Run Number:

1317 16/02/03

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The Lamb
Enborne Road


Dumper & C5

Vamps and Tramps

Iceman Foghorn Chopstix Hashgate Miranda and dog Emma TinOpener Lemming MotherTheresa Spot Glittertits Pissquick Honeymonster HitchHikerSeptic Uplift Potty Nutty Cheating Baldrick Cap’n Haystax ShutupWally Skydiver GBH Charlie Flash and his entire family Centaur Lonely and dog beaver Judith Effin SlowSucker Zebedee Florence

The Red Dress Run

After the Hash, Judith came over to me looking a tad worried. “Do you know.” She said. “Most of the men here are enjoying wearing women’s clothing!” I looked over her shoulder at her swain, Lonely, who was idly adjusting the shoulder strap on his long, flouncy red dress. This was Judith’s first Red Dress Run and, of course, the poor girl hadn’t known what to expect. This is the time of year many BH3 blokes look forward to. Charity shops are scoured eagerly for a nice little outfit – “It’s for the wife.” They bluster. Others are caught by an incredulous partner while fingering the scarlet organza number hanging in the wardrobe. Others, such as Lemming, are a little more blatant. He bounds into the bedroom one morning wearing naught but Mother Theresa’s black lace drawers demanding, “Does my willy look big in this?” Sadly, he’s always been disappointed with her answer. So there we were on a freezing cold morning watching Iceman blow up the balloons to stuff in his frock. Frightening really. Not perhaps as frightening as Dumper in full plum-coloured ballgown with black afro wig and tiara. Or C5 in a red kaftan and a blonde wig that kept filling his mouth with nylon hairs. Or Glittertits with his glittery tits T-shirt and slit-sided skirt that showed off (gulp) the black fishnet stockings. Baldrick looked very mumsy in twin-set and brown wig and TinOpener wore a very smart, calf-length skirt. According to Miranda, he had decided against the warm, woolly brown tights she had looked out for him. Understandably really; he wouldn’t want to look like a big wooftah. Potty was suitably frightening in long red dress with wrap-around sunshades and a shiny black-haired wig with a smooth ponytail. With his Brummy accent he looked and sounded like Ozzy Osbourne in drag. I was expecting him at any moment to shout “’Ere Sharon. Ow’d yer werk this fe**ing tv!?” A ‘well done’ to two ladies – Chopstix and Uplift – who had cunningly fashioned dresses out of large black binbags and stuck foil and hearts thereon. I thought at the time that Chopstix couldn’t be accused of wearing her heart on her sleeve since it was actually on her bum. It was a very large heart… Mother Theresa and Lemming had obviously worked hard too, with long, stripy knee socks, hearts made out of foil pie dishes and more hearts bouncing on springy alice bands. I must also commend Effin who was brave enough to run round the town wearing red nylon knickers over her tracksuit bottoms.

We did not hang around at the On Out. It was bloomin’ cold and our dainty hands were frozen. The chilly wind was blowing up dresses and down décolletages. Our first sojourn took us into town where I managed to frighten a lady on a bike while checking on my own. The look on her face was similar to many we experienced. Puzzlement, amazement, disgust, amusement… attraction? It was noticeable that the likes of Zebedee (red tights, dress, blonde wig, clutch bag) and Centaur (skirt, top, woolly hat) who are normally well out in front kept well within the pack today. Similarly, Effin, Nutty, Flash et al were running like bu**ery so as not to be left behind. Very wise, since the Hares circled and spun us round Newbury town centre with an intricate trail that included checks, two-way checks, bars, one blob and on checks. You name it, it was there. This confused the newer people somewhat and Matt, Delia and Flash(not so new) were all guilty of running over a bar. “We thought we’d take a short cut.” They wailed. ShutupWally, of course, was not happy with the one-blob checks and continued to bore everyone stupid with endless moaning until Septic and Nutcracker finally shut him up, the latter with a vehement and effective repetition of the word b***ocks. Nicely done.

We reached the beer stop just as GBH appeared, running ahead of us by the canal, and trying to look knackered. Come to think of it, he was and he’d only run ten yards. Florence used the time by blowing up two fair sized balloons and giving herself a chest to rival Jordan after a deep breath in. Foghorn could not resist and rushed over in his dress and Rod Stewart wig to assist their placement. Florence seemed pleased with the result despite knowing that if a shoelace became untied she would never be able to see it to tie it up again. It was certainly the cheapest and least intrusive boob-job ever and she jogg(l)ed off, secure in the knowledge that if she fell over forwards she would be back on her feet in a trice. The trail split to Long and Short by the playground and skate park (thanks very much Hares!) where we were a) eyed as potential perverts by the parents of small children and, b) roundly abused by spotty teenagers practising their Ollies. After a bit of a troop round the park we came across the public loos. Not wanting to miss out Florence whipped into the Ladies and Iceman, Motox, Potty, TinOpener and I (after a brief discussion on which we should use) minced into the Gents. Thank God no policeman or park warden came in to see three ladies with hairy legs and raised skirts standing at the urinal!

We hurtled back into the centre of town, following Spot, to the delight of the Sunday morning shoppers and their wide-eyed kids. You could just imagine the parents bending down to their kids after we had passed saying, “Now that’s the sort of person you should never talk to when Mummy’s not around.” We came to a large bar/arrow and stopped, trying to puzzle it out. Dumper arrived with a swishing of material. “You can ignore that.” He said airily. ‘Ta very much.’ We thought and scooted after the disappearing Spot. This was where Skydiver and I got it completely wrong by gasping up the tarmac hills towards the false, then coming all the way back down when we could have stayed by it and watched as everyone struggled up the grassy hill towards us. So we ended up doing a massive loop and struggled up the blasted grassy hill where Centaur, Motox, Zebedee and Charlie all lost the trail at the top. Guess what? It came right back down again to where C5 was being choked by his murderous wig. We passed a football team in the park who gave us several wolf whistles and unusual anatomical suggestions before pacing onwards and catching up with Chopstix and Uplift who went over a steep canal bridge to a one-blob check. This last bit through the narrow streets had us going all over the place so Centaur and I paced it very sensibly until we saw HitchHiker telling off Spot for not opening his car door fast enough and knew we were back at the pub.

A teasing town trail from our ‘Queens for the day’. Thankyou ladies. It was great fun.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Suitably dressed RA Motox presented the following :-



Style points

Dumper – presented with a bouqet of roses

Picked as ‘Today’s Tart’ from Dumper, Lonely, C5, Zebedee, Iceman, Foghorn & Potty

Very fine effort from the old Queen who is still recovering from a cold


His big birthday

It took him 5 minutes to down the 2 pint glass. Not surprising really!


Arriving lost and very late

Slightly better than usual


An impressive boob-job

Swift and sure


Attracting a whole football team

Went down a treat. And the drink.

The Flash family

Virgins all

As good as Flash…


Got picked on for (not) rubbing out the last check

Swiftly downed in the cold air

C5, Dumper

The Harettes

One swiftly and one with style

Up and Coming

Run Number


Grid Reference






The Black Horse, Checkendon

Bomber, Posh




The Restoration
Oxford Road, reading