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Sundhurst Memorial Car Park


BlouseBlazer, ShutupWally


Martin Simple Nutty Podcracker(that’s how it came out on the recorder – must be right!) Hashgate Snowballs Lilo TinOpener and dog Emma Tony PP and dog Barney Handful Honeymonster Baldrick OldFart Iceman Drac C5 Dumper Lemming Mother Theresa Chopstix Shandyman Dutch LoudonTasteless Spex Motox PissQuick Glittertits Desperate Shitfor Grommet StinkingBishop Bridget Lonely Florence Itsyor Twanky Cheating …and later Clogg NonStick ShitShoveller Fukawe Hamlet


The crystal consonants, rolled ‘r’s and plummy vowels were straight out of the 40’s. Alvar Liddell eat your heart out. BBC World Service (Russian Division) in the form of a British Martin, a svelte Russian кавалер, дама Yulia Kalanbarova (whose neat backside had very evidently never ridden a Ukranian tractor for eighteen hours a day) and a small tape machine attached to an exceedingly large microphone (Twanky was very impressed) had arrived to record the Berkshire Hash for posterity and BlouseBlazer was being taped. “Gether rind. Gether rind you cheps and gels.” He intoned. “So gled to see you hyah on this luvvly morn”. He continued, flapping a theatrical hand toward the azure sky. It was the same later at the Regroup. “Well, I say, what fun we’re hevving. And we’ll soon be awf again, what?” Had our Russian friends known what a complete собака’s breakfast Blouse and ShutupWally had made of the trail they’d have been Stalin for time before taking Steppes to Trotsky rapidly away. Part of the problem lay in the fact that Slippery Nipples was originally going to lay the trail with BlouseBlazer but she had to cry off at the last minute. So BlouseBlazer hauled in ShutupWally to help but failed to contact him in time on the Saturday so that, in desperation, Wally started laying what he thought ought to be the trail while BlouseBlazer was laying the real one not a mile or two away. You know, the more I think about this the funnier it gets. Take a moment to view a mental video of the situation. It is truly cracking me up. Something that also cracked up the Long (lost) trail runners as we stopped for a breather at mile 9 or so was Florence, who innocently described ShutupWally as a “slippery substitute”. Desperate almost choked to death on hearing this and the look on Florence’s face as she realised what she had said was an absolute picture. Pity our Russian friend wasn’t there to record that particular soundbite!

So add to the pre-Hash chaos the fact that most of the flour had disappeared or, knowing BlouseBlazer’s prediliction for parsimony on the flour front, never been laid in the first place (there’s more flour in a bowl of borscht than on any of BlouseBlazer’s trails all put together) and you have a Gordon Ramseyesque recipe for disaster with plenty of swearing and cursing. Toss in a fairly heavy frost and some ice in the shaded areas, Lemming, having to run through a bog, some slippery conditions underfoot and a co-Hare who has no idea where he is going and… actually, the more I think of it the more I reckon this one has ‘Hash of the Year’ written all over it.

Let’s start with the sight of Lemming attempting to stuff a handful of ice from a puddle down Desperate’s back. Well, why not? We had no idea where we were going and no flour to follow. (You know, having just watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy on TV I can’t get the thought of Gollum out of my head every time Lemming’s name pops up. Try it, you’ll see what I mean.) Actually, Desperate needed something to wake her up – she was overheard describing the after-Hash activity at Hallowe’en as ‘apple dobbin’. Didn’t see any horses myself…

After OldFart and Itsyor’s initial headlong rush that took us through a sopping, cold, ankle-deep bog we rather ran out of steam so a little light relief was very welcome and Mother Theresa was obviously up for a bit of relief since she was spotted with her back covered in mud. We had a couple of fallers later in the shape of C5 and Iceman. I didn’t actually see C5 plunge but I am reliably informed that it was a cracker. An initial skid while running, a failure to plant a solid footstep, the eyebrows rising ever skywards at the possibility of disaster, a desperate stagger to regain the balance which only increased the momentum and the final, ignominious squelch followed by a slight flapping sound as all the wrinkles come to rest. Iceman, by contrast, was more down-to-earth (in more ways than one). Itsyor and I were running closely on his shoulder down a leafy forest track where the root-crossed ground began to rise a little. We were fairly determined to pass the flying, yellow-shirted Hibernian and I just managed to slip by on the left when, out of the corner of my eye, I’ll swear I saw Itsyor reach out and give poor Iceman a solid shove. Think James Caan in Rollerball and you’ll get the idea. Whatever happened, the lad went down like a set of bagpipes casually discarded from a great height, causing us, I’m afraid, a moment of trouser-splitting hilarity. In case you think we are heartless brutes please note that I rarely find anything funnier than when I fall over. A couple of years ago, on a summer night, when dusk was upon us I was chasing across the sward, unaware of a dip in the undulating field. One moment hurtling through the hip-high grasses, pub in sight, recorder in hand and talking twenty to the dozen; the next, nothing under my front foot, a suddenly disappearing Hashgate to those behind and a full three minutes for the laughter to die down. You can’t beat a good pratfall and some prats fall better than others.Hare ShutupWally gets quote of the day (though it is a very close thing with Florence). While consulting gps, map and compass in a desperate bid to point the Long Trailers in at least roughly the right direction he said with all seriousness, “It may not come through here.” Despite our exhaustion how could we not smile? Shitfor, TinOpener, Desperate, Tony, Florence, Iceman, Twanky and I somehow found ourselves running past Broadmoor and wondering how Wally had managed to get a weekend pass. At least those of us who had run the Bracknell Forest Five and the Bracknell Bounders relays had a rough idea where we were. Which was certainly more than Cheating, who we found skulking about by a Check near a deserted school, blustering that he had run all the trail and failing dismally to convince us. How the hell he got there we had no idea. But then, neither did he.

It took us a while to get back via tarmac and track but eventually we did and enjoyed a good pint in a really nice pub. Well, outside actually, on a superb decking. So, an interesting(!) Hash and I have to say that BlouseBlazer now has as much chance of being renamed TrailBlazer as Jan Leeming has of winning “I’m a Celebrity…”.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple single-handedly presided over a boatrace which Captain Shandyman and his team just pinched from Captain Lemming and his team:-



Style points


100 runs. Well done, feller!

Nice smooth downing


Being daft enough to ask how Dutch Cap got her name

And I though all Russians drank like fish. Even I can drink faster than she can.

Mother Chopstix

Stopping other people getting wet on the Hash

A pint, two straws, two very slow suckers

BlouseBlazer ShutupWally

The Hares

BlouseBlazer’s was taken back & returned as a half since he didn’t deserve a full pint for this trail. Wally spilt his all over his front

Dumper presented Dutch with the BH3 umbrella. It seemed only right that it returned to its original finder. Nice Down Down by the girl.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






Yattendon Village Hall RG18 0UE

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The Seven Stars, Knowl Hill
RG10 3UR