Dogs Bollocks and BH³

Foghorn ShutupWally Hashgate Baldrick Iceman Motox David from Australia John from N.Y. Glittertits PissQuick Ms. Whiplash Salome C5 Sue5 BGB Butterfly and dog Paddy Dumper Septic Ben HitchHiker Luke Lauren Smurf Spot DB2 TheBody Peter David Basil Nicky Doug JustJohn Chris Ross DaveBoy Bottom Roy Christophe HeadUpArse HardMan Laird Hedgehog CallGirl Bomber Posh Caboose Keith Spex Cheating Florence Zebedee TrainSpotter

The Reading Half Marathon – two weeks early!

Today we welcomed our friends from New York – ‘The Dog’s Bollocks’. Not perhaps the most American of names for the group but certainly one we could all feel at home with in a colloquial transatlantic sort of way. The DB’s were all wearing smart new T-shirts to commemorate their English visit and they all looked extremely clean unlike many of the mud-bespattered members of BH³. While we milled and circulated Lonely and Beaver appeared, the former wearing a natty pair of American flag style shorts with his upper body slung with green webbing and ammunition pouches full of flour bags. The overall effect, along with his (ahem) slim body was to make him look like a multicoloured twiglet. Lonely had obviously worked very hard on this trail for not only had he laid it all himself but he had produced leaflets for the DB’s entitled ‘Bluffer’s Guide to Historic Reading’. At numerically marked checks during the Hash the DB’s were to read out the described item of historic interest whereupon any BH³ Hasher in earshot was to comment dramatically, “Gee whizz! Ain’t that swell!” Which we did in the style of a cinematic check-trousered, cigar-chomping American tourist. Lonely pointed the On Out and we sped Readingwards via an historic concrete alley filled with litter and a dumped bed.

Running through The Oracle, Reading’s super-dooper shopping centre, was weird to say the least. Glittertits and BGB led off with a couple of DB’s who had no qualms about shouting “On On” behind frightened shoppers. Personally, I wouldn’t have done it in New York. God only knows what the shoppers had made of Lonely and Beaver a couple of hours earlier as one flung flour hither and thither and the other wee’d on various stanchions and sleeping tramps. Through The George (historic coaching inn). Over the historic stone bridge across the Kennet. And along that river by the not-so historic multi-storey car park, where Bottom and I made arses of ourselves (he found it easier to do than I…) by getting lost by the entrance when it was perfectly obvious that we were going over the footbridge. Still, this gave us a chance to meet again the short cutters (e.g. ShutupWally) and eager young scamps Luke and Lauren (hope I spelt that right!) who were chasing about like cats with their tails on fire. “Aren’t you puffed?” Queried HitchHiker in a caring sort of way. “Naff off missus.” Shot back the aforementioned scamps, knowing full well that they could tire her out any time they wanted.

We tarried in the Chapter House of the old, ruined abbey with C5, Zebedee and various DB’s. We viewed the stone tablet inscribed with reputedly the most superb canon ever written, named ‘Sver is ich menin’. A couple of the DB’s hummed it. It sounded curiously like ‘Waltzing Matilda’. But what do I know? I can’t read music.

We bashed on through the Forbury Gardens with the giant lion statue with its legs all wrong. Dumper and Spot gazed up at the beast in awe while Spex showed her commitment to municipal garden care by running across the grass! We wandered through The Forbury to the Town Hall where Zebedee pranced about on top of the descending toilet provided for the more p***ed of the populace late at night. I wondered what Queen Victoria thought about the fact that it was right behind her statue. “We are not amused.” I guess.

Bomber led us across our first bit of rough as we descended from the railway bridge but we quickly felt at home after a couple of yards led us back on to paving slabs and tarmac under the bridge which gave us a good ‘loudest echo’ competition opportunity before we careened off towards the lock where Foghorn and (I think) Spot got it entirely wrong. If only they’d read one of Lonely’s ‘Bluffer’s Guides’ they would have known exactly where to go. And this was along the Thames bank past his house which gave us a bit of a stretch of the legs. …And our opportunity to get it wrong despite the clearest trail-laying ever. I’m afraid this was rather due to over-zealousness on my part. But I was followed eagerly by Motox, Baldrick, C5 and the rest until it all went horribly wrong and Lonely had to call us back. He’s a nice chap, Lonely, and he smiled a lot even though you could see he really thought we were a bunch of sad gits who were just wasting his time. The trail split to Long and Short here and the Long ‘uns hurtled along the river bank until turned back by a bar check. Posh and Florence got it just right and turned off at the last blob when they heard us shouting “bar!” Nicely done, girls. This led Cheating, BGB, a DB and myself into the packed car park at Rivermead leisure Centre. Could we spot a blob? Could we Dogs Bollocks. Eventually, one appeared on the other side of the road and, having accidentally read the ‘Bluffer’s Guide’ and knowing where we were going, I altruistically sent my fellow DB towards Caversham Road, thinking that my sojourn round the industrial estate would end in a False. Not a bit of it. I’d sent the poor sod off in entirely the wrong direction as we whizzed round deserted buildings. Strangely enough, there was little of historic interest there and we tarried not. And yes, I did apologise to our transatlantic friend. From here we followed Cheating (until he got tired going uphill) and Bomber through little windy streets, finally ending up at the regroup at about 12:15! Bloody hell! The Long Trail was due to slip through the flood plain for another mile or so so. I’m afraid I sped off down the Short in order to go and watch Motormouth play football (I’d promised, after all) and the last I saw of the Hash (apart from GBH at the pub complaining that the checks had not been kicked through for the latecomers) was Septic who offered me a full-on snog at a kissing gate. As I said, I sped on… meeting only one more DB who was lost and circling the river near the pub like a spider trapped in an emptying bath. We exchanged pleasantries and he decided to continue circling so I bid him adieu and roared off to the pub and then to Henley.

A fearsomely long trail for some. Not quite Greenfly standards. But not far off. However, many thanks to Lonely and Beaver for all their hard work.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Consequently I missed the Down Downs. My thanks to C5 for this report :-

Excellent by both and a win for BH3

Lonely Beaver

Beaver supped noisily from his dogbowl to be followed by Lonely from the same. Well done both!

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