Slippers

Nutcracker Donut Hashgate Nick Motox BGB Handful Mhairi OldDog Swallow Karen Iceman Slackbladder Rowenta Ms Whiplash Salome OldFart Trembler NonStick Cloggs Slowsucker Flash Bolwjob Katy Grommet StinkingBishop Cheating Dribbler Butterfly Pissquick Glittertits

Hospital Hash

Everyone is either off to Interhash or doing The Grizzly. They don’t know what they missed…

“Mind the steps. They’re a bit slip…” No sooner had I got halfway through the warning as Blowjob and I trod our way precariously down the greenish concrete stairway by the side of the A34 than the poor girl went down like a bag of brussels unloaded unceremoniously off a Lincolnshire sprout lorry. My goodness she did turn grey, followed by green, then a vaguely putty colour. She was followed all too quickly by OldDog, who emulated a crash test dummy being hurled carelessly from a first floor window. Unfortunately, Blowjob had broken her wrist and the kindly Grommet helped her carefully back up the steps before whisking her off to hospital. Luckily, OldDog had not broken anything but she had certainly ricked her shoulder, decided to repair to the pub for a restorative draught and was seen later limping gamely about, one paw tucked carefully into her bumbag strap. When I spoke to her after the Hash she expressed some concern about being able to remove her clothing later and I made an offer any gentleman would to assist her in this enterprise. Her response, “Bugger off, Hashgate, you filthy perv. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you get your hands anywhere near my top norks!” made me realise that, a) perhaps my genuine offer of assistance was a a tad misguided and, b) OldDog was ( I am very glad to say) not hurt too badly. There is, unfortunately, another of our merry band who is currently unwell. Honeymonster is languishing in hospital with a touch of pneumonia – Dribbler and Butterfly were going to see him that very afternoon. We wish all three of you injured and unwell a very quick recovery. Come back soon! And, no Motox, I haven’t forgotten your ricked back. That’ll teach you to visit that Chinese restaurant and massage parlour down Oxford Road – “You wan’ a nummah fortee two wiv pork balls an’ jig-a-jig?”

We perhaps had a feeling that things might not go to plan today at the Gather Round when GM BGB handed over to the Hares, Potty and Snowballs. Talk about comic timing. Cannon and Ball couldn’t have done it better. Just as Potty finished wittering on about the Trail in general he said, “And the On Out’s…” Whereupon Snowballs joined in with the final “…that way!” Potty flung his arm in one direction while Snowballs flung his arm out the opposite way. We just rolled our eyes skywards and crashed off in various directions, slipping round the back of the pub and looping back to the basted car park! Just in time to see Pissquick and Glitttertits driving sheepishly into it, having gone five miles away from; then back to, Chieveley thanks to some dodgy GPS manipulation and general lack of intelligence. Mind you, got to hand it to them, they cut off a good mile of the Trail. It was just after here that the girls had their accidents and we trolled off along an incredibly lumpy, bumpy, rabbit-holed and bramble filled track by the side of the busy A34. Swallow, as we know, is a member of our caring NHS and she was running behind me as I half-turned to issue a warning about being careful of the interesting variety of trip hazards. Below ground, just before this, a large and gnarled old male rabbit was kicked in the leg by its large and gnarled old missus who didn’t even bother to turn over in bed when she ordered, “Tyrone. Go and see if it’s rainin’. I fancy a nibble.” A faint stirring somewhere down in the furry South almost brought the old fellow to full consciousness. But, realising ‘er inburrow was referring only to fresh brunch grass, twitched his nose, crawled out of bed and crawled up the burrow to the bright daylight. His ears, which had been dragging along between his shoulders and the earth popped out, one by one. His nose. Then his sleepy-eyed head followed. Which was when my muddy trainer must have whacked him in the earhole. I slid, less than gracefully, into the brambles. He slid, now fully unconscious, back down the burrow. “You lazy bleeder. You fell asleep again.” Fulminated his wife. While I suffered the guffaws, howls of laughter and tear-streaming face of a bent-double Swallow while I struggled to extricate my left leg from a particularly clinging bramble. You just can’t win blokes. You just can’t win.

Talking of animals, I spotted a fine Muntjack bounding off into the woods just as I came up behind Dribbler and Butterfly who were jogging along nicely in the sunlit glade. “Did you see that fine Muntjack bounding off into the woods?” I asked pleasantly. “It’d bound off if I caught the sod.” Replied the public-spirited Dribbler, explaining that the little fellows regularly used his garden as a kind of deer McDonalds. “I’d soon sort it out.” He carried on. “… after I’d pleasured myself, of course.” He added. “Would the deer be present at that point?” I queried lightly. I noticed Butterfly was beginning to tut a little at all this male talk and drifted onwards with a conciliatory smile towards Iceman who was crashing through the dead wood just like we were. No wonder the Muntjack had bounded off.

We had two Regroups, short cuts, bar Checks and the unbelievably stomach-churning sight of Old Fart’s legs encased in a pair of psychedelic running tights. Above the waist, it was very nice to see the fellow since his winter outings are usually severely curtailed by his good lady. A far more pleasant sight was the golden-haired Katy, who, along with her partner, had been cajoled by, of all people, Wally into running with the Hash a couple of weeks ago while they were out doing a spot of training. Personally, if Wally had approached me I’d have torn up the road like a cat with its bum on fire and never been seen again. Curiously, the lass seems to be enjoying the company of our varied crew. Guess it takes all sorts.

Our thanks to Potty and Snowballs, even if they didn’t initially know where the trail went. We (and they) were lucky that the morning was bright and mainly warm. Wouldn’t have fancied being out in that hailstorm later…

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

Despite his bad back Motox presented the following in a very upright style:-

GT supped in style. Then lost it at the end with a touch of ‘blowback’

Up and Coming