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Loddon Brewery
Dunsden Green


Florence, Zebedee, C5


Cheating (not actually trail-laying you understand; far too busy organising) Iceman Hashgate cerberus Premature Baldrick Tony Amanda Spot NoPatsy Whinge TC SlackBladder OldDog BlouseBlazer Spex LoudonTasteless Dutch Effin Ms Whiplash Potty NutCracker TurdTreader Snowballs Quack ShitShoveller Bomber Posh Glittertits PissQuick SlowSucker Cloggs NonStick Flash Foghorn Chopstix Shandyman The Tremblers Krystyna ShutupWally and dog Bonnie Lonely Bootsie Motox BlowJob (Oxford version) Pyro and dog Belle Sue5 Lemming Mother Theresa Stuart Septic Dumper Anorak2 BouncingCzech and many welcome visitors from North Wilts, Oxford, R2D2, SODOFF

Cheating Organises A P*ss-Up In A Brewery

103 hopefuls filled the bright, sunny courtyard in front of this excellent brewery. We know because Cheating organised a head count, with all us sheep filing meekly past him and back-up counter OldDog. ‘The devil is in the detail’ ought to be Cheating’s motto since the event was planned right down to ensuring the correct colour socks were worn by everyone and that 34.653 grammes of Christmas pudding with 152 ml of custard (mixed to the regulatory consistency) were served precisely at 13:48 during the post-Hash quaff and feast. The wallies (gherkins to you!) in the jars had been measured for required length and the beer had been passed personally by Cheating himself. However, fun-poking aside, when there are this many people to cater for – a contingent even arriving by coach – and the event is being held at a small independent brewery where the owner, Chris and his wife Vanessa, could have spent their Sunday with the kids instead of being nice to a motley bunch of mainly geriatric Hashers intent on ingesting as much food and drink as humanly possible, detailed planning is vital. So let us all offer congratulations and thanks to Cheating for a job very well done, to Chis and Vanessa for being such good hosts and to the Hares for liaising with Phillimore Farms who kindly allowed them to lay a damn fine trail across a fair stretch of their land.

Of course, there are those whose planning faculties may require a little sharpening on the whetstone of common sense. i.e. Caboose, who was so eager to attend my Hash that he went to The Plowden Arms a week early. And then there are those who could have done worse than remember the maxim, ‘a little knowledge is a dangerous thing’. This Hash was within walking distance of my house, through areas where I have run, walked, driven, cycled, walked other people’s dogs, flown kites, got drunk, built Scout Huts, watched polo… well, you get the idea. So when Hare C5 finished his BH3 symbol recognition talk for the ignorant at the Circle and directed us On Out, “left round the building,” I went into automatic mode and turned left out of the brewery yard instead, dragging poor, unsuspecting SlowSucker with me. We were on flour and flying when we noticed no-one else was with us. Our steps began to falter slightly. Then stopped when I found the ‘On Inn’ sign. Oops! Luckily, the Pack had merely looped round the brewery and it was but a panting slog across a field of cloying clods to rejoin the back of it. Unfortunately, this kind of thing happened a number of times during the trail. It’s a problem knowing exactly where you are and where you are going - but not how you are going to get there. A classic example occurred later, at a Check by that lovely old thatched roof pub, the Bottle and Glass. Zebedee stood smugly by it, obviously waiting for some poor slob to find one of his long Falses that he had mentioned earlier. And the poor slob was… me. Having reckoned few knew about the footpath behind the pub I tracked down it for a soggy ½ a mile or so before finding the artfully placed ‘F’. At least Zeb had the satisfaction that it had not been laid in vain.

The routes across private land certainly confused the Pack and the slippery shiggy on the various slopes caused many a slip and the odd splattering fall (see Down Downs, below). Iceman enjoyed a fun trek through a sludge-filled woody hollow with me where we spotted exploded pigeons and tried not to lose our shoes to the sucking mud. Others were confused by exceptionally clear flour signs laid on obvious paths. For instance, Lonely and I had, for no good reason, run ¾ of the way up a steep, slippery track when we noticed a clear Bar-6. The bar was laid right across the path with the ‘6’ underlined and the word ‘SIX’ written next to it. For good measure the same signs had been laid from the uphill side. Perhaps this was what confused Stuart, NonStick, Premature et al. Whatever it was, they had all trudged relentlessly over the thing and then had to trudge relentlessly all the way back to where the rest of the Pack was filtering off into a field. Maybe next time we should organise a military helicopter with a spotlight and loudspeaker to hover nearby. “Civilians below! Step away from the Bar-6. The area beyond is mined. Killer dogs have been loosed. You have been warned. Have a nice day.” Before it wheels off, ready to return and drop anti-personnel cluster bombs beyond the Bar. Bet you Premature would still trot through.

We seemed to run (and did, actually) for miles, stopping a rather hacked-off driver from proceeding just after the Regroup. One could tell by the folded arms and murderous expression that he was more than a tad miffed at his road being blocked by muddy people running about like headless chickens. But most of the trail was off-road and a rough track full of puddles provided a spot of light entertainment for Lemming and Whinge. Even Stuart took to the idea and caught me a mighty splash which dampened my dictaphone. Silly boy! As he ducked under the field gate, grinning like a loon, I returned the compliment with an earth-moving stomp in a deep patch of shiggy which had the consistency of the contents of a new-born baby’s nappy. The resulting facial spatter had a pleasing artistic quality about it. The lad took it well.

After quite a lot of faffing about, short-cutting across the polo field and finally finding the On Inn (again!) we returned to the brewery where we enjoyed exceptionally good beers, canapés of multitudinous variety, delicious fatty sausage, soft cheese, a dip that tasted very nice but looked like emulsified stomach contents, Greek chilli (yum), Christmas pud, port, ice cream, cake and a welcome but fearsome room heater whose design was based on the booster rocket for the space shuttle. A great time was had by all. Let’s do it again!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Stand-in RA Shandyman presented the following :-



Style points

Spex, Lonely

For wanting Dai Hard and the Sheepshag redemption, in that order at Wales, last week

Fine by Lonely. A little crowd-dampening by Spex

Dumper, ToyBoy

Both fallers today

Certain BH3 lady Hashers were very interested in the Toy Boy idea…


Being frightened while publicly weeing

Very ladylike

The Oxford Foghorn

Almost falling into a septic tank

Renamed Septic Tank assisted by C5 and Dumper. A quite reasonable effort.


Hashing in wellies and taking a newspaper

Smoothly downed

BlowJob-Oxford version

His birthday

Very nicely done indeed

Florence, C5, Zebedee

The Hares

C5, Florence… then Zebedee (oh dear!)


Organising a p*ss up in a…

Like a flash

Chris & C5

Our brewery host & organiser

Crikey! C5 must look to his laurels!


Visiting a lap-dancing club in Swindon! What on earth for?

Went down better than the dancers apparently…

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






* Christmas Lunch *
St John’s Hall, Mortimer





* Merry Christmas Run *
The Fox & Hounds, Theale