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The New Leathern Bottle
Jealotts Hill


Bowjob, Twanky


ShutupWally (sans rat) Cloggs Nonslip Donut Hashgate Glittertits Pissquick The Tremblers Bomber Posh Motox Vlad Drac Whinge TC (she told me off for missing her off the attendance list a couple of weeks back. I can only apologise profusely. Perhaps she ought to swap names with Whinge?) C5 Foghorn Cheating PoisonIvy desperate Shitfor Lonely Bootsie Billy Bullshit Cerberus Itsyor Fiddler Slowsucker vertigo Mhairi Spot Snowballs PP NappyRash and dog Barney TinOpener Mother Theresa Lemming Karen Blouseblazer Florence Zebedee OldDog Centaur JWax Baldrick Honeymonster Dribbler
(If I miss out anyone’s name today it’s because my blasted recording machine didn’t. Record, that is.)

East is East…

Let’s lead the Quote of the Day out of the dark stable and into the sunlit field, brush its mane to flowing perfection, give it a bucket of oats, stand back and admire its fetlocks. Florence it was, who eyed one of those diminutive Shetland ponies and exclaimed with rather too much enthusiasm, “Now I could cope with a horse that size.” I must say I was not cognisant of the fact that Florence was skilled in the equine arts. However, I’m sure many of you can imagine her with a snorting beast between her well-defined thighs. Possibly applying a touch of the whip.

Not long before this our Flo had, with lackey and fawning sycophant C5, been blaming me for the somewhat lengthy running sections of today’s trail, citing my mentioning (in previous Gobsheets) of the number of Westerly Hashes and stating that it was my fault that this more Easterly Hash consisted of these long straight bits. Certainly, there were some pretty long sections between Checks, as Donut, ShutupWally, Cloggs, Nonstick and I found while desperately trying to catch up with BH3 which had scurried from the car park some ten minutes before we arrived. Actually, it was rather surprising Donut and I arrived at all. Almost at our destination, by a left turn on a fairly main road, my map-wielding co-driver (motto for the day: I know where I am) confidently ordered, “Turn left here.” Almost immediately followed by, “Oops, no. Should have carried on.” I attempted to execute a U-turn in what had been a deserted road, only to find a dirty great big white estate bearing down on us, apparently intending on a T-Bone. I did the only thing that could be done in the pressurised circumstances. Stalled the car. Funny how your mind goes when you are out of a well-worn mental groove isn’t it? You have to re-learn everything. Was the car in gear? BuggadifIknew. Handbrake on? Couldn’say. New pair of trousers? Yes please. Eventually I got the damn thing started and crawled sheepishly away, waving feebly at the other driver and avoiding eye contact. And going the wrong way. We should have turned left anyway. Only later did we find out the driver and passenger of the other car were Cloggs and Nonstick. They found it all quite amusing.

Despite the almost non-stop rain of the past week the early ground wasn’t too bad. Particularly on the cinder horse tracks and the semi made-up farm roads that we pounded along. We finally (and gaspingly) caught up with walkers The Tremblers, JWax and Baldrick who all trudged onward resolutely toward the Regroup where, finally, we found the rest of the Pack, some of whom seemed to be covered in shiggy. See if you can guess a couple of names. Correct – Lemming, Shitfor. Even Poison Ivy, who had bravely bared her shoulders to the January air peered out of a layer of mud like an Argentinian mud frog (Leptodactylus bufonius). But much prettier, of course. (Phew. Think I recovered quite well there). The shiggy we did encounter was of the consistency experienced by parents of fairly new born babies. I won’t go into details but those of you who have found that the chubby-faced apple of their eye had suddenly turned into a rogue sludge pump and that you needed waders, breathing apparatus, a welding mask and a snow shovel to get near the little blighter know what I mean. One particular area contained skiploads of the stuff. No doubt in summer this grassy patch running between two paddocks was a pleasant, well-mown ramblers paradise adorned with purple clover and alive with dancing butterflies. Not today. PP and I watched stood at the start of this soaking, hoof-pocked bog patch filled with the most lubricious, shoe-sucking shiggy we had encountered since the Tough Guy. It waited for us. Almost silent. Just the occasional ‘glup’ as something slimy belched to the surface and exploded poisonously. There was nothing for it. We set off, the foul mixture spurting up the leg with every clogging, muscle-sapping step. Vertigo was so distressed by the whole experience he tried to electrocute himself on the wire surrounding one of the paddocks. Of course, the current was not nearly strong enough but it made him grin rather horribly while he tried to let go and the smell of rotting shiggy was temporarily masked with the essence of burning plimsoll. Sadly, rather a lot of people finally figured out that it wasn’t really necessary to slog through the whole length of this and even Lemming was persuaded to skip nimbly (like a gnome with an ill-fitting prosthetic leg bought at a Costco sale) over the wooden fence and shortcut it across the greener grass on the other side. I am pleased to report that Vertigo did not give up and managed to drag his smoke-blackened carcass right to the end of the sticky morass. As did a remarkably clean Donut who was silently thanking the Lord for making Lemming take the short cut.

I have no idea how we all finished the Trail. I’m sure it wasn’t more than five or six miles but it had drawn the strength out of us until we were as tired as (as C5 was heard to say at Slowsucker and Madam Cyn’s excellent Moonlight Hash on Friday) ‘a harlot in old London town’. I wonder about that boy at times. Whatever, we were fagged. Florence, Spex and I dragged our sweating (not the ladies, of course – they merely glowed attractively) bodies round that last loop that took us off the main road until we rejoined it to see Vlad (or was it Drac) urging the rest of the SCBs along it!

Got to thank Twanky and Blow for a great, er, job. Nice to Hash in the East for a change…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Lemming stood in as our RA today and presented the following :-



Style points

Billy Bullshit

Absolutely no idea. I got there late

Not bad considering the pints were filled with a foul liquid.


Singing a Fulham supporterss’ song

Reasonable for a Cottager


Sliding over a fence.
Grassing on Dribbler.
Knowing about willy piercing.

Actually dribbled quite a bit
Got there first!


Directing cars too theatrically

Slipped down a treat

BlowJob, Twanky

The Hares

BlowJob got too much of a mouthfull…

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






Eversley Village Hall RG27 0LX
Park behind the hall
Coffee & homemade cakes!
Bring own glass/drinks





Library car park, The Wharf
Newbury RG14 5AU
On2 Hogs head 472672


Change of Venue

Trail 1579 24/02/08 will now be held at The Black Lion, Woodcote (647814) since the Goring 10k is being held round where Florence and C5 were going to hold the Hash. They are really pleased.

Hash Barn Dance

19/04/08 at Swallowfield Village Hall. Tickets a mere £7.50. Bring a non BH3 friend for the same price! See motox for full details.