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The Swan Inn, Newtown
South Newbury


Little Stiffy, SlackBladder

Swans and Ugly Ducklings

C4 C5 Hashgate Iceman Dumper Septic Flash Centaur Dave BlouseBlazer Motox OldDog Nutcracker Potty PissQuick Glittertits SlipperyNipple Foghorn Baldrick Lemming Mother Theresa Shitfor Desperate Fannybag Bogbrush and dog Pebbles Spot Quack Cerberus BillyBullshit and dogs Libby and Molly Sluggish Florence Zebedee Shandyman Chopstix Houdini Effin Bomber Posh Grommet StinkingBishop Salome Ms Whiplash Cheating Nicole BlowJob Twanky Caboose

A Letter From Abroad

Firstly, my (and BH3’s) grateful thanks to OldDog and Florence for scripting a Gobsheet each while I was in USA. It’s been a fascinating couple of weeks in the Land of the Free – though given that everyone is fingerprinted, scanned and photographed both entering and leaving the country, and your luggage is scanned again on the way in by the American equivalent of DEFRA(!) you have to wonder about that description. But what a fascinating country and people. On the running side my colleague and I decided we would meet at 07:00 one dark, snowy and -40 Celsius morning and run up the middle of the wide avenue leading to the steps in front of the museum where Rocky punched his fist in triumph. Also, I took a trip up to N.Y. to see Yankit and WetConnection, and run with the Dog’s Bollocks Hash. Prior to the event they walked me over the superb but decidedly chilly Brooklyn Bridge before steaming in to a local diner and stuffing ourselves with eggs, hash (appropriately) browns, bacon and coffee – I do not recommend this just before running eyeballs-out for 45 minutes. After the food, I figured I’d better change into my running kit, did so in the men’s room and was greeted on my return by a somewhat large waitress who declared, hands on ample hips, “Hoo-ee. That’s a mardy farn payer o’ laygs.” WetConnection almost collapsed with laughter and Yankit bustled me out into the freezing cold before the buxom strumpet had a chance to lay a podgy palm on my trembling buns. The Dog’s Hash turned out to be a virtually Check-free, urban race up every tarmac hill going. 7-minute miling or less was the order of the day and woe betide the poor sods at the back. The beer stop bar was literally 200 yards(!) from the finish bar where we all paid 15 bucks for two bottles of beer and a slice of pizza. Admittedly, the slice was big enough to be used as a headscarf by Spex but does BH3 Tick provide better value? I think it probably does. However, there were some great people to meet (including Steamer, who just happened to be there) and later, Yankit and I missed my train back to Philadelphia by 1 minute which meant we just had to go to the bar and drink a couple of pints while watching the football (American). Unfortunately, we were surrounded by very large football afficionados so we had to pretend we knew what the hell was going on to prevent a duffing. “Yo Patriots!”. We agreed, butting the knuckles of our fists together as one of their over-sized gamma-brained linebackers pounded the Broncos Quarterback like a Viennese steak. “It’s six and four at the forty fifth.” Said the commentator as we nodded knowingly. Luckily we got out in one (well two, actually) pieces. There is a whole lot more I could write about but that wouldn’t be fair on Little Stiffy and SlackBladder, our Hares for today. So let’s write about their Hash…

Swanning About

We knew we were in for an interesting time when we found out that Shitfor and BillyBullshit were to be joint RAs for the day. Details of their Ant and Dec-inspired ‘Bush Tuckah Treel’ appear later. PissQuick kindly sent me some pictures of this but since each was approximately 3Gb in size I felt it a tad unfair on Webmeister Iceman to expect him to try and load the damn things on the website in this document. Imagine trying to post an envelope 12ft x 8ft into a letterbox and you’ll get the idea. For the moment let’s enjoy again the sight of Bogbrush at the On Out, Hash umbrella in one hand and the lead of his and Fannybag’s overly enthusiastic dalmation in the other, being dragged along by the lunatic hound while her slightly less enthusiastic mistress, Fannybag, looked on with ill-concealed amusement. However, Bogbrush had the last laugh since Pebbles pulled him up that damn great hill at the start while everyone else staggered up there wheezing and eyeing longingly the vacant plots in the churchyard half way up.

Ooh look! A new paragraph. And you thought I’d forgotten how to do one didn’t you? A paragraph, of course, is a break in the proceedings and it semed appropriate that, as C5 and I held each other’s gasping form up at the top of the hill we ought to have a literary rest too. However, we are going to run out of space soon so let’s press on. Which we did on the Hash, through thicket and briar, chatting with BlowJob about how to keep her hair tidy now she can’t tie it in a pony tail. This was solved very efficiently by Shitfor and Lemming in a puddle later on. One mighty splash from them and BlowJob’s hair slicked back very neatly behind her ears thank you! Lucky for her that they were there to sort out the problem. Not so lucky for OldDog who received an extremely wet trouser leg, prompting several queries about her plumbing arrangements. Actually, it was about this time that FannyBag gave me the benefit of her Ray Mears-like woodland knowledge and confirmed to me that, yes, the tree I was staring at with the furry catkins was indeed a hazel. I was almost as dumbstruck (or just plain dumb) as when LoudonTasteless had explained to me the meaning of the word pineapple. I guess we’re just lucky to have such knowledgeable people on the Hash.

We had a fine regroup that was reached by various people in several different ways. Which speaks volumes for the efficacy of the trail-laying. I must congratulate Nicole for getting there amongst the FRBs. My abiding memory from the restart was of BH3 fanning out across an unploughed corn-on-the-cob desperately looking for flour. From far away (Zeb, I think) came, “It might be on the dung heap.” “What dung heap?” Came from the myopic C5 to my right as a pile o’poo not unlike Ayers Rock rose up directly in front of him. Mind you, I should talk. I managed to trip over a large mound of gently steaming horse droppings directly in front of a manically laughing Lemming. But he was paid back later when, squelching along behind me in that swamp, he suddenly plunged forwards on all fours, reminding us once again of his ground-breaking rôle in Lord of The Rings.

Well, sadly, we are running out of space again. Maybe next time we should go to a font size of 4. But I know some of you lot (young Cerberus…) have trouble reading it at 18 with a pair of binoculars! We’ll round off with one excellent news flash; BlouseBlazer announced that he is off to Russia. Huzzah!! He thinks he was invited by that attractive BBC World Service lady to teach her how to Hash. In actual fact it was by a 16-stone, vodka-swilling woman sheet metal worker whose favourite pastime is punching cows. He’s going to be a shattered husk if he ever returns.

Thankyou Hares for a fine trail and a good pub. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA’s Ant (Shitfor) and Dec (BillyBullshit) presented the following ‘Bush Tuckah Treel’ where plates of the almost inedible were placed before the blindfolded incredible :-



Style points


Ice skating on the Hash

Downed the pint and witchety grub in style


Being overly enthusiastic about a lady

Scoffed several bugs and a mock-up of Lemming’s willy before a huge pint


Severe RA abuse, I believe

Any gent who watched her bite the head off that snake definitely had his legs crossed

Foghorn, Lemming

Darned if I can remember

Everyone else ate Foghorn’s bush tuckah. Lemming looked somewhat bloated. Good pints though.


Getting drunk… again

A wee (actually large) dram o’ whisky

Little Stiffy

Today’s Hares

No bush tuckah. Just a couple of good Downs.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Cross Keys, Wallingford
OX10 0DB





The Cottage Inn,

Upper Bucklebury RG7 6QJ