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The Horse & Harrow
West Hagbourne


Posh, Bomber

Autumnal Hashers

Foghorn Glittertits PissQuick Hashgate Lemming Mother Theresa BlowJob Twanky Iceman Baldrick TinOpener Lilo and dog Emma Snowballs Potty Nutcracker C4 C5 Septic Swallow Blouseblazer Dwight Scoot Toby Whinge TC Drac Bogbrush Fannybag and dog Pebbles Nappyrash PP and dog Barney Cheating OldFart Heybabe CIAC Spot Hitchiker Anorak TrainSpotter GnomeAlone CabinBuoy Butterfly Dribbler Lonely Caboose JustMoist Florence Zebedee Motox Steamer Liz Ladybird J-Wax

A Hoarse and Harrowing Hash

Important things first – Nippon Tuck and Puppy’s baby is called Saskia and weighed in at 8 lb 1 oz. Both parents and child are fine and BH3 send them all our congratulations and best wishes. Only one fly in the ointment I understand. Grandfather Foghorn insisted on sending them a helpful dvd on breastfeeding… with himself and a small stuffed raccoon as the ‘mother and child’. Still, he’s certainly built for it.

Now this was the pub where, last time, I saw a fellow driving a speedboat on wheels past and Zebedee managed to crunch Florence’s car during an excellent example of how not to race into and park on a muddy field. No such shenanigans this time fortunately. Though on this bright and mild October morning we were treated to the sight of C5 (Over-60s running champion of the entire world) presented with the Hash Cross at the Gather Round. Not the usual light plywood object but a much more industrial version, firmly screwed together and constructed of lovingly chamfered 4 by 2. It weighed a ton and C5’s face fell lower than Fulham in the Premiership at the sight. Luckily, he managed to find the original and ran round singing, “Always Look On The Bright Side of Life.’

Lemming was with us today, not only sucking down pints with Whinge after the Hash like a human (well, nearly human) sponge but indulging in his favourite pastime early on in the Trail. Poor Steamer, on one of his rare forays to the U.K., took the full force of Lemming’s two-footed shiggy dropkick leaving him dripping with gobbets of shiggy. He looked like he had unwittingly strayed behind a cow with a bad case of flatulence and diarrhorea. As did Dribbler (aptly named). Curiously, Foghorn decided to stay out of the melée. Obviously, his lofty grandfather status precludes him from such juvenile antics.

Of course, with super-athletes like Posh and Bomber the Trail was bound to be long and arduous. At the end of each long, long, leg-jarring stretch we would come across Posh, loitering palely like a Size 0 model by a stile. Or resting languidly against a gate, toying with an exotic flower. You have to admit, the girl has class. Rather like the delightful time-warp village of East Hagbourne. It’s pretty cottages sat quietly in the sunshine – elegant and timeless – reminding us that England isn’t all hoodies, terrorists and petty bureauocracy. We tripped lightly up the tree-lined, off-road causeway by a little stream, past Glittertits and CabinBuoy, who were discussing redundancy insurance cover (did you know there are even self-employed people who have this? Amazing, don’t you think?) to the Regroup where a thoughtful Parish Council had placed a comfy bench and a litter bin. Now you wouldn’t think that Barney, PP and NappyRash’s friendly and energetic 12-year old dog, would have anything in common with Rupert Brooke, would you? I was a tad surprised myself. Yet here he was, splashing about naked in the cold stream like the Neo Pagans, thoroughly enjoying himself, then leaping from the icy waters somewhat, ahem, stiffer than when he went in. I was thankful not to be a dachsund. He could have had my eye out with that.

The Short and Long Trail split appeared as we left the Regroup and Bomber had told us that the Long was approximately one mile further than the Short. Dribbler (for he is a consummate athlete at heart) intoned that it was hardly worth having just the extra one mile. It might as well be ten. Then buggered off smartly down the Short trail. Sensible lad. The Long had at least one hugely lengthy hairpin where we staggered, breathless, along a narrow bush-lined track behind Lonely and Drac for seeming miles until we got past them as well as C5 and Florence who were discussing, you guessed it, insurance. Hellfire! What’s up with these people?

More miles passed. Even C5 was getting knackered. Trainspotter had slowed down. Tongues were lolling and it wasn’t just Pebbles and Barney. I caught up with Glittertits as the lost Pack came to a grinding halt at a pleasant but unknown backroad junction. A car drew up and the lady driver appeared to beckon to Swallow, who went over to lean in the window. Curiously, our girl appeared to be giving directions with a lot of arm-waving and nodding this way and that until the driver smiled at her and continued to the junction. Glittertits and I agreed (since GT was today’s RA) that this was well worth a Down Down. The funniest part of this was when the car rolled over the junction and into the drive of the house opposite! Couldn’t have been that lost then, surely? It turned out that Swallow had, in fact, been asking for, rather than giving, directions. So the Down Down was most definitely earned.

It was immediately after this that C5, irked beyond snapping point by the length of the trail and the weight of the Hash Cross, swiped Florence in the gob with it. A mite un-gentlemanly we agreed. Even if she deserved it. Certainly not the action of an ex-headmaster and captain of industry. But then we think the ‘little grey cells’ are beginning to emulate the leaves on the trees at this time of year – curling up and dropping off. He could hardly remember his own name when he was collecting the Tick later, let alone anyone else’s…

After the Hash our two kind Hares handed out rolls and cheese to the stumbling remnants of BH3. Very kind of them. Perhaps this was what kept most people in the car park for so long. In the near deserted pub OldFart remarked that no-one was ordering beer. “They are all in the car park, admiring Posh’s buns”. ‘Nuff said.

Thanks hares. A thoroughly enjoyable autumnal (almost summer-like) Hash.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-



Style points


Winning the Clarendon ½ Marathon over 60’s division

Swiftly, and with style


Asking directions

Nominated me as ½ pint champion. Then swallowed the lot in one go!

Motox, GnomeAlone

Stuffing pears down their shorts!

Ooer! Not each other’s I hasten to explain. Nice Downs.


Lost property – his BH3 mug

Got a tiny drop in case he is just on the ear’ole. Still managed spillage!


Tipping the broken-ankled Nutcracker out of her wheelchair into the path of oncoming traffic

Despite bemoaning the inability of the oncoming traffic to finish the job he Downed the pint very smartly



The poor bloke was half cut as it was.

Baldrick was awarded the Hash Cross because he grabbed the thing when C5 ran past him


A pint to ‘ease the pain’

How does she do that!

Posh, Bomber

Our Hares

Bomber actually got there first


A pint made up of everyone’s drinks for moaning that no-one remembered his birthday

Slightly slower than usual. But not a drop spilled.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






* Note change of venue *

NWH3’s invitation to Ramsbury Brewery (SN8 2HA) booze-up & pig roast/veggie fest.

£8 gets you 5 pints or wines + food

Bring chair, plate, cutlery, mug/glass


There are 3 trails




The Blackbird, Bagnor RG20 8AQ

Penny Pitstop