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The Crooked Billet
Honey Hill


OldFart, Itsyor

Amblers, Trotters and Racing Fiends

Potty Nutcracker Hashgate Simple DunnyStumbler Soreskin James and dog Moffy Dutch Baldrick Cerberus Premature and dogs Libby and Molly Foghorn Chopstix Snowballs SlowSucker Blowjob Robert Spex LoudonTasteless Posh MotoxSpot HitchHiker Donut OldDog SlackBladder Caboose Dumper Septic C5 Bex Kris Headboy Florence Zebedee Lonely Lucy ScarletPimpernel (aka Pimp) Glittertits PissQuick ShutupWally Delmar Fiddler Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Uplift HashFart Gabby Viv Cheating ShitShoveller

Itsyor OldFart Hash

Pity poor Fiddler. Apart from the embarrassment of having his agèd father Itsyor acting as co-Hare he now has a fat thumb. I spoke to him after the Hash while he was standing by his car, apparently trying to thumb a lift. The poor chap had ‘done a Baldrick’ somewhere on the trail and landed on his thumb, which had swelled alarmingly. It sure isn’t going to add to his fiddling skills and everyone he meets is going to think he is an eternal optimist. At least it wasn’t his nose.

Pity poor Delmar. He was one of tonight’s Hash virgins. And who introduced him as his ‘friend’? ShutupWally! Difficult to believe that particular description and I’m sure I saw Delmar wince during the introduction. Not only that but Donut and Dutch jumped on the poor fellow after the Hash to solicit his becoming a member. He seemed like a very nice chap. Maybe we’ll see him again.

Pity poor Soreskin. Having made a longish journey to be with us she realised she had forgotten her running shoes! She appeared in the car park wearing a very fetching pair of mules (no, the shoe type) and a sheepish grin. Luckily, she managed to borrow a pair of what looked like zip-up black shoes and finished later with only the beginning of a blister – so once again living up to her Hash Handle.

So enough of this pitiable start. Let’s get on with the Hash. The night was clear and cool, Mrs Blobby and Utopia were wearing matching T-shirts (no surprise there) and HeadBoy had brought a couple of attractive young ladies – SlowSucker saw them, got all excited, then couldn’t remember why he was excited (been so long, you see) and sank back into torpid, drooling senility. Rather like most of the blokes really. We On Outed entirely the wrong way. For goodness sake we’re supposed to go through the ford – there’s a certain formality to things you know. In fact, we remained drier-footed than a Saharan lizard in a drought and the early part of the trail had us stepping gingerly through scrub and brush, much of which had been laid with slim, cut lengths of silver birch that almost upended Caboose and Soreskin in her makeshift plimsolls. This terrain kept the Pack together well, like a small crowd of meerkats – every now and again we would all stop suddenly and one or two would rise up questioningly, looking for flour. This certainly occurred at a junction of five possible paths next to a wood. Mr Blobby found one False. Simple decided not to take the other obvious one. Zebedee decided he would, and suffered for it. The lad has a masochistic streak. Give him a choice of paths; one leading up a 90% hill covered in thorn bushes from which terrible animal noises can be heard with a huge sign on showing a skull and cross-bones and the words ‘Here be dragons. This is not the one you want!’ written on it, and another lined by fair maidens strewing rose petals beckoning the traveller in a friendly manner and a huge neon sign next to it flashing the words ‘This way please’ he’ll choose the former. Perhaps he is a reincarnation of a flagellant. If you don’t know what that is ask Ms Whiplash…

The Hares had chucked in a couple of confusing Checks (well they were confusing to us) and after a fair trot down a woodland path (Simple allegedly saw four blobs) everyone was called back with much tut-tutting and the odd forehead smite by the Hares who could be forgiven for thinking they had laid a trail for a Hash with all the mental acuity of a Big Brother contestant. I followed Nutcracker and HitchHiker back through a very pleasant cricket ground suddenly realising in a thunderclap moment that HitchHiker was, gulp, running. Crikey. Not surprisingly, at the Regroup later, she was sitting down, exhausted by her supreme effort. I nearly sat down myself, also exhausted by her supreme etc.

The floor of the next forest was littered with bone-dry sticks and we snapped, crackled, popped and banged our way across it, causing any woodland creature in surrounding miles to assume it was under fire by an Apache helicopter. If Bill Oddie had been on Springwatch nearby the badgers would have buggered off, the rabbits run off and the fledglings… well, they wouldn’t be there. Both Itsyor and OldFart very kindly let us run over a False. Probably realising it would take us ten minutes to find the real trail. We came to a beautifully calm lake where Florence and Soreskin were sitting on a bench calmly o’erlooking the limpid liquid. The calm was suddenly shattered by Cerberus who dragged her poor unwilling red setter to the water’s edge and attempted to fling it in. Strange isn’t it? Both Cerberus and Premature profess an affection for their two fine dogs yet there was Premature at Trembler’s Hash forcing one of them out of the back of his car and both of them at Slackbladder/OldDog’s Hash frenziedly hurling the creatures over stiles. Needless to say the hound dug in its paws and gave Cerberus a look that said, “Any more of this madam and your calf muscle becomes my tea.”

A Short and Long split awaited us after the regroup and those of us taking the Short were privileged to enjoy the sight of a red-faced Glittertits running all the way back from a rather length False to try and catch up with the Long Trailers who had disappeared in a cloud of dust in the opposite direction. We were also privileged to be led by OldFart who kindly laid flour arrows for our troop led initially by HashFart, Spex and Potty. I fetched up with LoudonTasteless and we enjoyed a relaxing walk and a bit of fulmination against politicians, the overblown petty bureaucracy of the EU and the fact that we’d walked the wrong side of a fence and had to climb over a wobbly gate. Zebedee and Spot passed us as OldFart caught up and we enjoyed watching Zeb casting about in the PYO farmyard before finally spotting the trail and the On Inn. Amazingly, Cheating strode past. Perhaps he took a taxi? Cerberus trotted past, talking to her dog who imperiously ignored her – not surprisingly. Simple thundered past in a gale of sweat and gasping. Nutcracker loped past like Paula Radcliffe 100 metres from the tape. And then poor BlowJob who had the awful luck to be lumbered with ShutupWally who had attached himself to her like loquacious leech. She gave me the sort of appalled, desperate, hurt, help me look that Cerberus’s dog had given during the attempted drowning but there was no way I was going to peel ShutupWally away from her. He might have re-attached to me and I didn’t have a lighted cigarette.

And so, after a rather pleasant Hash through some interesting country I came upon Fiddler trying to thumb a lift. Nice one Hares. A most enjoyable evening.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-



Style points


Forgetting his own Hash name

At least he hasn’t forgotten how to drink


Baseless accusations of RA abuse and incitement to riot

Fortunately SlowSucker appeared under my spilling pint so I gave him the rest…


Forgetting the running shoes

Motox liked her leaning technique

Bex, Delmar, HeadBoy

Virgins. HeadBoy said Bex didn’t like beer

In fact, Bex certainly did like her beer. The lads werealmost as good


50 runs! Well done.

Damn fine pint

Itsyor, OldFart

The Hares

OldFart edged it in a fast time for both

Up and Coming

Run Number


Grid Reference






The Thatchers Arms
North Street, Theale






Mr & Mrs Blobby’s (652651)





The Queen’s Oak