Dribbler and I looked down on the slowly rotating carcass before us. The piggy on a spit glistened and dripped in its silver roasting machine, looking somewhat incongruous on the expansive terrace with the stunning view of rolling Berkshire before us. A large steel shaft entered the creature from its rear end, ran through the middle and emerged from its open mouth, giving the brainless thing a surprised expression and a totally inability to utter even the quietest “Oink.” Quite why a (mercifully fuzzy) vision of Wally in a similar position entered my head I do not know but I brushed aside the awful thought (almost) as soon as it appeared. After all, the poor fellow had been partially crucified on the Friday night with a broom pole through the arms of his shirt before a pint was helpfully placed in his hand. And on Sunday he was to be ceremonially dunked headfirst into Spex’s toilet throne. Don’t tell him I said so but he was a very good sport and took it all in good spirit.

If you weren’t at the 1500th I think you can get some idea of the flavour of the weekend from the above. It was a heady mixture of Hashing, beer, eating, dancing, beer, not sleeping, laughter, dressing up in ridiculous costumes, champagne and trying desperately to escape from the area around Baldrick on Saturday night when he let go with a fearful ripsnorter of a guff that cleared the settee faster than the sudden appearance of Freddie Kruger in mid-cushion. At the time I was engaging in idle and enjoyable alcoholic prattle with J-Wax at the top of the steps just outside the tall rear exit doors. First we noticed people rushing towards the bar desperately trying not to throw up on the carpet. Then Baldrick appeared, backlit by the interior lights and seemingly surrounded by a slight haze. Our conversation lapsed slightly as he uttered phlegmatically, “I’ve just let one go in there.” The unspoken thought by both of us was, ‘Please God. Don’t let him let one go out here!’ J-Wax was something of a revelation to us this weekend. Usually, she is a quiet, pleasant lady with a nice smile who walks round the trails. This weekend she was running round the trails in shorts and a flowery hat and on Saturday Night’s Royal dressing-up theme appeared looking so much like the Queen in her powder blue suit, gloves and hat that everyone had to look twice at the regally waving figure just to make sure. Just to add to the shock factor she then pulled a bottle of honey liqeur from her Royal handbag and offered me a tot in a shot glass with a web address ending in ‘blow-me.com’. I assume it is one of those whimsical sites where polite people are surprised by something mildly amusing. Something more than mildly amusing was worn by GnomeAlone in his guise of King Dong. All I shall say about it is that I’m glad I didn’t suddenly turn round at the bar to find him behind me, his knitting skills and understanding of the principles of the cantilever are second to none and that it brought a small tear to the eye of SlowSucker as he viewed the jaunty woollen appendage and experienced a long-buried memory. There were any number of Queen Bees buzzing about and it was surprising they all got on so well. I’ve managed to hive off one of the photos so you can see what they looked like.

Of course, no event like this is without incident and OldDog and Spex managed to provide a pair. The former fell up and down stairs (while still sober apparently!), not only bashing an elbow and knee but give herself a stonker of a black eye and an apparent third eyebrow with a graze above the real left one. Spex hurled herself nosefirst to the forest floor during the BallBreaker in a reasonably successful effort to have herself declared hors de combat. Luckily, neither was hurt too badly but they did confuse a lot of the blokes during the rest of the weekend. OldDog kept winking (albeit unintentionally) at them while Spex kept tapping her nose gently and looking sideways (at it); both of which actions were totally misinterpreted by grinning fools who thought their luck was in. Talking of the BallBreaker, we must thank the BB Hares who spent 5½ hours laying the thing on Friday so that we could take approximately the same amount of time running round it on Saturday – though it seemed longer. Apart from the total exhaustion it was truly an excellent trail and we ended up at a large hut in the middle of the forest to enjoy a superb alcoholic picnic followed by Anorak and TrainSpotter’s Hash wedding where the bride was given away (discarded really) by Dumper in a top hat. Unfortunately, the ceremony was delayed for a bit while Nutcracker heaved and strained in the background, trying desperately to remain cool and feminine while forcing herself out of an old car tyre. I asked her later why she had got into it. “Potty seemed to think it was a good idea.” She answered. I’ll bet he did. Fortunately, the wedding went off fine, with a slightly hungover and fairly sleepless (been up until 04:00, drinking) Simple officiating in his Cardinal’s outfit. A fair number of Down Downs were awarded by him and Shandyman (resplendant in chaplain’s purple hassock) to, among others, Quack, who, seasoned camper that he is, had forgotten to bring his sleeping bag. Cheating had forgotten to bring his shoes. Miss Direction had peed herself the night before and told the RA(!!!) There was also a set of stocks in which the unfortunate RentBoy (oops, sorry, Scarlet Pimpernel) ended up with C5 holding the top down over his neck and wrists. He was there because he had failed to look after our now nasally challenged GM, Spex, even though she had rented him for the day. Poor C5. SlowSucker and BillyBullshit were two of those who picked up the container full of water and sponges, ran towards Scarlet Pimpernel, skidded on the Down Down tumblers on the ground and threw the lot over the innocent C5! Luckily this was after many, many people had a go with the wet sponges when an already very muddy Lemming was be-stocked. Speaking of Lemming, I found that he and Mother Theresa were in the room next to mine in the accommodation. Now it’s never easy to sleep in a strange room and I have to say that my slumber was continually interrupted by all that banging, crashing, bed-squeaking, hee-hawing, carpet-gnashing mayhem interspersed with squeals, electronic buzzing and cries of, “Yes, yes. Give it to me big boy.” When I quizzed Lemming about it next day he said he had slept like a log all night. At least Iceman in the room on the other side of me made no noise but I bet he was tossing silently all night.

