and constant tailwinds before the revallier call of Umpelbore. Off again into the woods once more, and again the skies opened and the heavens roared, but this valiant bunch was not disheartened and they stuck to their task seeking blobs hither and thither. The end came as sure it would, a gallant sprint by four brave knights, and taken on the final bend by the local champion.
Many happy riders reunited to form the ritual circle as TalkingBollocks bestowed his favours on those who had bashed well, and chastised those who had sinned. Despite an unfortunate incident where one rogue knave failed to accept his penance with dignity, the circle was completed, with an incongruously large amount of bollocks.
The evening was rounded off with much merrymaking and jollification, as the Maidens danced to the sounds of Crabb the Younger’s Disco their Menfolk imbibed more of Red Beard’s potions, and told tall stories of bygone feats of daring.
On!On!
SoftKnob
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