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Run Number:1364

Venue: The Horns, Crazies Hill.

They must be Crazy

Iceman, Spot, BGB, Hitchhiker, Poppy, Chopsticks, Posh, Bomber, Mother, Lemming, Pissquick, Glittertits, Lonely and Beaver, Dribbler, Le Voisin, Honeymonster, Tinopener, C5, Dutchcap, Cloggs, Non-stick, Miranda, Motox, Wally, Trembler, Max (recently released from Strangeways), Premature, Caboose, Old Dog, BGB, C-lingus, Paella, MotorX, Florence, Imposter, Bumwipe

Hares:- Cloggs & Non-stick

Having left home in glorious sunshine, the flooded roads as we wound our way up to the pub, gave a hint of the impending downpour.

As we gathered in the car park at the aptly named village of Crazies Hill, the heavens opened (apparently it means “hill of the fresh, clean water, in the waterless place” – not “home of the nutters”). The entire pack (led by Mother Theresa) headed for the one piece of available cover – the back of Spot’s car. Somehow Spot managed to personally select those honoured to shelter in his boot, this led to him shortly being covered by a blanket of squealing Harriettes. How he had the stamina after running the Bash yesterday, I can only put down to performance enhancing supplements (or the enormous sausage & mash lunches dished out by the landlord yesterday).

Finally the hares were interrupted from their frolicking (as evidenced by the floury handprint upon Non-Stick’s bulging codpiece) and we were called to the off. Sadly, at this point I headed off, full of confidence in the opposite direction to the pack; who, of course were right. Finally catching up as we crossed an extremely exposed field, leaning into the teeth of a howling gale.

Up hill and down dale we ran, flagrantly disregarding such conventions as ‘property ownership’ and ‘rights-of-way’ as a bar check forced us under a barbed wire fence and into clearly private property. Every now and then we were treated to spectacular views across the Thames flood plain, before being engulfed in more rain determined to raise the level of the river to meet us. By this time the pack were well and truly split, but the hares had a cunning plan, fiendishly omitting to lay any more than two blobs of flour in any direction from the next check. After much milling, we were regrouped just in time to reach the regroup.

We regrouped by the picturesque Rebra’s Well – apparently a corruption of the local dialect phrase 'REB, BAR YAGH WY LLE' , which means “the healthy water place, by the top of the hill” not “put your willy away”. To celebrate the healthiness of the water (and Cloggs’ birthday) we tucked into chocolate cake washed down with cider. The cake was so good (thanks Non-Stick), that only the crumbs were used for their correct purpose – decorating Cloggs’ face. A tuneless rendition of Hashy Birthday was delivered and then we were off again.

Having eaten and drunk more than was sensible for halfway round a long, hilly trail; Premature, HoneyMonster and I quickly decided that the logical route would be straight through the bog; by the time we had pulled HoneyMonster from the grip of the shoe sucking mud, we were at the back.

The rain had now turned the downhills into ski slopes, Posh practising her falling over in preparation for a trip to the Alps. The hares had laid a trail that wound through woods and over marshes until eventually reaching the On-Inn at the top of another long hill.

Yet again Wally was at the back, ostensibly coaching the virgin but actually ensuring that she will never come again. We’ve told you before Wally – don’t do it – it scares them all away.

Back to the pub after an excellent trail; plenty of shiggy, plenty of hills and plenty of food & drink. As the rain came down we washed off the mud and headed inside.

Actually, a very nice pub. Good beer and a barmaid with a cleavage that would have swallowed Lemming had not Mother kept hold of him securely.



a full pint for leading the pack into Spot’s boot

Downed the first third with relish, then emptied the rest over here head, into her hood.

Old Dog

half a pint for front running

Even less successful than Mother


for convincing HoneyMonster to falsely blow the horn

Shared a pint with two straws, very efficiently sucked


falsely blowing the horn and leading the pack astray

Sophie the Virgin

A fresh pint

Wasted by throwing over the crowd before the end of the song

Bumwipe in place of Max (of the ridiculous haircut)

A pint for wearing ridiculous tracksuit trousers

Painfully slow, before passing the pint onto “John”

Cloggs & NonStick

The hares, ½ for Cloggs a pint for NonStick

Finished together


Run No


Grid Ref.






The Royal Oak, Tilehurst

Miss Whiplash, Salome, Hitchhiker

Don’t forget Burn’s Night, 24th Jan. See MotorX for tickets & details.