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The Rising Sun
Burghfield Common



Moderate Party Goers

Spot Iceman Hashgate Baldrick Vlad Drac Hamlet Cerberus Premature Simple DunnyStumbler Flash Lilo TinOpener with dog Emma OldDog SlackBladder Martin Chris Donut Delmar Canoeist Richard Neil Colin BlouseBlazer PissQuick Glittertits Foghorn Cloggs NonStick TA Itsyor Fiddler Fritz Maggot and much later SlowSucker

TNew YEAR PARTYhe Best Hash So Far In 2006!

I do hope everyone had a fine Christmas. Let me wish you all a very Happy New Year. Hopefully, the memories of the drink-sodden post Christmas family lunch period are fading. That ‘all crackers pulled, party hat askew’ moment when Grandma has just dozed off and you watch fascinated, and slightly unfocussed as her head dips slowly and inexorably toward the plate with its’ congealing gravy, half-eaten sprouts and bread sauce. A bleary turn of the head brings into view Uncle Raymond who is regaling the adults with yet another risqué story that the various young children understand perfectly, while he pats a bottom belonging to a lady plate clearer who is certainly not his own wife. Grandma’s head sweeps and nods ever lower and you roll forward the two scenarios that follow either waking her or letting things take their natural course. “That’s lucky.” You think, realising that the decision-making has been taken out of your hands, and you watch fascinated while an angelic little girl bearing a large balloon, a knitting needle and a beaming smile suddenly appears next to the sleeping agéd relative…

The term ‘Rising Sun’ seemed an entirely incorrect description as I opened the door of Motormouth’s snore-filled bedroom. The duvet was wrapped tightly round him – he was a bed-bound pupa with one bare foot and a head. I spoke softly to it, “Fancy coming on the Hash?” I queried. “Wossamarrer. Where. I, um, er. Gromfff.” It seemed unlikely that the lad would be joining his slightly hungover father for a trot through the forest so I tiptoed silently away. Today was to be (surprisingly) my very first essay at Motox’ famous live New Year’s Day trail and I was rather looking forward to it. I figured others would be in a similar dehydrated, minor head-pounding state and it would be pleasant to jog round a bit of woodland with a few friends. It wasn’t quite like that…

It was good to see some new faces among the crowd; Vlad and Drac had brought some chums and Fritz cycled in with his son Maggot who I had not seen before. More of him later. Despite ShutupWally’s leech-like attention the last time he came, Delmar returned to us courtesy of chauffeuse Donut, who was looking even more vibrant and radiant than usual with a subtly changed, soft hairstyle that framed her face nicely and suited her colour perfectly (any of you blokes need lessons in this kind of thing, I’m available at reasonable rates).

Flash, amazingly, arrived before we On Outed. As did Florence and Zebedee. Although these two merely drove slowly around the car park and stopped in the middle of it. Florence beckoned me over and handed me an obviously well-used piece of mistletoe with a knowing smile and a querying eyebrow. It was limp, dessicated and most of its’ balls had fallen off (a description that could apply to various gentleman hashares with BH3) but I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity. I leaned in the car window, planted a smacker on the puckered-up Florence… and Zebedee tried to drive over my foot. And a Happy New Year to you, I thought as he chuckled sincerely, “Oops. Sorry. Didn’t see you there Hashgate.” And they drove off, never to return. This was the complete opposite of SlowSucker, who finally arrived just after we had finished the trail and went out to run (some of?) it. Mind you, we never saw him again either. No doubt driven insane by the labrynthine twistings of the Motox trail.

I mentioned young Maggot earlier. It wasn’t far into the damp forest before he kindly supplied the morning’s cabaret. We had been stonking through wet leaves and over slippery, fallen branches when we happened upon a natural dip in the land. The sensible among us, BlouseBlazer, Vlad, Cerberus, Premature etc skirted round the edge of it, looking for the ‘one blob and On’. Not so the doughty Maggot. Remembering the last time he ran here (younger and lighter he was) he blundered straight through the middle, the smile on his face turning to a horrified grimace as he sank in up to his knees, then slid sideways into the muck and biscuits and losing a shoe in the process. We, of course, assisted him by laughing like drains and holding our aching sides. It’s always a pleasure to encourage youngsters.

Another who seemed to enjoy the conditions was Premature. He’s a bloke who usually skips about like a spring lamb on speed but he had stopped for a breather at a Check and had made the mistake of standing near Cloggs. With a gleam in her eye she tackled him like Jonah Lomu might tackle Leo Sayer and he fell to the shiggy with a splattering squelch. Cloggs then laid on his chest (he didn’t seem to mind this) while Simple and NonStick took a leg each and dragged him through the mire. Wonderful to watch it was. This aspiring Lemming further ratified his mud credentials later by running rapidly past some laggards picking their way across deep shiggy while stamping in every muck-filled puddle. You can imagine his chagrin when he had to stop suddenly and pick his way back in order to retrieve a lost running shoe filled to the gunwales with sludge and deer poo.

The gentle trot I had envisaged had turned into a fast run of epic proportions – and we still hadn’t caught up with the scurrying Motox. This certainly wasn’t helped by a restful, if frustrating, ten minute search at one Check. We checked right, left, forwards, up and down the nearby road, back the way we had come. Nothing. Eventually, we found the trail which wavered off slightly forward and left in what we later figured was a fairly straightforward direction. Oh well, at least we got a rest from the relentless pounding through the forest. This was even affecting Iceman, whose Tarzan-like calls of ‘On On’ can usually be heard several miles away. Directly in front of me he attempted his usual stentorian yodel only to emit an emasculated squeak. Most unlike the fellow. Fortunately, he managed to adjust, recover and transmit a more usual tree-vibrating blast.

We must have covered almost every hectare of forest on this live trail and we apparently almost caught up with Motox who heard us as he came to the last part of the trail. One day we’ll catch up with a live Hare but it certainly wasn’t today. Thanks Motox. It was a fun way to see in the New Year.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the New Year Honours :-



Style points


Diving in the shiggy

A stunningly fast pint of orange juice!


Entertaining the Hash so well over the past year

Entertainingly (and surprisingly) downed in one go


Wearing an Equadorian cow-hand hat – and being proud of it

Managed a good ¾ of an exceptionally cold half of lager


Tackling Premature in the field

Failed to tackle the pint at all


Supporting DunnyStumbler up a hill with a posterior handful push

The drink proved not to be so much of a handful as Dunny…


Being an excellent Webmaster

Drained in style


Today’s Hare

Casual but speedy. Like laying today’s trail

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






Beech Hill Village Hall
(opp. Church)
Food £1. Beer £1.50 a pint. Wine 50p a glass





Saracen’s Head
Greys Road, Henley-on-Thames
(Park in the street or Greys Road car parks)