So much went on this weekend that I could write quite a chunky pamphlet if time and space were not nipping at my heels (like Lilo’s dog, Emma, did on Saturday morning – she desisted after her first free flying lesson off the toe of my running boot). So let me end with a wee picture of our most excellent GM, Spex, and most excellent HashMash, LoudonTasteless who were members of a team of organisers who produced a really, really enjoyable weekend. To everyone who organised the event and those who helped on the days very, very well done and thankyou for a brilliant BH3 1500th!

Run Number:



Visit the website – http://www.berkshirehash.co.uk
Website Email –


Village Hall, Mortimer West End


Lonely, Bootsie

Post Weekenders

Blowjob Iceman Hashgate Sue Motox Twanky Mr Blobby Zebedee Florence Whinge TC Septic Itsyor Simple Centaur Incider with dog Kundun RubberLegs TooPosh Spex LoudonTasteless C5 Flash Foghorn Dribbler Butterfly Quack TinOpener Uplift Shandyman Shirley Jon OldDog SlackBladder Billy Bullshit with dog Libby FannyBag BogBrush Vlad Drac ScarletPimpernel PP Tony and dog Barney Cerberus with dog Molly Little Stiffy ShitShoveller Dwight Cheating Abi TT2 DunnyStumbler Utopia Mrs Blobby Baldrick BlouseBlazer Barry and dog Fido SlowSucker and three athletic blokes whose names I’m afraid I can’t remember – sorry.

Lonely Pulls a Fast One

Now I hardly have space left to report Lonely and Bootsie’s post 1500th Hash and scoff/drink the stuff left over from the weekend. Though a large number of fresh-faced Hashers joined the hungover and leg-weary weekenders some almost didn’t make it. Whether through exhaustion or lack of planning a few people turned up at Mortimer Village Hall car park instead of Mortimer West End Village Hall car park; Blowjob, Iceman, two ladies never seen before in a large van and… me. However, it did give the weary legs of Iceman and myself a chance to miss out on the first loop and ease ourselves gently into the trail. Or so we thought. It turned out to be one of those non-stop, lung-heaving, eyeball-popping, masochistic jaunts BH3 occasionally indulge in. I don’t remember seeing Bootsie at all. Being a reasonably sensible person (apart from her attraction to Lonely) she was probably back at the Hall relaxing under an open beer tap. Lonely did appear sporadically, outlandishly decked in webbing stuffed with flour. Apart from the pain of the run the only thing I clearly remember was Barry’s little Jack Russell, Fido, finding the only puddle for miles in the middle of Silchester car park and ecstatically rubbing his pristine white tummy around in it. If only we could all find such pleasure in something so simple. Well it’s a short report for a seemingly long Hash and all that’s left to say is a thanks to the Hares and to those who organised the enjoyable food and drink beano afterwards. Back to ‘normal’ next week. See you then.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented almost everyone with a Down Down, using any reason at all that came into his head. It was one of the best sessions we have had! Cheersh.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference




* 19:00 *


* The AGM *
The Village Hall, Silchester

Mr Blobby


* Sunday *

* 11:00 *

The Butchers Arms
Sonning Common