Run Number:



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The Red Lion, Axford


Sunbeam, Cheating

Berks and Wilts

Motormouth Hashgate desperate Cerberus BillyBullshit and dogs Libby and Molly BlouseBlazer Baldrick Honeymonster Little Stiffy Slackbladder Spot Zebedee Florence Quack oldDog C5 Dumper Drexel Centaur Ms Whiplash Salome Snowballs Lemming Mother Theresa TinOpener Lilo and dog Emma Motox Foghorn PissQuick Glittertits DunnyStumbler Flash Iceman LoudonTasteless Caboose Jan Donut Hilary Binbag Potty Nutcracker and a fine turnout by the North Wilts H3 (nice to see them all but too many to mention)


It was a long way to look up. Lemming peered fretfully upwards. The last time he had seen Motormouth (my son) on the Hash he was about the same size and Lemming had tried to con him out of his birthday money. Now, Motormouth loomed adolescently over BH3’s very own garden gnome, trying not to smirk – like the rest of us. Poor Lemming. It was payback time. His adam’s apple rose and dropped as he swallowed slowly and essayed an ingratiating smile. Even Mother was trying not to smirk. Funny how he attracts trouble isn’t it? Last week he was clothes-lined and elbow-dropped by Donut. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person.

Apart from Billy Bullshit who was on top form today – convincing walking wounded C5 and me that he had lost his dog when all the time he had handed the creature over to Cerberus earlier. And leading on that friendly North Wilts Army officer after the Hash by insisting he was far to young and asking him several times if he was in the cadets. Tut. Tut. Had Cerberus and Desperate not been in the car nearby wriggling out of their kit… hang on, let me just view that mental picture – purely to reflect upon the reality of the situation in order to report it more accurately, you understand. Er; where was I? Oh yes. Had it not been for their proximity and state of provocative deshabillé. Hang on again. Girlish giggles. Luminous, untanned expanses of smooth skin. Taut snapping of elastic. Firm, swelling curves. Gulp. I think I’ve got the picture. Crikey. I’ll have to loosen some clothing. Um, anyway, yes. Billy was that close from a decking. Apart from the girls. And his great age of course.

Cheating addressed the masses at the Gather Round dressed like an ancient French tart about to go off on some sleazy skiing trip with a youthful gigolo. An electric blue shell suit jacket adorned his upper frame while a curious and rather frightening headband-cum-ear-muffs circumnavigated his head. In the middle of this his hair stood up spikily, adding further to the back-combed strumpet look. Despite this eye-catching appearance most of us stood and chatted idly while he carefully and succinctly explained the trail, the signs we would see on it, the Beer Check and so on. I certainly missed most of it since Hilary sidled up next to me wearing little else on her upper half but a T-shirt which meant that the stiff breeze had turned the usually smooth skin on her arms into the texture of cheese graters. Amazing! Had HashMash LoudonTasteless been brewing up a hot mulled wine on this nippy morning I certainly knew where to go to get my nutmeg grated.

The On Out proved to be a precursor of the rest of the trail. We all turned left up a steep grassy track off the road. We toiled. We struggled. We gasped and panted. We got half way up. Hashers were falling silently into the bushes at either side. Others lay on their backs, eyes closed, chests heaving, whispering breathlessly, “You go on. Leave me behind.” Which is when the On Back was called. I don’t think any of us had actually seen any flour but we had carried on regardless. Mind you, this stood us in good stead for the rest of the Hash. Confusing or what? Zeb, Motormouth and I figured we were in for a good/bad trail when we hacked and coughed our way up another steep hill to find Dumper FRBing like a good ‘un. We congratulated him in that rather smug, patronising manner that FRBs have and shot off to the right at the nearby Check. Before finding a ‘T’ about ½ a mile away. We assumed this meant False and tracked back, this time being far more polite to Dumper – who had of course gone the correct way and was rather a long way ahead of us again. Having reached a stile at the top of the hill Snowballs, Dunny and Spot enjoyed the sound of ‘On On’ being called from two entirely different directions. Yep, we knew we were in for a good ‘un. Especially when we looked left and saw a string of Hashers, led by SlackBladder, crawling under a barbed wire fence.

It got even more confusing. At a Check in the middle of the forest Desperate and BlowJob were a tad nonplussed to see eleven flour blobs on the trees surrounding it. We figured it would be a great idea to get all the Pack together, then run round in a circle without stopping, calling ‘On On’ and really irritate Cheating. Unfortunately, everyone had spread far and wide so BlowJob decided to amuse us with the old, ‘Look – I’m going to saw my leg in half with this bramble’ trick. Nearly did it too. It was a damn fine effort. Meanwhile, Little Stiffy was so confused she managed to stop only just a millimetre from the tree she was just about to walk into. Very kind of her to do this in front of The Scribe. Donut, too, having tasted the electric allure of fame from last week’s Gobsheet, attempted to manipulate the Press by hurtling earthwards and flattening a small daisy. Well she may have been picked up by your roving correspondent (very light and largely unruffled, I have to report – like lifting a lightly dazed chaffinch that’s just bounced off one’s double glazing) but she only made the back page this week.

After a long and arduous trek through leg-whipping brambles in the forest, where more than one North Wilts Hasher was heard to utter a mighty oath and call into question the male antecedants of the Hares, we finally reached the beer stop. This was a four-wheel drive vehicle parked at the top of a hill with no owner in sight. Fortunately, we managed to break in and plunder the booty that lay cool and refreshing in its boxes. Lager, water, grapefruit juice – you name it, it was provided and verily we fell upon it and did do it serious damage. We were lucky that the route back was short and way down that damn great hill. Which was where we met Billy and our Army officer trotting breathlessly up it (actually Billy was, not our Army officer), having got lost earlier and found the On Inn. How we chuckled at their misfortune. How we sped down that track (even C5, who was having to walk), flew across that fine little bridge with the lovely views of the stream, nipped up a small hill and took great pleasure in seeing the pub just a 100 yards away.

As for the trail. Well, we were all terribly confused, the Pack kept together mostly and we went through some fine country. Let’s call it a success. There you go Cheating – it was worth handing me that fiver for a good write-up wasn’t it…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RAs Rowenta and our very own Dumper presented the following :-



Style points

Cheating, Sunbeam

Today’s Hares

Fast and furious – they only got halves!

Dog, Ginger Bloke, Swarfega, Fossil, Sarah, Package

Reasons ranging from running the trail backwards to musing about the delights of seeing Rowenta wearing tights

All polished off with aplomb


Having the whitest legs

Was obviously thirsty


Today’s Hash Crash

Nominated a thankful Motox

Cheating, Sunbeam

Laying a crap trail

Furious and fast – halves again!


His birthday

Well sipped

Donut handed (what’s left of) the umbrella to Rowenta. Good idea – nice to get rid of the damn thing.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference




7:00 pm


The Thatchers Arms
North Street, Theale



7:00 pm


The Calleva Arms


Spring Along On Motox’ Hash Walk

Sunday 15th April @ 11:00 am. Start at end of Sonning Lane (B4446), Sonning. Gridref 756754.
Pub stop for food/drink or bring your own. See Motox for details.