Run Number:

1340 28/07/03

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The Swan Inn



Those Who Should Have Known Better

Potty Nutcracker Hashgate PartyAnimal John Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Steve ShutupWally Handful Baldrick TinOpener SkyDiver Motox Cap’n Haystax Muff PissQuick Cerberus Premature and dog Molly Caboose Itsyor Fiddler OldFart Cheating KnackerCatcher Foghorn Spot HitchHiker Spex Dribbler Butterfly and dog Paddy FlourPower Twanky Ben Florence Zebedee Judith Lonely and dog Beaver… and Flash; but only after we had finished and it was dark!

There’ll Be A Long, Long Trail A’Winding…

Congratulations to Lonely and Zebedee (oh, and me) for completing the Summer Tough Guy this Sunday. Despite arriving/starting twenty minutes late after the other 1200 competitors we managed to forge through to finish in the first 300 (Lonely – showing off) and the first 400 (Zeb and me – just strolling along). While there, we bumped into a group of over 30 other Hashers from places like Swansea and Guildford, one of whom was Foghorn’s daughter, NipponTuck. It was the usual excellently organised, extremely friendly, truly sporting event with the best deep shiggy you will ever be in. I heartily recommend it. Check it out at and come with us next year!

The Swan (here’s one below that I prepared earlier) turned out to be a nice, tranquil pub in a delightful country setting even though some people had difficulty finding it. I passed TT2 going away from the pub as I tooled towards it. I guess we should have observed the omens and stayed in the pub rather than run the Hash. The sky was a mass of angry, billowing grey cloud. Cap’n Haystax informed us that there were severe weather warnings. It was fairly cold. And ShutupWally was already in the car park. Luckily, Handful arrived in her Vauxhall Teabag to brighten proceedings. Her reversing into a very large space was a delight to watch – people were bringing out deckchairs and polite ripples of applause sounded as she stalled two or three times. Then honked the horn accidentally at least twice. Cries of “Encore!” shrilled as she stepped embarrassedly from the car. Still (he wrote sexistly) with a pair of legs like those you can get away with anything and if MacDonalds shaped their buns like hers I’d be the first to sink my teeth into a big Mac. I am not, of course, saying there are not plenty of other nice legs and buns in BH3. Some of them are are even owned by the ladies…

You can tell I’m avoiding writing about the Hash can’t you? I guess I’m trying to blank out the sheer horror of the night. We should have known what was to befall us because Centaur and Dwight were the Hares. They run 20 miles before breakfast then try and figure out what to do for exercise for the rest of the day. Part of our experience involved staggering to the top of Combe Gibbet in the sideways rain at nearly 9 o’clock to find Cheating standing at the Regroup. There was mutiny afoot and some severe muttering from Caboose, OldFart and Motox to name just a few. And believe it or not, we had taken the Short trail to the top of the hill! Some poor sods, Zebedee (Tough Guy competitor the day before) had gone way down the lane on the Long.

However, to start with we trotted (some of us quite slowly) up the hill from the car park. Cerberus was maundering on about how she had run 13 miles on Sunday but I was too knackered to get away so let her rabbit on. There were some interesting Falses and unexpected direction changes early on and Premature,Fiddler and Baldrick were caught out a number of times. We slapped along a reasonable length of tarmac as the rain began to fall and almost everyone followed Motox into a field with no flour for no good reason at all. They were obviously impressed by his trail-wise air despite the fact that he too had no idea where to go. A foresty bit got everyone confused. Which was followed by a wide open football field that did the same. Spot found a check in the corner of it and disappeared down a woodland trail, closely followed by Muff, John and myself. It was a nice trail. Not the one we wanted; but a pleasant run for all that. Then we got to field containing a stroppy young bull and a bunch of (I believe) youthful heifers. Itsyor decided to leap from the closet (as it were) and chase one but she was a bit fast for him and he retired for a sulk. Premature and I were accompanying Cerberus across the field when the bull decided to do a bit of stamping and snorting at her. Premature and I did the decent thing and scurried off quickly to the fence, leaving Cerberus to face half a ton of pumped up hoof and muscle. “It’s all right.” Said Premature breathlessly as we slipped over the fence and looked back. “She’s an experienced cow…” He bent to pat Molly the dog. “…handler.” Farmer’s daughter, you see. Knows how to handle anything with a horn. It was certainly a sight to see. Although Cerberus was not wearing the ‘suit of lights’ she gave a fair impression of a top-class matador. Down on one knee and planting a flower behind its ear as it thundered past. After any number of “Olés!” she tired of the beast and walked haughtily away, her back to it, trailing a T-shirt behind her. Fantastico!

Spot and I followed KnackerCatcher as we swept rapidly through a leg-whacking beanfield. Muff, Caboose, Spot, Zebedee, Foghorn et al turned left along the road. Then turned back and went the other way. Many uneven fields followed, strewn with well-hidden ankle-turning flints. We eventually all ran up a long, long, winding road to the top of the hill. Where we promptly came off the road and back down the grassy bit to a point way down the bottom where we (guess what?) went back up the bloody thing again to see a grinning Dwight pointing us towards the Gibbet. And so it was I found myself in the company of Caboose as we staggered up the rough track on the Short (!) trail to the Regroup. Florence and Handful, Foghorn and Baldrick appeared. The general consensus was: it’s getting dark, raining, not warm and we’ve had enough. Let’s get the hell back to the damn pub. Luckily, we picked up the trail on the calm leeward side of the steep meadow and ski’d down the slippery grass. Foghorn’s comment from behind, “If I fall I’ll take the lot of you with me.” helped speed us on quite a bit. The flour disappeared but we cruised rapidly on after Fiddler and Skydiver, finally finding a small flour arrow pointing right when we hit a small road. A road sign read ‘Inkpen’. “Thank *** for that.” quoth our small group and raced the last bit back to the pub in a very relieved manner.

As ever, we are grateful to our volunteer Hares for giving up two solid days beforehand to lay this trail among the fine countryside. No doubt if they applied to the Committee a grant would be forthcoming to enable them to replace the running shoes they wore out in the process…
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

The night was upon us. It was rainy and cold. We were all knackered. RA Motox presented the following in a speedy and efficient manner:-



Style points




Sportingly letting bushes flick back in Mr Blobby’s face.
Conning his friend John to come on “a short run”.
Being dressed like a “tart”.

Rather surprisingly, PartyAnimal got there first. Perhaps he practises more than the others.


Tonight’s virgin

Fast and smooth. Nary a whimper – just like a good virgin


Because Zeb was too poor to buy her a meal

Another stunning exhibition

Dwight, Centaur

The Hares

Damn nearly a dead heat

Up and Coming

Run Number


Grid Reference






Buttermere (park at roadside)
OnOn to The Jack Russell at Faccombe GR391580

(what a mixture!!)




The Mill House, Thatcham
* It’s Potty’s birthday! *