Run Number:

1321 16/03/03

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The Eversley Cross Eversley Cross!



The Eversley Brothers… and Sisters

Foghorn Lemming Mother Theresa Hashgate Shirl Uptake Ms. Whiplash Iceman Potty Nuttcracker Bev Honeymonster ShutupWally The Tremblers Danish Uplift Spot HitchHiker Glittertits PissQuick SlipperyNipple Effing TinOpener Bomber Posh Motox Keith SlipperyDick PussiesGalore Baldrick LeVoisin Pinky BGB Lonely and Beaver the dog Judith PartyAnimal Angela Sean Cloggs Kevin (time he was named!) Zebedee Florence …and much later C(the Gimp)5

A Run Down The Frog and Toad

Consider if you will, the humble toad. Perhaps not one of the Lord’s more beautiful creations. Horned, warty or poisonous they all have one thing in common. In the cold of winter they hide. Not one web-footed leg do we see during the cold; not one croak can be heard. Then, come the warmth of Spring, the damn things are everywhere. Leaping from one lilypad to another and catching flies with throaty grunts designed to attract attention. Not so today’s pub. All winter it has proclaimed itself ‘The Toad and Stumps’, aggressively marketing its amphibian qualities. As soon as BH3 decide to hold a Hash there in the lovely Spring sunshine, the bugger changes its name and cloaks (no, not ‘croaks’ unless you are of Oriental persuasion) itself in secrecy. This may have been a cunning ploy by the Hares to ensure that people were so relieved at finally having found the pub that they wouldn’t notice just how lost they got on the trail…

It was extremely nice to see Bev and Danish after a too long lay off. Perhaps they could give ShutupWally a few tips on how to stay away from BH3 for months on end? Uptake returned also with new girl Shirl sitting astride his throbbing monster (it was a Kawasaki) and PussiesGalore purred up in her car.

Before we carry on I must thank Baldrick for writing last week’s Gobsheet at short notice and supplying some pictures of the hardcore Hashers who made up the numbers.

Baldrick and Potty led the way out, as indicated by Itsyor, eagerly like hounds on the trail. Until we found no flour. It was only after a bit of a scout round we found an arrow pointing us up the lane. Kevin and I made it our business to find the first long False. Then I found the second, thus ensuring the rest of the pack were bloody miles away – apart from Judith and Pinky, who were running towards me. Confused? Well I certainly was. It took a fair bit of running to catch up with Honeymonster who had lucked out at a check. It’s an odd area, Eversley. Bits of it are truly rural. Others newly built up. So after running through an estate we were out in the country and pasting down a superb, shiggy-filled track with no-one else around. The Hares trail-laying method became very obvious down here. Lay virtually nothing for miles and just as the luckless checker is about to turn back whack down hundreds of blobs. I assumed that since this track ran for miles between two roads Itsyor had packed off son Fiddler down it, loaded like a mule with sacks of flour, then driven round to the other end in air-conditioned luxury to await the sweating youth. Imagine the scene – Fiddler staggers out of the muck and biscuits towards the car. The electric window rolls down. “Well done, son. Now then. Mind that mud on the paintwork. Just lay the next mile or so round the estate will you? Exercise will do you good. Off you go old boy.” Itsyor blinks back a tear as the lad totters off. “Chip off the old block.” He whispers with pride, before engaging the gears and pulling smoothly away.

We reached a lake with mad jet ski people on it whirling round like aquatic Dervishes and frightening all the moorhens. Danish, Mrs trembler and HitchHiker appeared ahead, the latter stepping nimbly in order to avoid the sticky bits. I’m sure a mountain goat could not have done it better though there the similarity ends since HitchHiker has a much nicer bum and won’t eat your trousers (unless you ask her nicely). Zeb and Foghorn managed to completely screw this bit up by not being able to see the white flour blobs on the fence posts. But they eventually followed Spot and we streamed inexorably to the Regroup where ‘RG’ had been carefully hidden on the other side of the bridge. We tarried awhile in the hot sunshine, attracting hordes of flies and watching Uptake encouraging Beaver to drown himself in the stream. A lady walked by wearing a jacket covered with images of sheep. This would have made an excellent BH3 coat but I guess we were all too shy to ask her where she had bought it. We On Outed again gratefully, leaving the flies behind, and Bev and I followed Foghorn through a hedge and up a grassy mound. A fine sight met our eyes. For miles the plain had been hollowed out and vast heaps of excavated earth piled up by the sides. Bev and I discussed earnestly how we could tunnel into the largest, inter ShutupWally, then back out again before encouraging a general landslide in that particular area. It took us a while to get back to the road and we popped out through the hedge in a somewhat dishevelled and breathless state in front of Trembler. Unfortunately, he got entirely the wrong end of the stick and virtually accused us of hillside humping. I left him to his fantasies and was rewarded with the sight of Foghorn tripping over a rather obvious road hump by a field containing a) a carthorse b) a donkey, and c) a Shetland pony. b) and c) were behaving themselves but a), having spotted Foghorn’s stumble was, quite literally, crapping itself laughing horsely. It was lucky that the rest of us were just highly amused.

Somehow the Short trailers had got ahead of us again and we caught up with the strongly showing Shirl in a field stiff with frost below the surface, pock marked with hoof holes and was slippery wet. Although most of us went round the edge Shirl decided on the short cut along with Motox, Uptake and BGB and they slid and slithered through the mess. Sadly, none of ‘em fell over. All of a sudden the ‘On Inn’ appeared and Florence (a true Grizzly girl – well done to all who did it, by the way) snorted “Hmmph! I feel like I want to go round again.” Well, it was a little shorter than some we have done recently but that’s no bad thing. It is a Hash, after all. And it was lovely to run amongst the spring flowers on a warm morning. Thankyou Itsyor and Fiddler – it was a job well done.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-



Style points


Presented by Lemming, who had innaccurately been reported in the Gobsheet as the person who said Foghorn’s wife looked like his mum. It was actually Hashgate who said it.

Not bad at all for once.
(The editorial staff member who made this terrible misrepresentation has been severely reprimanded)


Getting a wobbly legover Spot

Quite reasonable


Today’s virgin

Jumped the starting tape and fell at the water jump


New shoes!

A fine Asics slurp


Turning up despite being ‘injured’

Obviously it wasn’t his throat that was injured

Cloggs & Kevin

Canoodling in the circle

A fine ‘bums together, hands held’ effort by Kevin and an excellent sweeping throw by Cloggs



Trying the Long Trail and deciding not to bother.
Returning after her absence.

Good effort by both with Pissquick just edging it


The Hares

Amazingly, Dad downed it fastest!

Up and Coming

Run Number


Grid Reference






The Dew Drop Inn
Honey Lane, Ashley Hill





The George, Holyport

Honeymonster, C5