Run Number:

1345 01/09/03

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Fox & Hounds
Farley Hill


Glittertits & Spex
(and Bob)

One or Two Foxes and Some Right Hounds

Dwight(who whinged about being left out of last week’s list) Muff Cheating Baldrick 2Bob PartyAnimal Hashgate Spot HitchHiker CloggsBomber Posh Ladybird Cap’n Haystax DutchCap OldFart HoneyMonster Gutbucket Dumper Hotlegs Potty Nutcracker HeyBabe Chopstix Foghorn SlipperyDick Motox Steve Lucy Ms. Whiplash Salome GoldenBalls Andy Flash Iceman John Claire Simon HarryPotter Diana Cerberus Ben Honeymonster Mark C5 Lou Linda Utopia Uplift Ben Anorak Trainspotter Twanky ChristianLonely and dog Beaver

Farley Hill – Twice

Pissquick, Glittertits and Spex. It sounds like a partnership of shady Victorian solicitors who employ the dubious talents of an ex-ragpicker: Bob; “Pick yer pocket Suh? Won’t corst nuffin’”. In fact, our ex-rag picker turns out to be very gifted in the artistic department with stunning floury depictions of pint and wine glasses by the On Inn sign. Our trail-laying trio were, of course, tonight’s Hares. Were you aware that the collective nouns for hares include drove, down, flick, herd, huck, kindle, leash, trace and trip? However, after tonight’s Hash I feel the collective ‘a sneak of weasels’ would be more appropriate. A bar-12 to start with?! Pure Piss and Glitter, to use their shortened sobriquets. I could never believe that the fragrant Spex could ever be hortative (look it up Motox) to such heinous activity. It was Glittertits who called the On On down the long and winding hill that led to the damn bar. SlowSucker and Dwight and Bomber et al were well and truly caught out and Steve’s virgin friend Lucy looked a tad perplexed as we all gasped our way back up the hill that most people were still hurtling down. Mind you, if you got to the Hash late there was the immediate bonus of not having to do the bar-12 (Foghorn!) – except for Zebedee who is completely bonkers and decided to do it anyway!

I staggered after Anorak and Trainspotter, eventually catching up with Spot, Lou and Linda in a bone-dry field with virtually no flour in it. Glittertits reckoned it had been consumed by the herd of protesting cows that ran, mooing fretfully, after SlowSucker and Dwight when they tried to guess the trail by crossing the pasture. They mooed at HeyBabe, at Hotlegs, at Simon. In fact, at all of us. It was the political hard-Left of the Bovine Liberation Front. “Mooo…two legs bad, four legs good.” They chanted in an Orwellian display. “Beef’s off the men…moo.” They jostled and stamped around us. “Don’t give us any mooooo… bull you mooo…astards!” Luckily, we managed to give them the slip and we set off apace down a narrow trail to frighten some horses and watch Posh get confused about how to cross a triangular stile.

The Hares had very thoughtfully provided some water to cool us off. Unfortunately, it was in the form of a thigh-high (depending on your height) stream that swirled and eddied around us as we waded through, watching Gutbucket, who was holding the edges of his shorts in an effete manner. There was one (Linda) who bummed a piggyback from the St. Christopher-like Simon – a true gent if ever there was. If only Lemming had been there… Once free of the water I slopped down the road with OldFart and headed into Bramshill Forest and a delightful bar-9! Glittertits had joined us to make sure we had done it and he later helpfully attempted to send people like C5 down the wrong way at a check. I followed Hotlegs and rejoiced to find he had picked the right way and we all ran the three miles or so down crunchy tracks, punctuated only by a single question mark check by a lake – which Hotlegs got right as well. We were joined by Spot here and it was all going fearfully well until we came to Glittertits, standing by a gate in bucolic pose, metaphorically chewing on a straw. “On In then.” He chortled, all of us enjoying the joke. Amazingly, we spotted Cheating who had obviously not done the long loop through the forest but was trying to steal a march on the FRBs. He did too, since we all stonked off round the edge of the field, following flour, while the bugger skittered diagonally across. ‘As the crow flies.’ I believe the saying is. If I’d had my 12-bore the crow’s flight would have been shortened somewhat by a pound of buckshot heading in the general direction of its feathered buttocks.

It came as no surprise really to find that we found we were back at the ford across the stream we had visited earlier. I recognised it as the place where we had filmed ‘Rosie and Jim’ a couple of years ago when both Motormouth and Bomber’s son Tom were just a tad younger. PissQuick and Bob stood on the far side looking remarkably dry, beaming with smiles and taking photographs of the waders. We exchanged pleasantries and enquired as to their health knowing that the end was almost in sight. Except it wasn’t. Another Long/Short split appeared and Spot and I were surprised and pleased to see DutchCap and Diana making their chatty way along the riverbank on the Long trail. C5 caught up with us and we stamped off for some way until we hit a narrow road. Steve and Lucy and Hotlegs had also appeared and we began the windy uphill trek. Somehow we went too far and had to return, following Anorak and Trainspotter down a dark winding track which finally led to the bottom of Farley blasted Hill that we had run down, then back up, at the start. Bob’s On Inn drawings appeared. The critics among us discussed their depth of inner feeling and the raw potency of the stark outlines. The road got steeper. Hotlegs steamed off, then faded. Steve and Lucy came through strongly. Anorak and Trainspotter ploughed gamely upward. Luckily, Spex appeared, staggering from side to side like a drunk and wheezing like an asthmatic (no change there, then). I helped her roll her tongue back in and chatted brightly, giving her the occasional crack on one buttock or the other to keep her in a straight line. Hashers dragged themselves up the hill, attracted like wingless moths to the bright lights of the pub. Hawking and spluttering, they stumbled upwards, muttering gasped thanks to their god when they at last reached the car park.

You have to give the Hares credit for this one. The trail had obviously been carefully thought out even though some of it had been eaten by the BLF (see above) and the stream wading was most enjoyable. There were also no stinging nettles. Thanks guys.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-



Style points

Simon and Linda

One giving, one receiving the piggyback through the ford

Linda’s excellent throw from the piggyback position hit Bob superbly


Threatening the RA at the ford!

Superbly quaffed water pint


Accusing Zebedee of leaving a voicemail asking him out for a walk round Theale

He may have lost his marbles but not his drinking prowess

Andy and Mark

One from Oxford Hash, the other a virgin

Andy won, despite Mark having a small one…


Being daft enough to do the bar-12

All the way down and not back up again


Not catching the earlier beer

Very smoothly downed

Cap’n Haystax

Reaching the age of 50. Dumper suggested he should be renamed ‘Silage’

Started well and ended with a full toss into the crowd. I believe Bob got some.

PissQuick, Glittertits & Spex

The Hares

Reasonable by all with a further spot of tossing over poor Bob

Up and Coming

Run Number


Grid Reference






The Lamb, Theale – !!The AGM!!
’Best photo of the Year’ Competition





The Railway Tavern

(& Emma the dog)