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The Reformation
Gallowstree Common


Sh*tShoveller, Penny Pitstop

Just About Everyone

The blasted recording machine has failed to record just about all the names so this list is from memory. Apologies if I miss you out.

ScarletPimpernel Motormouth Hashgate Dutch Amanda Tony Claire and dog Barney Dave David Dave FannyBag Cerberus Premature Desperate Sh*tfor Spot Hitchiker Flash John Shirley Potty Baldrick Honeymonster Dumper Septic Vlad Drac Zebedee Florence TT3 Quack C5 Samantha Nigel Katherine CIAC HeyBabe Iceman Motox OldDog Glittert*ts P*ssQuick SlowSucker 2Bob Puddleduck and dog Victor OldF*rt BlouseBlazer Russel Krystyna ShutupWally Lonely Foghorn Chopstix SlackBladder HeadBoy Caboose CabinBuoy Little Stiffy Cloggs Soreskin and her two friends (sorry, can’t remember the names even though we chatted for a bit)

A Walk In The Park…

This trail was such a breathless race, a blood-pumping, nostril-flaring, eyeball-watering, blister-erupting, quality-of-life-reducing, hell-for-leather, ding-dong, plimsoll-ripping, lung-shredding chase through forest and field I feel we should start at a more relaxed pace. The descriptive equivalent of a relaxing walk in the park. Ease on your reading boots and come for a stroll…

Motormouth and I were the first to park in the lane close by the pub. The weather couldn’t make its’ mind up and the sky was a patchwork of grey, dark pink, light blue. It was rather like viewing a giant American widgeon from below. Quite beautiful but, in its’ way,likely to drop something on us from a great height at any minute. “There’s not much going on to record yet Dad, is there?” Said Motormouth, checking the empty road. “Just wait a bit.” I replied. I regard recording Hash events in a similar way to how Andy Warhol made some of his art films. He used to set up a camera in an empty room and leave it running. Personally, I just wait for events to happen. “Here we go, Chris.” I said, gesturing casually to my right. Viewing us from the garden of the house opposite my side of the car was a middle-aged gent wearing a cap pulled low over his forehead. Though it didn’t actually have too far to go from the hair line. His two dogs also watched curiously, one warily creeping towards us before the fellow displayed his mastery of empathetic dog-handling by kicking it up the bum and uttering something like, “Gerron y’bugr ina house,” before sitting on a low bench in his garden, rolling a fat one and pretending not to look at us. About this time ScarletPimpernel rolled into the road (in his car, you fool!) and waved at us as he went past, putting on a brave face to mask his regret at, yet again, having no pack of rampant totty baying at his heels, eager to beg for any tidbit he might toss their way. Mind you, he did his best during the Hash to sweet talk Katherine, tonight’s athlete who turned up in tidy running kit and a large GPS (Gullible Person’s Superfluity) strapped to her slim wrist. Katherine, however, felt unable to mentally sign up to Scarlet’s proferred Virtual Crumpet Contract (sub clause ii – the crumpetee shall, at all times, properly defer to the Crumpet Meister) and ran off faster than he could catch up, no doubt consulting her GPS and being just as clueless as the rest of us. The bloke continued to eye us as Dutch drove towards us, followed closely by SlowSucker who looked as miserable as a bloke who’s just raised both arms skywards in triumph, having run out into the street to shout, “I’ve won the fekin’ lottery you snobby b*stards!” at his neighbours when a golden eagle (rarely seen in that part of Chorleton-cum-Hardy) swoops from aloft, snatches the winning ticket up in its’ terrible beak and bears it off to Uist, stopping briefly at The Forest of Dean (it was lost as well) to snack on a small rabbit. Well might SlowSucker look miserable since Dutch suddenly, and without signalling, wrenched the steering wheel over violently and ‘parked’ by the hedge, causing him to stamp on the brake, roll down the window to let the smell out and wonder where he could borrow a shovel all at the same time. Meanwhile, the bloke in the garden stood up and wandered menacingly over towards us. I opened the car door and waved away the acrid cloud of brake dust. “Would yer move yer car? O’ive gotta swing moi tractor out inter the field.” The fellow asked, surprisingly politely.And indeed he did have a grey tractor parked in his drive. Though I moved and I stopped Katherine parking there directly after the bloke never did swing his tractor out. Perhaps it was because Lonely parked in that very spot later.

