Keir Royale

It was a week before Glastonbury weekend, and we still found ourselves packing up a damp tent in the gaps between heavy showers.

It certainly doesn’t seem like a year has passed since we last risked Dartmoor under canvas.
Loyal, long term readers will remember previous shots of dripping Gazebos and leaking cagoules.

This year the rain was less persistent, but just as wet when it did come.

I speak, of course, of the annual TVH3 Hash Camp at the River Dart Park.

The organisers are pitiless.
The weekend involved orienteering (in the rain) a communal BBQ (not in the rain) and small pockets here and there set aside for sitting around drinking tea/coffee/beer/wine with friends while the children disappeared into the green yonder in a yowling gang.

But even the very smallest people did not escape the wet ‘n active theme of the weekend.

There was a kids’ hash on Sunday morning, in which the resilient youngsters followed a trail across streams (”Never use a bridge when a stream will do” being the Hashers’ number one rule) down slippery wet steps and into a murky lake to get their just rewards, courtesy of Haribo.

As he chewed enthusiastically, Ben shivered and commented -

“Why do I always end up frozen after a hash weekend?”

A fair question, and one that I can only answer with words like Dartmoor, precipitation, masochistic and mad.

It was a little harder to get there this year, what with the English Channel getting in the way, and the journey involved late arrivals and early departures.

But despite the occasional downpour, it was (in the children’s words) BRILLIANT!

And not only did the girls win the tug of war (with a little help from me), but I also managed a quick foray into Ashburton for a bit of impromptu bag purchasing.

It’s for work, you understand, but it does have lots of pockets and secret compartments.
And it fits into the box on the back of my scooter.

Well worth another wet weekend in Devon.

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