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The Burdett Arms, Ramsbury


Cheating, BlouseBlazer, UsedRubber

Faggot Chompers (see below)

Simple DunnyStumbler Hashgate Baldrick TurdTreader Premature Cerberus Centaur Dwight Julia and kids Trembler SlackBladder CabinBuoy Spex LoudonTasteless Spot Snowballs Potty Motox BallsUp Zebedee Florence Margaret Nicola Dutch TinOpener Lilo and dog Emma Aqua Caboose Flash Pothole ToyBoy Bones PinkLady SickNote Matthew and many others from N. Wilts

How The West Was Run

And very way out West it was. This was one of our most Westerly Hashes to date, in the pretty little town of Ramsbury, Wiltshire, complete with thatched cottages, ancient buildings overhanging the streets and a pub… with no car park. Cheating, the day’s organiser(?!) was merrily advising people like TurdTreader to park behind the Fire Station as opposed to the fairly crowded, narrow street. I think the thing that put them off was the sight of the two mangled cars used by the firefighters for rescue practise. The thought of getting back after the Hash and finding their cars in a similar state sent erstwhile parkers scuttling off to find some parking anywhere else, even if it was a mile away. Considering the travelling distance quite a reasonable contingent of BH3 took to the field to join an even larger group of friendly N. Wilts Hashers. I believe the total number was around 35 which may or may not include Zebedee who arrived late and had to walk round (achilles injury – hope it’s better soon) behind us. I can’t say I envied him. By the time we finished we had been out for a couple of hours, the Checks had not all been kicked out and the weather was cold and wet. Brrr.

Now it’s not often I get called ‘fit’ by two people inside of ten minutes (it’s usually about fifteen). One was Cerberus who has in the past stated that she would like to see me rogered by a large dog - even though it was she who was almost rogered by a large dog – Beaver - once, some time ago. The second was a bloke wearing a rather floaty dress. Hare UsedRubber had, for some reason, decided to wear this. Maybe it’s standard uniform for N. Wilts Hares? At the Circle he beckoned me forward and presented me with a finely crafted handbell depending from a silken cord which he explained I was to wear round my neck. Ah, the jolly japes these West country folk have. It certainly didn’t stay round my neck for long as it was prone to bounce off my breastbone with a merry “Dong!” at every step. Running along with a recorder in one hand and a blasted handbell in the other was, shall we say, challenging. Certainly on the mental stability side of things. Even with a finger and thumb on the bell end (um, as it were…) the damn thing sounded off a clear tone that warned small children and dogs to beware. Perhaps I should call out ‘Onclean’ I thought, half way round , a shrill, discordant hysterical laugh echoing round my fevered mind. Forget the Chinese Water Torture, try the N. Wilts hand-held bell hell.

Now you will note that in the list of Hares above I have placed BlouseBlazer in the middle of Cheating and UsedRubber. This was apparently the conciliatory and diplomatic position he occupied for most of the time as the two parenthetic Hares took minor issue with the course of the trail and the price of fish. In the best tradition of investigative journalism I happened to overhear certain conversations which gave me more than an impression that there was, how to say it, a little friction between the two flour droppers. Difficult I know to believe that Cheating could ever rub anyone up the wrong way but there it is…

