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The Wharf, Newbury


Little Stiffy, Slackbladder

Mincers and Nancys

Foghorn Nappyrash PP and dog Barney Donut Hashgate Gnomealone Loudontasteless BlouseBlazer Quack Penny Pitstop Shitshoveller Dribbler Butterfly Potty Nutcracker Snowballs Tinopener Lilo and dog Emma Simple Handfull Lonely Florence Zebedee Motox Aintgotone Mother Theresa Lemming Karen NewBoiler OldDog JWax Flash SixInches Pissquick Glittertits Rainbow Warrior Twanky Blowjob cerberus Billy Bullshit Katy Baldrick Mark C5 C4 Suckoff Swallow StinkingBishop Grommet Centaur Chopstix Shandyman GrannyAnnie Dunny Cheating Phil Erica Gusset Nick

BH3’s Red Dress Run

Our picture today says it all. Snowballs gave in to those long desired needs, donned the wig, the dress and put his best leg forward. With tights and garter on. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather not meet in a dark alley than this travesty of femininity. Apart from C5, whose strappy number with matching handbag brought gasps from the good burghers of Newbury as they went about their Saturday morning shopping, initially unaware that they were to be invaded by a monstrous regiment of cross-dressing woofters. God-fearing men fainted and young mothers hid the eyes of their young children from the sight as we trolled past, all limp wrists and swaying hips. As we arrived in the car park, Donut and I were met by a truly frightening view – Foghorn carrying his red hat and dress wandering gaily towards the main meeting area and wearing naught but his trainers, red T-shirt and skivvies. We eye’d left and blanched as we caught sight of NappyRash in the middle of the car park, struggling into his calf-length number and cursing that the thing had obviously shrunk in the wash. An interesting fact came to light. Apparently, one in four blokes have tried on their ladies’ clothing. I remember when Posh (Spice) highlighted her intelligence and diplomatic ability by stating publicly that her husband occasionally wore her undercrackers and a variety of footballers rushed to his defence by agreeing that, yes, ladies’ attire assisted greatly in holding things in place during sporting endeavour. Brings a whole new meaning to the term ‘I’m a Fulham supporter’ doesn’t it?

Zebedee had spent an entire morning sifting through his collection, determined that that bloody old nurse’s uniform he is forever wearing (especially on Thursday nights…) would not see light of day. He actually opted for several outfits during the Trail, including a bright miniskirt and a long, Chinese robe. Apparently, he Florence and Lonely were swapping clothing fairly non-stop and it became a bit of a challenge to figure out who was who. Though Lonely certainly caught the attention at one point by popping out a nipple, Janet Jackson-style. Thank the Lord he opted for a ‘wardrobe malfunction’ rather than Brittany Spears’ style of automobile disembarkation. Glittertits did quite well in the ‘getting noticed’ department when a young gentleman in a dark car kerb-crawled past him and offered a rather too-friendly, “Good morning” that seemed to involve a lot of one-eyed blinking and the ‘accidental’ waving of a five pound note from the window. Of course, GT wouldn’t even get into bed for anything less than £7.25 (exc. VAT).

I would like to mention the word ‘tussock’ right now. This has absolutely nothing to do with today’s Hash and I don’t think we even saw one. But Itsyor (who wisely stayed away today) suggested I use it in the Gobsheet last week and I, um, forgot. It’s an excellent word and can be used in many situations, not necessarily in the context of its actual meaning. A few examples: By the river - “You tussock! You kicked my plum duff at that duck.” At the World Bog Snorkeling Competition - “I’m a complete tussock. Forgot my blasted snorkel.” And, lastly, at Gleneagles, “I’m talking like this because Monty’s shank hit me right in the tussocks.” As you can appreciate, a word for all eventualities. Thanks Itsyor.

The glorious sun shone, the azure sky glimmered. After our long, wet winter it was deliciously warm – even though there was ice on the puddles in some shaded areas. I found myself running next to Cerberus. Very neat in her red, satin mini and black tights. Her husband Billy (shapeless red dress and appalling wig; or was it his hair?) ran behind us. “Cor. Look at that nice tight bum!” He crowed. What a gent, I thought. Nice to know the spark isn’t dead even after all these years. Unfortunately, and frighteningly, he was talking about me. I was so careful not to bend and pick up even one of the fifty pence pieces he kept throwing down in front of me…

Our Trail took us through the centre of town, along the canal, through little side streets, over some grassy bits and thence to the Regroup by the swimming pool where we lurked furtively in the sunshine behind it. Here our Hares presented some awards. Lemming was adjudged to have the ‘Best Hair’ and was awarded a nice red wig with curlers. Quack (replete with beard) was painted with lipstick to assist his makeup. Flash was ‘The Person Who Made the Least Effort’ and was given a tailored binbag superbly decorated with feathery bits. And then we were off, Long and Short Trailing, following Six Inches who was proving the old truism about ‘genes will out’ by loudly imitating ducks as we hurtled the wrong way along the canal. I found myself next to Stinking Bishop who, along with Motox seemed to less to be dressed up as women and more as a Venetian nobleman and Renaissance artist, respectively. SB had on black running tights and a balloon-sleeved, skin-tight red top that just covered his bum. All he needed was a pair of pointy shoes and a haughty expression. Motox wore a squarish beret and a long, red painter’s smock. No doubt he would be happy to get one of our ladies down on canvas with his inimitable technique of minimal strokework.

As ever, it was a surreal morning but it certainly brought smiles to the faces of young and old alike.I particularly liked the acceptance of the situation by a little girl of about four years old who was carrying her Dad’s canoe paddle back from the race in the canal by our parking area. She spotted Donut and me just as I was about to heave off my dress. Not phased in the slightest by the sight of a bloke taking off a dress in a public car park she grinned at us and called out, “Dad! It’s the red people.” Before skipping off happily to enjoy the rest of her Sunday morning. We skipped off to the pub to enjoy the rest of ours. Thankyou Little Stiffy and Slackbladder – nice Trail.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Simple presented the following :-



Style points

Nick, Katy

Today’s virgins (not for long…)

Nick was well beaten by all the ladies (lucky bloke)

Six Inches, Granny Annie

Returnee and visitor

Zebedee, Florence

Swapping clothes at the Regroup

That Flo is so fast!


100 runs! Well done.

Nice silver goblet from which to quaff


Outstanding contribution to the Red Dress Run over the years (his mighty boobs that is)

Sucked it down superbly


Pissing about (um, literally)

Took no chances and slunk off

Little Stiffy, Slackbladder

Today’s Hares

Little Stiffy by a whisker

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






* Change of venue *
The Black Lion,
Woodcote RG8 0RB





The Royal Oak, Westwood Glen
Tilehurst RG31 5NW


Hash Walk

Saturday February 23rd at 2:30 p.m. Meet at the parking area near the school at Shinfield Green (734678). Approximately 7 mile walk followed by a pub for refreshments and food iof required.
Want more details – see Motox.