The Hashers: In last week’s Gobsheet, Hashgate produced a diatribe on the problems of including all the hashers who attend the hash on the sheet. His machine wasn’t working properly (quite a common occurrence, as I understand it from Doughnut) so he tried to remember the names and then apologised to anyone he’d left out. It was at this same hash that he asked me to do this Gobsheet - he then forgot to include my name! That really is forgetfulness on a geriatric scale and the worrying thing is that Doughnut lets him out on his own sometimes, including to foreign parts. Heaven knows what they make of him in New York – or was it Boston, or Hong Kong?

Anyway, I’m going to ignore his instructions for Gobsheet writing that he also included last week (for my benefit, I wonder, the patronising old scribe?) and not put all the names down because there were far too many and life’s too short to type them all. So I thought I’d include apologies for absence from those regulars who weren’t there. Amongst those absent friends were: Nutty and Potty, Simple and Skidmarks, Bomber and Posh, Spot, Bootsie, CIAC and Hey Babe. If I’ve forgotten anyone I apologise but since I didn’t see you it’s hard to remember you because it’s difficult to remember people and things that you didn’t see in the first place. Get it?

A Christmas Pantomime The pantomime started in the car park when Doughnut passed over Hashgate’s machine (she doesn’t mind sharing it, the dear, kind girl) for me to use. However, she didn’t know how to make it work (no comment!) and neither could I get it to function. C4, Lemming and Mother (all the cream of the BH3 intelligentsia) similarly failed, so, as with Hashgate last week, this is being done from memory. Although not quite! Dumper had the bright idea of getting comments from people, so I asked a few hashers to write down their random thoughts about the run. The following is what I received:

‘What a fabulous run it was. L&T and Spex laid the trail on Saturday and despite all the rain the flour had survived extremely well except where there was 5 feet of water covering the trail! Some rapid rerouting of the trail by L&T, ably assisted by his stand-in bitch Slow Sucker, had avoided the worst, most life-threatening stretches of the original run, where the swollen River Loddon could have swept away unwary hashers, whilst still retaining some slight wetness. Some may say we plumbed the depths on this run. Certainly Cheating did when he managed to find the ditch hidden within some innocent-looking flood water. Still waters run deep, dear boy!’ (Ed: That rubbish was obviously written by L&T! Having said that, he has a point. Until now, Dumper has always claimed, quite fairly, the honour of laying the wettest ever hash but I think he can now only boast about the second wettest!)

‘ Nobody met the challenge – the river bit! CL did! Never roll your leggings (Ed: Leggings? What time warp is this scribe in?) up to think that all you get is wet (Ed: ??) And never look to the margins and think that is the safest route…until a subterranean ditch catches you out!’ (Ed: That’s Cheating giving some sage advice after he went swimming.)

‘Well now? No I’m not! But never fear the TRUE HASHER does not fear his foe. The foe is idleness, tiredness and boredom - and Down downs. I queued for the start, I queued for the end, I peed at the end but never fear I know how to mind my Ps and Qs. Anyway, to the point – what room has no windows? A mushroom. God bless us from the Prime Minister that saved the world.’ (Ed: Existentialist ramblings from Max, who I think must have got some of the water on his brain.)

‘I spent the whole of the last two hours whingeing because I didn’t get a secret Santa present – they’d run out. It wasn’t the present I was miffed about, it was the fact that I didn’t get Mother to sit on my lap!’ (Ed: That was Dumper and it was the only sensible bit of writing I received from anyone!)

It makes you worry doesn’t it!

With L & T having given his (one-eyed) version of the run I can press on to the rest:

Act 1. We were greeted by the mellifluous sound of Christmas carols emanating from the Hash record player (that’s what they’re called, isn’t it?) and some mulled wine, which was a gentle and pleasant way to begin the occasion. After milling around for a bit exchanging idle chit chat and depositing our secret Santa presents with She Who Must Be Obeyed (aka Septic) we say down for our meal. Now, I happened to be sitting near Motox (someone had to) and, although he ate enough to last him until Christmas Day he gave an honourable impression of Oliver. I’m going to recommend him for the part the next time they make a film or a show about the boy who asked for more. He might look a bit old for Oliver but it’s miraculous what they can do with make-up these days! (I think he then took home the dozen or so large mince pies that were left but I might be wrong because I know he’s on a diet.)

Act 2. The meal being over, we were then treated to a visit by Mother (BH3 is nothing if not politically correct!) Christmas and two of her fairies. This had been arranged by She Who Must Be Obeyed and wonderfully executed by Mother herself and two of her acolytes. There was much gnashing and wailing of teeth by those who had the little bald one sit on their lap rather than the tall handsome one or Mother Christmas herself. However, that apart everyone seemed very satisfied with what Mother Christmas brought them (except for Dumper, of course). It was very flattering to be told what a wonderful fairies we made and a number of people made suggestions that we felt unable to accept.

Act 3. We then had the raffle, which was exclusively for alcoholics and chocoholics, followed by the results of the quiz, which we had been given earlier. The nose job identification quiz was very illuminating. C4 got confused between C5 and the Old Dog, Doughnut failed to recognise Hashgate (wrong part of the body, I suppose) and His Eminence Slowsucker couldn’t recognise himself. This proves that either that the camera does lie or that Baldrick and Jwax took some photographs and allocated names at random to them.

Act 4. This was the finale, the grand climax (what’s that?). It was Motox’s Post-Hash Personality contest in which everyone voted for said personality and then the top 68 had a competition to decide the ultimate winner. This consisted of everyone competing against everyone else in the art of drinking a mince pie, eating a drink and then blowing up and tying a balloon before bursting it. It was an excellent concept and good fun, except that it lasted longer than the entire series of Strictly Come Dancing. Consequently, some people got a bit bored and Penny Pit Stop had to forcibly restrain Shit Shovellor from slitting his own throat with the cheese knife. However, just after midnight, Billy was crowned men’s champion and Septic likewise for the ladies and we were mercifully allowed to go home.

All our thanks go to all the organisers – a wonderful job, chaps and chapesses. The trail was excellent, the food likewise and the organisation faultless. On On. C5.