The trail then. Cold, damp, grey, muddy, windy. And that just describes some of the Hashers. We managed early on to enter a primary school playground somehow and find we had been locked in. A thoughtful caretaker had kindly locked the gates which meant we had to clamber over them, the walls or a fence – none of which Spex really fancied. I believe LoudonTasteless had to heave her blindly over the wall in a flurry of Damart thermals and flannel undercrackers, then listen for either a thud and a scream (tarmac – blast!) or a squelch and a, “Bloody hell, Bob!” (muddy grass verge – spot on!). Incidentally, she called me a tom-cat later on. Not sure whether she was referring to my reputation or just heard me coming up behind her with that damn bell. We headed for nastier countryside, Nicola and I being diverted only briefly by a Bar-6 up a fairly vertiginous tarmac hill, before nearly everyone was diverted by a further numbered Bar. It was quite a long way back to the base of a very muddy uphill track where Spot, Dwight and Centaur had accidentally found the true trail and though Simple called on us not to crop tread many did. Further evidence of ‘full and frank discussions’ by the Hares came to light as Flash, Motox and I followed four blobs from a False that led nowhere while UsedRubber called everyone else On into private land. We thought we could spot the hand of Cheating here. We also spotted HeadBoy who had not started with the rest of us, unexpectedly standing in the middle of the track in very clean running gear. How’d he get there? No idea really and my mind was taken off the thought as Florence asked me to ‘keep ringing the bell’ with a rather cheeky grin. Hmm. We pasted down a very long track led by Nicola, Dwight, Premature and Centaur towards the first and most fascinating Regroup at the site of a large Roman mosaic covered by a wooden roof. This was Littlecote, site of a Roman villa around the year AD 360. Brilliant! If only we’d stopped then and been driven back to the pub in taxis. Sadly not to be and we forced our stiffening legs back to work. I am glad to report that Spot’s stiffening leg (hip, actually) seems to be back and working again. Certainly, the bu**er was giving me a run for my money up and down those slippery undulations that never seemed to end. These caused quite a number of people to walk (tongues hanging out and panting) which enraged Hare UsedRubber. It was quite amusing to look back at a chunky bloke in a dress shouting, “It’s a Hash, not a walk!”

After a foot-slogging, height-improving, weight-increasing stagger across a very muddy ploughed field we fetched up at a hay barn, thank goodness, It was the Beer Stop and Cheating sat relaxedly on a bale slipping the tops off little lager bottles – it was nice to know he had been doing his bit. The T-shirt and shorts clad Caboose began to freeze in the chill wind. His goose pimples looked like they had avian flu. We repaired to a sheltered straw nook next to Nicola and DunnyStumbler while I asked the dressed-for-the-Arctic Dutch ever so politely for a cuddle – just to keep warm you understand. She gave me the old hell-will-freeze-over-first-Hashgate look. Then a one-more-word-and-you’re-a-dead-man look to Simple who suggested she would definitely keep me warm since she was covered in cellulite. He’s a far, far braver man than I. And then the faggots came out. No not a mincing parade of effeminate rats from the hay but actual hot Ramsbury meat (of some kind…) faggots, served with delicacy and cheflike aplomb by UsedRubber with his fingers and an antique(i.e. old) knife previously owned by Jed Scoggins, a notorious nose-picker who was hanged in 1928 for cutting the throats of several tramps, two pigs and a small squirrel. Legend has it that on the anniversary of each murder the knife runs red with blood. The faggots were delicious. I hope you all enjoyed them.

Of course, following our adjournment we were all freezing cold and full of booze and rat/llama/chitterlings/dog/horse/dash of sump oil etc. Oops, sorry, wasn’t meant to disclose the recipe. Forget I said that. Anyway, we wanted off this windblown, rain-splattered hill and zipped off-trail and down into Ramsbury asap. Only to be met with not one but two fairly long, knee-deep wades through the river. Omigod! You couldn’t feel your feet and getting going again was a real problem. But not for Cerberus and DunnyStumbler who rather sensibly opted out. A minor stagger to the cars and a clothing change before the really heavy rain began to fall followed. I think we were all glad to get in the warm after a challenging trail. I’d like to see this country in summer – it would be superb.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RAs Simple and ToyBoy presented the Down Downs jointly. I’m afraid only BH3 Downs have been reported due to lack of space.



Style points


Another birthday! Frankly, I’m amazed he’s still living

Fine cake but very naff pint. Happy Birthday anyway, Flash


Just appearing on the trail

Really rather good


Annoying the RA

Fearfully fast with just minor spillage


Getting in ToyBoy’s way

A joint effort by her and ToyBoy


Sinking to one knee twice in the river. Practising a proposal

Fine stuff by the Potman


Splashing, appropriately enough

Very reasonable effort


Today’s virgin

Half went down very well…

Cheating, UserRubber BlouseBlazer

The Hares

Fast stuff indeed. At least they all drank together happily…

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Swan
Sherbourne St. John

Hamlet StinkingBishop




The Seven Stars, Knowle Hill

Cloggs, NonStick