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The Black Lion, Woodcote


Florence, Zebedee

Snails, Dogs and Rabbits

Donut Hashgate Lemming Mother Theresa Baldrick Honeymonster Iceman Spot TinOpener and dog Emma Whinge TC Ms Whiplash PartyAnimal The Tremblers TT2 Foghorn C5 Jenks with kids Alasdair, Catherine and dog Dylan Steamer SlowSucker Twanky Cerberus Premature with dogs Molly and Libby BlouseBlazer ShitShoveller Tony Amanda and dog Barney Soreskin Anorak TrainSpotter GnomeAlone JJ(John) Barry Cheating

Congratulations and Very Best Wishes…

Wedding Bells are due to HeyBabe (Emma) and CIAC (John) who were married in the romantic setting of Zell Am See recently. HeyBabe looked stunning in an off-the-shoulder wedding dress with flowers in her hair and CIAC was a very proud Scot in a magnificent kilt, skean dhu no doubt tucked discreetly in his sock. PartyAnimal was the (difficult to believe, I know) Best Man and everything went like a dream. BH3 wishes them both every happiness.

Very Roundabout Route

DMagic Roundaboutespite having the oxygen takeon capacity and graveyard cough of a 70-a-day Capstan Full Strength smoker. Despite the voice sounding like Captain Beefheart and Lee Marvin rolled into one (Donut, though initially frightened, found its gravel throatiness strangely exciting) I thought it would be a good idea to support this Hash when many of BH3 had migrated South to the exotic pleasures of the Isle of Wight; and anyway, sensible Florence would surely rein in manic Zebedee’s more extreme attempts to exhaust us wouldn’t she? No she wouldn’t. Not one but two Regroups awaited us, along with a teeth-gnashing, hair-tearing Bar-16! More later. Lemming and Mother Theresa had chosen today to begin their winter campaign to demonstrate that (certainly in Lemming’s case) it’s not necessary to be tall, good-looking and cranially hirsute to be popular – though it might help. The pair had recently returned from a gay time on Mykonos where several players of the pink oboe had spotted the diminutive be-thonged Lemming’s rear view from afar on the beach only to be disappointed in more ways than one when he turned round. Another returnee today was Jenks and his two fine children. One wonders what they made of their father a few weeks ago when he left home for Shep’s Hash wearing a sheep outfit. In addition to the kids Jenks brought an extremely friendly, charcoal-coloured dog. A cross between a Bedlington terrier and a whippet, the little fellow ran about excitedly, sniffing every other dog and human that it met (Hmm, thought I’d returned to a description of Lemming there) finally ending up on the lap of Whinge who is a well-know dog fancier (make of that what you will…). The other, major item of note was the arrival of Ms Whiplash, grinning serenely as she purred up in her sleek new MR2. Sadly, none of the dogs took the oppportunity for a comfort break on the wheels but I guess you can’t have everything.

We On Outed the usual way with Premature miles ahead at the front until, for reasons best known to himself, he suddenly turned round and headed silently back through the Pack. This was his little joke to sow doubt and despair. Actually it was more a case of, “What is that prat, Premature doing?” as we trudged with glazed eyeballs slowly onwards towards a heavily shigged Check. We hadn’t really woken up yet. The actions at this Check were very representative of most of the others (until the Long trail after the second regroup). People stood around chatting or dozing, heads leaning against trees. Baldrick essayed a lazy reconnôitre. SlowSucker pranced pointlessly hither and thither. PartyAnimal stropped the edge of his athleticism to scalpel sharpness by stopping, hands on knees, head down and blowing like a blue whale following a half hour wallow at 2,000 feet below the surface of the Arctic Ocean. Just kidding, Phil, you’re in fine shape for a man of 75.

Now the first Regroup was in the middle of vast piles of gravel stuck deep in the damp, green forest. TrainSpotter and I managed to miss it completely even though Alasdair and Catherine were dancing about on top of the highest mound whooping and shouting and having a great time. Rather like Lemming until C5 rugby tackled him and they came sliding down in an avalanche of stones and wrinkles. Spot informed me that when he had been on top of the mound he and no-one else had been the highest Spot on the Hash. All I’ll say is that megalomania starts small. Iceman found the On Out. SlowSucker and I followed him for something to do and the rest followed, some like Whinge splodging through a track deep in shiggy while Cerberus applauded the true Hash spirit. As the trail wound upwards we decided to award the title of ‘Most Unobservant Git of the Day’ to JJ for bleating plaintively to me, “I haven’t seen any flour, have you?” while standing next to a gnarled log that appeared to have had an entire sack of McDougalls’ emptied over it. We gave him withering glances of pity and moved on superciliously, leaving him a shrivelled husk.

Sometime after we burst on to a playing field near the Oratory School that displayed an official Parish Notice ordering ‘No dogs on pain of death by flogging and the rack. Oh yes, and disembowelling’. Emma, Molly, Libby and Dylan bounced joyfully on to the freshly mowed municipal sward depositing huge mounds of doggie doingses and spurting geysers of pooch pee while barking like rabid hyenas, dollops of foam dangling from their lower jaws and spattering the countryside. Caring BH3 moved on at a leisurely, dog-loving pace.

Foghorn and I wellied our way downhill on a familiar track, not sure if we were on trail. Off in the distance Soreskin and Cerberus chatted idly. “Are you?” we cried. They chatted. “Are yooo…wah!?” Still they chatted. “Arrrr bloodywell yerrrroooooww!!!?”. I guess you can’t interrupt a good chat. Even though they were standing on a Check. We bade the ladies a good morning, touched our caps, shot our cuffs and nipped up the hill towards the Bar on the track. Unlike Premature who went straight up the field that paralleled it. The second Regroup was very close to the point where C5 had had his virtual Beer Stop some months ago – virtual because the beer had been taken to somewhere else by his helpful lady wife. He took the ribbing good-naturedly. The Long Trailers resignedly tramped off down a long and winding trail that eventually came out to a road and a gasping hill climb up the chalk path with a spectacular view off left and a Bar-16 at the end. The panting Iceman and C5 were duly impressed with the effort expended and Hare Zebedee was daft enough to run up with us. Of course, having got to the bottom of the path again we had to wheeze our way up the steep road to a Check where we all hung around over the fence like wet washing or collapsed on the ground while that saintly woman Cerberus kindly checked out and found a False further up the hill.

After another muscle-sapping blast round the country we dropped by Jenks’ delightfully idiosyncratic house and garden where champagne and lager awaited us on a little tableclothed serving table with a candle and covered jugs of water. Frightfully civilised and something we should do more often. A pleasant tbreak was enjoyed by all before a short trot back to the pub.

So an excellent Hash round faultless country on a damn nice day. It was a pity we had to go home. Thanks Flo and Zeb. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Stand-in RA C5 presented the following :-



Style points


Today’s nearly virgin

Started early but finished strongly

TT2, Donut

Swapping T-shirts!

TT2’s ended on his head


Inappropriate play…

The fellow certainly hasn’t lost the skill


Drinking himself dry at home

Drank it dry very quickly

Ms Whiplash

Showing off the new car

½ a pint downed in style

Florence, Zebedee

The Hares

Zeb humiliated by Florence yet again

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Duke of Wellington, Twyford

Caboose, CallGirl




The Coach & Horses

Mr Blobby, Dumper