The Hashers

Motormouth Hashgate Iceman Baldrick Vlad Drac BlowJob Honeymonster Potty Nutcracker Snowb*lls Foghorn OdDog SlackBladder Spex LoudonTasteless Tw*nky CabinBuoy Matthew Louise Virginia BlouseBlazer Hitchiker Spot Glittert*ts P*ssQuick Snotty SixInches Motox ScarletPimpernel Lemming Mother Theresa Barry and dog Fido Nicola and dogs Bud and Shady Dutch Ms Whiplash Salome Cheating Dave SlowSucker Lonely Bootsie Quack Sh*tshoveller HeadBoy

The Hash

Had there been any brass monkeys joining us this morning there would have been no doubt that their next port of call would have been the nearest blacksmiths for a bit of spot welding. It was bitterly cold with a shredding wind that left the average Hasher feeling peeled raw and shivering. Those average Hashers foolhardy enough to cycle to the event: Vlad, Drac and BlowJob wheeled stiffly into the car park, red-eyed and playing bogey yo-yo. They had to have their fingers prised off the handlebars and be lifted off, knees still bent, like velocipedal cadavers in the first stages of rigor mortis. Other average Hashers had adopted unusual headgear to combat the frigid conditions. Honeymonster essayed a rather rakish cowboy hat – hadn’t really got him down as a Trance clubber. ScarletPimpernel and Barry sported their Reading Roadrunners bilious yellow bobble hats and SlackBladder, for reasons best known to himself, adopted a cap with earflaps that made him look like an itinerant lumberjack. BlouseBlazer strode around wearing a woolly pudding on his bonce. Spex had folded a dark red headscarf around her and huddled against the cold in her jacket. Had we seen her in Broad Street, Reading sitting cross-legged on a piece of cardboard, cuddling a fake baby and with a note pinned to her stating, “I am Ukranian refuge. No muny to fidd bayby. Visa/Mastercard is ok.” We would not have been surprised. One thing that did surprise was the sight of Iceman calmly applying lipstick. It was two week’s after the Red Dress Run. Obviously, his award for the most outstanding n*pples has gone to his head. Incidentally, if you’re wondering why certain words in this report have been bowdlerised it’s an attempt to see if the document will get through certain commercial network gateways on its’ journey to the, shall we say, printer. A couple have disappeared or been quarantined recently.

Given the conditions we really must thank our two Hares for taking time out from rogering each other senseless their leisure pursuits for laying the Hash. Particularly so for actually laying a trail in Berkshire – a rarity these days. Even though it seemed to be round just about all of Berkshire and included leading us across fields where chaps wielding 12-bores were shooting clay discs with all the manic abandon of the Clantons at OK Corral. The first occurrence was quite early on when Spot and Motormouth had lucked out on the Checks and were furlongs ahead of the pack. One minute they were trotting happily through an alien landscape of strawberry-growing polytunnels, the next World War III had broken out. Thoughts of Dick Cheney spurred their efforts towards the first Regroup, carefully laid to ensure the Pack got back together after a series of long, straight runs. In fact, Spot and SlowSucker were so shaken by the random firing they nipped into the forest for a comfort break – or perhaps it was just something to do with old age…

Sections of springy forest followed, occasionally broken by a length of tarmac. Quite a contrast but typical of the area. We began to warm up. Now I must mention our two youngest and most recent Hashers: Louise and Matthew who were pasting along like Paula Radcliffe and John Brown. The contrast in energy and enthusiasm of these two youngsters and the shambling mass of the Pack couldn’t have been greater. Learn by example BH³!

Of course any Hash with Lemming present is bound to have at least one incident. It seems the little fellow was ambling along through the forest when he caught his elfin foot on a tiny caterpillar out for a Sunday morning amble. Down he crashed, much to the amusement of Motormouth, to be followed immediately by Bl*wJob who hurled herself upon his prostrate form with a shrill squeal of joy(?). Quite why anyone would want to throw themselves on top of Lemming is a fairly unanswerable question. Perhaps Bl*wJob’s sap is rising. She should try Tw*nky next time. There’s more of him and it might be more of a challenge…

A Check appeared by a small road that led right to an apparently commercial area, left to a main road. Decisions. Decisions. Lonely plumped for the private road after a bit of a chat and the rest of the FRBs headed to the main road - SlowSucker, and on in to the forest - Drac, Dave, Spot and Nicola to let her wolves off the lead for a poo. Quite why Drac et al missed the dirty great ‘F’ by the side of the trail we shall never know. SlowSucker obviously hit another by the main road but the forest people had a fairly long track back to where Chopstix stood, hands on hips and an exasperated air, wondering how the FRBs had got on the walker’s trail. It was a damn long way up that private road to catch up with the Pack although there was a definite plus side. The Pack had found a Fishook 10 (i.e. ten people reverse to the rear of the Pack) and, since most of the FRBs had only just caught up people like Mother Theresa were having to track back and start again. Like finding Hitchiker tracking back from a Bar-11 a few weeks ago this was a rarity and something to record in the BH³ Big Book of Hashing History. How those naughty FRBs grinned.

The second of the Regroups appeared with Lonely and Drac leading the tiring herd to a well-earned rest before we pressed on again to our choice of Long or Short split. The Long was aptly named. A meandering, non-stop hike across tarmac and fields with SlowSucker and Spot running like the clappers. This was a pretty good idea when we reached a sodden field of sticky mud littered with shattered clay pigeons which the gentleman bearing a smoking Purdey had been spraying with gunshot not two minutes before. Though he and his colleague smiled there was an underlying sense of irritation and it was with the hope that their flapping motions through the shiggy didn’t look too much like wounded pheasants that the FRBs ploughed onwards.

Of course, when the Honey Hill road sign appeared we guessed that the ford might come into the equation and we were not wrong. Standing by it were P*ssQuick, Hitchiker and Nutcracker, along with a Bar across the bridge. Oh dear! Fortunately, only SlowSucker was daft enough to go through it. Then back again when he realised the trail actually bypassed it. Everyone who had been to last week’s ice-water carnival breathed a silent prayer of relief. It was, after all, damn cold and there was still a way to go. Up mud-choked tracks, more tarmac, fields of horses, bit of wood and finally that soaking, highly uneven field opposite the pub.

A word of advice to Glittert*ts. If you don’t feel like running on a freezing cold day don’t stick a nail through your foot. Just don’t go. No brainer really.

Thanks go to Chopstix and Shandyman who had the bottle to go out twice on this freezing cold day. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Standin RA Motox presented the following :-

Just a short break in the middle

Up and Coming

BH³ April Fools Barn Dance

On Saturday April 1^st at Finchampstead Village Hall (gridref 793632) from 7:30 to 12:00. £10 which includes food. Byo drink and glass. BH3 members can bring one new person along for £5. See Motox.