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The Mole, Monk Sherborne


Hamlet, Fukawe

Mermen, Mermaids and Merdogs

Baldrick Hashgate Dutch Cerberus BillyBullshit and dogs Libby and Molly Aqua Motox Steamer baldrick Fannybag Bogbrush Simple SexSlave and daughter LittleRabbit Yorkie Desperate Shitfor Snowballs Fruit’n’nut Flash Mrs Blobby Mr Blobby FairySnow Fuggles VelcroF VelcroM BlouseBlazer C5 Cheating Spex LoudonTasteless TurdTreader OldDog Glittertits PissQuick Salome Ms Whiplash Uplift Centaur Septic Dumper FlyingDoctor


It rained. Arrows of rain. Rain in stair rods. Big, heavy curtains of rain. Lancing rain. Stinging-on-the-back-of-your-neck rain. Cascading down yer back and into yer pants sort of rain. Glittertits remarked later that he had been drier when he was deep-sea diving. I think you can guess – it was wet. The car park seemed fairly deserted just before the Circle; just Motox and Pissquick sheltering under an open car tailgate, and Baldrick, Yorkie and BillyBullshit with a very wet dog in a small portico at the side of the pub. This proved to be an excellent vantage point for seeing the best entrance a Hasher has ever made to a Hash. Just as the appropriately named Flash cycled in an almighty fork of lightning ripped the sky in half, resulting in a cataclysmic crash of thunder. “Morning.” He uttered prosaically. Talk about nonchalant. The bloke has obviously been spatula sculpted out of British phlegm. Nice one, Flash.

It was strange that, as ‘Gather Round’ was called by our omniscient GM, Blouse Blazer, Hashers emerged en masse from various wheeled hiding places where they had been keeping dry. A totally pointless exercise since it began raining harder than ever at this moment. There were three among us who appeared more sensible than the rest. OldDog, Spex and Dutch. They each had their own separate ways of trying to keep dry. Let me list them:-

The rest of us just splashed off at the On Out. It was such a waste of time trying to keep dry that we felt we (and everyone else) should get thoroughly wet to start with. Then we couldn’t get any wetter. This isn’t quite true. After a while your skin seems to give up on the maiden aunt gathering of skirts and squealing, “No, no you beast! Go away! Go away!” for the laid back approach of the about-to-be drunk knowing that the next gulp will tip him over the edge, “Oh sod it. Come on then.” And we duly enjoyed the splendid shiggy, wondering only why Lemming and Foghorn were not around on a day that was meteorologically tailored perfectly for them. Architecturally tailored imperfectly for Mr Blobby was a small wooden bridge over a stream. As he put it later, “One minute I was standing on the thing. The next I was flat on my back in the stream!” Enjoying, no doubt, the rousing cheers and later hearty handshakes for a job well done.

It was a curious, but true, fact that despite the torrential rain the flour blobs and (in one case, underwater, Hamlet told me) Checks all stayed in place and no-one lost the trail. This was in complete contrast to our good GM’s ‘trail’ last week that was run under cloudless skies and with hardly any flour at all. Of course, there was the odd occasion, deep in waterlogged forests where Cerberus, a wet red setter, Iceman and Bogbrush would chase off-trail to an obvious dead-end. And early on I managed to lose the trail right in the middle of an incredibly soggy field with the rain lashing down, a nice, tall telegraph pole next to me and lightning flashing overhead. I almost assumed the egg position when testosterone (yep, there’s still a smidgeon left) and the ‘flight’ reaction set in. Although it turned out to be a bedraggled Florence who found flour again.

Of course, the day had been advertised as a ‘come in your 50s gear’ to celebrate Hamlet reaching his half-century and Fukawe getting to, I think it’s just about 40. The downpour had rather put everyone off the idea – except for one. Trilbys off to the only Hasher who ran round wearing his 50s gear – C5, whose skin-tight jeans got tighter as he got wetter. Not a pleasant experience I’m sure. At least later he would have had a free leg wax when it came to peeling ‘em off. In fact, C5 and I almost never made it to the last Regroup. As we trotted a few yards into what seemed to be a geographically misplaced paddy field we both realised we were up to our ankles in quickmud, and sinking fast. Luckily, Steamer pointed out the compacted tractor tracks near us and we just managed to squelch out of the shiggy before it claimed us in its loamy embrace.

I must briefly mention Aqua who, apart from having the most apposite name also gets the award for the sexiest running style seen on the day. Somewhere between a shimmy and a shuffle this hip-swaying effort would not be out of place in the Tahitian Half-Marathon and would certainly be up for a medal in the Instanbul 10k. To be fair about this and to give the ladies a chance to have their say I will be happy to print anything they would like to mention (in strictest confidence of course!) that may have floated their boat on this particularly damp day – or at any time in the future. Though thinking of the broken-down hacks that make up the male side of BH3 I must confess I don’t expect to be crushed in the stampede…

We owe a debt to both Hares for turning out twice on such a stonkingly wet day. But then we always get a good trail from hamlet and Fukawe. Thanks guys!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-



Style points

Hamlet, Fukawe

Their birthdays. Happy Birthday!

Hamlet just got there first


Getting lost on the way to the Hash

Lost the pint very quickly down his neck

Mr Blobby

Hurling himself off that bridge

A very fine pint indeed


Running into a branch

And another


Removing her bra on the Hash!

Rather horrible white wine – and it showed


Wearing pink(ish) underwear

She actually managed to drink the wine!


Running round with that umbrella

Bit of a false start but got there in the end

Hamlet, Fukawe

Today’s excellent Hares

A fine ½ from both. Well deserved :-)

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Seven Stars, Knowle Hill
RG10 3UR

Cloggs, NonStick




Swallowfield Village Hall RG7 1QX
* Christmas Lunch *