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The Cricketers, Yateley


Itsyor, OldFart, (Fiddler?)

People in the pub after the run

Poison Ivy, Motox, Simple, Glittertits, Cabinboy, Tinopener, Wally, Cloggs, Loudon Tasteless, Spex, Billy, Cerberus, C5, Cheating, Max, Angie, Iceman, Miranda, Baldrick, Poison Chalice, Dumper, Septic, Twanky, Gaffertits, Fannybag, Rampant Rabbit, Dunny, Pissquick, Dave, Andy, Bogbrush, Florence, Shitshovellor, Penelope Pitstop, C.I.A.C., Heybabe, Lonely

Second time lucky

It was almost exactly 12 months ago that the hash was last brought south to the small Hampshire town of Yateley and those of you who have retained sufficient mental capacity, or indeed were ever blessed with such a thing, may remember that the hares on that occasion, Itsyor and Fiddler, had their trail tragically ruined by the misadventures of Billy Bullshit and his followers. A carefully planned hash, laid to a precise course designed to take in the finest sight(s) of Blackbushe airport was destroyed by the careless actions of a few irresponsible, flour ignoring hashers. Not since the Taleban destroyed the Buddhas of Bamyan has such philistinism occurred. It was as if the collected works of Shakespeare, the paintings of Constable and music of Elgar had all been piled together in one heap and set alight. It was a senseless, bloody-minded act of trail avoidance and will stay long in the memories of those involved as a dark night for hashing. However, I am not one to wallow in the past so on with the run.

Tonight was also a dark night for hashing and to emphasise this, and the length of the trail, the hares turned up wearing head torches. Several other hashers also concerned by the speed at which the nights were closing in were sporting similar lanterns making the group appear like a gang of slightly underdressed miners. With no virgins to welcome, the pack set off at close to a trot heading down a gravel track across the front of the pub. I should point out here that, although I was meant to be a hare I hadn’t actually run any of the course and didn’t lay an ounce of flour and so my task was to follow the map that Itsyor had drawn out for me and direct lost hashers as appropriate. This was soon to prove more difficult than I expected as the pack reached the first check. With that strange collective conscious that sometimes occurs almost all the hashers ran straight on and began to call ‘On On’, confusing to me as the map suggested the trail took a sharp right turn. I waited by the check to see what would happen, and to my joy and amusement the next few minutes resembled a chase scene from Benny Hill as the hash ran round in circles before asking me for help, ‘I’m not sure’, I laughed before pointing them in the direction of the only hashers who had not yet returned.

The trail crossed over Cricket Hill road heading up the steep slope of Stevens Hill and on towards the back of Frogmore School. The expected group of disaffected teenagers hanging out on the playing fields were not to be found and the only comments came from a perplexed toddler playing outside his house. ‘Why are you running?’ he shouted, ‘I’m running from the giant fire-breathing dragon that’s coming this way’ I returned. Curiously, he didn’t stay to find out any more. A sublime back-check (I rather wish I had helped lay this trail, you know) took the pack round the football pitches of Frogmore leisure centre and then back to the fields where a footpath led to a bridge across the main road that runs through Yateley. From here the trail doubled back on itself and entered the woods and heathland of Yateley Common.

The first few jaunts across the sandy tracks that run through the heather were fine, no tree-cover to block out the last remaining vestiges of daylight. However, as soon as the trail entered the woods it was a different story. Crashing about in the blackness with hashers badgering us for clues Oldfart pretended not to know where the trail went and I was no use as it was too dark to read the map. The many checks took an age to negotiate as the whole pack committed to wrong decision after wrong decision before finally limping up to the re-group.

Waiting for us there was Itsyor who announced that there was a long/medium/short split. I was to be marshalling the long trail, which promised a good deal of shaggy. It didn’t disappoint. After a final thrash across the heather the remainder of the trail circuiting the large ponds/small lakes in pitch darkness. Waiting at the final check to count the stragglers I was greeted by the cheery sight of a line of head torches slowly bouncing along as hashers jogged up the path. A good image with which to end the penultimate hash of the summer.


Itsyor gave Billy the challenge of counting all the ponds that the trail passed as an incentive to stay on flour. He succeeded and was awarded a pint of best by the hares.

With the hash over and the pack collected in the cosy lounge of the pub who should make a late entrance but Lonely who had arrived at half past seven and lived up to his name in attempting the whole trail on his own, save for his trusty GPS. Examination of the route he had taken on this high-tech hand-held gizmo showed it had helped him to avoid all but start of the trail.

On On. Fiddler.

Down Downs

Simple, in his final performance as RA, presented the following :-



Style points

Loudon Tasteless


Like a ruler in the bath, this was clean and well measured.


His impression of Simon Cowell

Baldrick’s got Talent.

Lonely and Cabinboy

For forgetting the seven o’clock start time.

Like and England Andorra football game: Two gentle halves that couldn’t have ended soon enough.


Losing a shoe – it wasn’t tied properly, Spex offered to help him in future.

He needs help drinking too, if this performance is anything to go by.


For pretending to be a lollypop lady, helping the older hashers cross the road.

Had no trouble getting her laughing gear around a half of best.

Itsyor, Oldfart

Tonight’s Hares

It was close. Very close. Oldfart by a nose.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference




11 am*


The Elvetham

Hartley Wintney
RG27 8AR

Wally, TA and Honeymonster




The Seven Stars

Knowl Hill

RG10 9UR

Quack and ?