Perhaps we had better direct our literary feet towards the Hash before space (and time) get the better of us. The huge gaggle of Hashers formed a Circle round Dutch, deputising for GM Spex, who had heard it was to be a long trail and had opted for an extra week’s holiday in Portugal. Sh*tShoveller gave us a brief run (the opposite of what we were about to do) through of the flour marks and we were off at a trot, David and Spot frightening a few children at a small park before we dived off into undergrowth and shiggy.

Mr Shoveller and Ms Pitstop had contrived a trail that confused and confounded, an example appeared early on where Cerberus, Spot, Nigel and Dave had gone straight on up a woodland trail from a Check only to be called back past walking wounded C5 who was with Ms Whiplash, Flash and Hitchiker – all of them grinning as we rushed back. Off right we streamed, straining to catch up with the Pack who had stopped at another Check ¼ mile along. Where did it go? It blasted well dog-legged back to the original track and Iceman, SlowSucker and I nearly burst a collective gasket catching up again with C5, Ms. Whiplash et al. Speaking of whom, the vagaries of the trail resulted at one point in the FRBs racing to catch up with the real leaders – Ms. Whiplash and Hitchiker! Add to this the time when Motormouth and I were called back from Checking when the Shoveller laid a fairly clear (to us) floury instruction to enter the forest to the right from a road. Simple, Baldrick, Nigel, SlowSucker, Premature, Dunny, Soreskin, OldF*rt and who knows how many more followed. Bad move really. There was no flour and after ½ a mile we stopped. “Quiet everyone.” Called Simple and in the silence he bent double, exhaling deeply until his face turned blue and the veins stood out on his forehead. He unbent rapidly, sucking in all the air in the surrounding area – Soreskin’s hair wavered towards his open cakehole – before booming out, “AAAAAAAARRRRRE YYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Now we had all stood in perfect silence as the echoes bounced off vibrating tree trunks, waiting for any reply but before we got any OldFart started yammering on and drowning out any possible reply. What a prat! We ran all the way back to the road and followed the newly laid flour arrow pointing in the direction from which Motormouth and I had been recalled. How we laughed at the merry jape…

From here we just pasted along in a desperate attempt to catch up and even Zebedee and ShutupWally went over a False and Glittert*ts crashed headlong at Dunny’s feet as he fell (literally) into the ‘more haste, less speed’ trap. The only one who seemed to be thriving on this Herculean effort was Puddleduck’s bounding dog, Victor, who gambolled and lolloped in that lovely buttercup-strewn pasture. We finally caught up with the Pack and found Lonely there. Hadn’t seen him before. Didn’t see him after. And there was ever more speeding through the woods after either Spot, Dave, Cerberus (until she found she couldn’t count the number of blobs from a Check!), Premature, SlowSucker. On and blo*dy on. Even towards the end we circled a swallow hole in the woods for no particular reason and had to endure further Checks – the sadistic Shoveller even tried to call us way back to a Check when we accidentally found the trail after running a fearfully long way in the ‘wrong’ direction. At long last, though, the On Inn appeared and we gratefully staggered and stumbled, ragged and exhausted towards the pub – pathetically grateful Ben Gunns who found themselves outside a cheese shop. The effects of this Hash were best exhibited by my friend Dave who I found going towards his car a couple of hours later in the dark. His tall body was bent and stooped. Limping, he crept his way arthritically forward. “Enjoy that then, Dave?” I asked him brightly. He turned slowly and painfully, “Oh yes.” He replied with a grin, before turning slowly back to continue his cramped shuffle.

We enjoyed it too really. Thanks hares. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-



Style points


Her 300 runs Life Membership. Congratulations Septic!

Drinking while bowed to by Spot, C5, Iceman and me (male Committee members)

Iceman, Baldrick

Received their 300 run certificates dated 2004

Only a bit late then. They were dead on time with a pint and a ½


Birthday and Hash Crash

A balloon, a cake, a card and a pint

Russel, Claire

Tonight’s virgins

Well done, the two of them


Complaining of RA soaking

Soaked himself with spillage

Utopia, Mrs Blobby

The three wise monkeys

Wisely finished their ½ water without too much complaint

Penelope Pitstop

Tonight’s Hares

A pint and a ½ downed with style

Up and Coming



Grid Reference





727735 (approx!)

The Fisherman’s Cottage
224 Kennetside, Reading RG1 3DW

Ms Whiplash




The Pot Kiln, Frilsham RG18 0XX