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Mortimer Village Hall



Santas, Elves and a Few Fairies

Cloggs NonStick Hashgate Hamlet Fukawe TinOpener Miranda and dog Emma LeVoisin Cheating Dutchcap Foghorn Paella Baldrick Florence Bootsie Olddog Shitshoveller Stewart The Tremblers Corinne BGB Septic Dumper Motox2 Bob Puddleduck Jon Nutcracker Potty SlipperyNipple ShutupWally Caboose SlackBladder Glittertits Pissquick Yankit C5 Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Ms Whiplash Salome John Heather Ladybird Itsyor Fiddler Flash Handful Spot Hitchhiker Marius Bruce Deborah

The BH3 Christmas Hash

A glittering of tinsel bedecked various members of the Hash on this cold, clear morning. Ladybird wore a richly decorated Santa hat. Foghorn expressed his feminine side with a pair of gossamer fairy wings. Dumper, for some reason, wore festive boxers over his running trousers. C5, however, wearing a red and white jesters cap summed up the over-50s view – “These bloody bells are going to drive me bonkers by the end of the run.” He confided, entering jovially into the Christmas spirit. The one person who hadn’t dressed for the occasion was Handful, whose lower half was encased in nothing more than a thin pair of shorts. However, the snow-white skin of her perfect, goose-pimpled legs reminded certain gentlemen Hashers that they would need to find a game bird to truss and stuff for Christmas…

Lonely’s trail today had all the ingredients: sunshine, bitter cold, deep puddles and loadsashiggy. He’d borrowed the BBC motto to “educate, inform and entertain” us since apart from a very enjoyable and muddy Hash we were treated to Bronze Age mounds and a tool along Roman fortifications. The latter was a particular source of personal pleasure when Ladybird, Motox and I arrived at a check near the rampart where Ladybird shot straight on and Motox drew on his vast experience and knowledge to intone “The Long trail’ll go off right.” So I took the left, up on to the embankment and found I’d ‘got lucky’. I mentioned this to Florence later who said that she wished she had ‘got lucky’ on top of there. Brrr. A tad damp for the missionary position but might be ok for ‘the beast with two backs’. Apart from the fortifications Lonely also supplied a Regroup at a Roman duckpond, although it was slightly lacking in water. Despite this, Foghorn, C5, Hamlet and Cloggs managed an excellent Christmas Roman water dance with much aquatic leaping and splashing. Although this almost finished Foghorn off since he, Itsyor and Fiddler retired to bemoan their injuries (twisted knee, twisted ankle, bloody wrist) like three old fogies in the ‘Bide-a-Wee’ Rest Home for elderly Hashers. Emma, Miranda’s dainty white dog showed her disdain for the trio by piddling on Lonely’s carefully crafted ‘RG’. An excellent, deep-shiggy track led out from the regroup (though certain Hashers refrained from going the whole leg-sapping route - Foghorn, Ladybird). Halfway down was a deep and wide puddle which some people were gingerly edging round and here (though it pains me) I must pay tribute to ShutupWally who burst gleefully through the waters like Moses parting the Red Sea. It was about here that TinOpener also opened his mouth and casually inserted his muddy foot in it. I had just mentioned how nice it was to be running down the mud track instead of up when he replied breezily, “We’ve done all the uphill stuff by now.” A passing pheasant plummeted to earth, stunned by the enormity of the statement. A nearby family of young weasels was ushered away by their shocked mother. A squirrel dropped its nuts and its jaw simultaneously. How could any Hasher ever utter such foul blasphemy! It was like the Queen at a state banquet suddenly announcing, “Beg pardon. One believes One is about to fart.” Well, of course, TinOpener could not have been more wrong as we uphill’d across fields, through woods and along a never-ending, winding B road that even had Itsyor gasping for relief. The only respite came when we trotted exhaustedly through a farmyard, but this had its own horrors. As I turned to talk to Fiddler I glanced across the way to see a couple of farmhands apparently stuffing a turkey headfirst into a bucket. This Hitchcockian scenario brought on a massive adreneline overload and we fled screaming from the horribly grinning turkey bucketers.

Luckily, it was only a few more miles (or so it seemed) before Iceman and I got the last check wrong and found ourselves near The Turner’s Arms, a fair step from the Village Hall. At least we knew where we were and we followed the neon star atop the nearby firefighter’s tower to get back to the car park, luckily missing the sight of Ladybird baring his somewhat hirsute buttocks at startled motorists in a display of what passes for festive fun by Oxford H3.

Down Downs

RAs Dumper and Glittertits presented the following :-



Style points


For coming all the way from USA to attend. Well done!

Fine transatlantic downing

Nicky, Paul

One virgin. One returnee

½ of water and a pint of beer downed very nicely


Yet another birthday

Unusually, she was given the cake afterwards!


Bullying OldDog

Rapidly downed as ever


Plonker of the Year’ award

Valiant effort at the 2-pint Skol glass but it (not surprisingly) defeated him. At least he kept quiet for a bit.

Mr Blobby, Le Voisin, Nutcracker

200 and 100 runs. Well done guys

Yep. Not bad at all.


The Hare

Proportionally quicker than it took to run his trail…

BH3 Christmas Lunsch

Although Glittertits and Pissquick presided over the mulled wine they took a well-earned rest from catering as this onerous job was performed by some splendid professional ladies (perhaps I could have phrased that better) who handed out generous portions of Yuletide lasagne and shepherds pie to the multitude. It was during the feast that I found out three interesting facts: 1) Iceman has a metal bottle opener in the shape of an open-mouthed whale, 2) poor Mr Blobby was suffering from a cold that had left him looking like he had been through the digestive tract of a dyspeptic rhinoceros, 3) (and most interestingly) Caboose stated that he had never been fifty, wasn’t anywhere near that incredible age and had no intention of approaching it from any direction for a number of years to come. So there! Now as you know this organ reported on Caboose’s spurious half-century birthday a couple of editions ago, as reported in good faith from a usually reliable source. I am happy to retract the apparent falsehood though I have it on impeccable advice that Caboose’s Christian name is Dorian and that he changed his surname by deed poll from Gray…

After our meal we were given an unexpected and exotic treat as Effin, in the chiffon and spangled guise of Fazarma, first bellydanced for us in a traditional Christmas bellydancer’s costume. Then gave us an Arab stick dance while wearing a wonderful costume jingling festivally with (presumably) middle Eastern coinage. 10/10, Effin and for the courage to dance in front a crowd of unruly Hashers. Motox unfortunately missed the arrival of Father Christmas and the distribution of small under-a-pound presents from his plastic sack. Florence was overjoyed with her tub of Vaseline as was Handful with her chocolate Dick-on-a-Stick. Obviously, some thought had gone into the selection. The raffle also threw up some excellent prizes, as Dutchcap delightedly found when she picked a stunning bottle of scent. Think old ladies, liquorice and cats’ bottoms and you’re nearly there. Ladybird was the first person to be presented with the new sheep that must be carried on the Hash and C5 led the community singing. An excellent time was had by all so many thanks to our Committee for their superb organisation. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. On On. Hashgate.

Coming in the New Year

Run Number


Grid Reference






* Motox’ New Year live trail *
The Turner’s Arms, Mortimer





The Wheelwright’s Arms
Opposite Dinton Pastures

Harry Potter




The Dew Drop Inn, Ashey Hill
(Double-park at end of car park)