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The Bull Inn
Stanford Dingley


Dunny, Rampant Rabbit

The Herd

TT3 Donut Hashgate Rainbow Warrior Flash NappyRash PP and dog Barney Ironballs Honeymonster and dog Max LoudonTasteless Spex SlackBladder Little Stiffy Potty Nutcracker Poca Pissquick Simple Skids Snowballs Centaur Poisoned Chalice Fannybag Bogbrush Cerberus Billy Bullshit Shitfor Desperate NipponTuck Puppy Motox OldDog Mrs Blobby C5 Baldrick JWax GnomeAlone The Tremblers Soreskin Crop Circle Jake Lara Butterfly Dribbler Slowsucker Swallow Shitshoveller Itsyor Fiddler Cheating Florence Zebedee Fritz Maggot Foghorn Rob Butthead & Delwoman (from Delaware) Tin Opener Lilo and dog Emma Cloggs Nonstick

A Load of Bull

Stanford Dingley. Sounds like a 1930’s steel baron. But it is a delightful village with an even more delightful pub, owned by the locals and serving a fine selection of beers. Curiously they managed to run out of change later, even though C5 had just paid over £30 for the Down Downs in £1 and £2 coins! After the hot Bank Holiday weekend the dark clouds were jostling into position and spots of rain dripped sporadically in the humid air. The car park was full to bursting, the pub landlord was joyfully handing out menus and Hashers chatted, dogs barked (especially Barney – PP was telling me he goes berserk if she or NappyRash go anywhere near their running shoes. Even if it’s early morning and one of ‘em is staggering towards the bog after an evening’s liquid refreshment) and His Eminence called for the Circle and a spot of quiet. Two ducks strolled nonchalently among us as we struggled to form our idea of a circle. Whilst writing of our revered GM I must congratulate him on a 1 hour 34 minute time in the recent Wokingham ½ Marathon. Apparently, he tracked Fiddler for most of the race and, when he realised the poor lad was almost done in towards the final stretch, raced past him with barely a backward glance. Fiddler rather surprised me about half way into the Trail. Normally, he’s a fairly quiet lad, seeming the type who wouldn’t say boo to a mouse, but he sneaked up behind me and let me know sotto voce that, “My nipples were all right yesterday but they’re really sore now.” I was just glad to be surrounded by Hashers in a field rather than alone in a public toilet. It wasn’t that long ago that his father, Itsyor, confided to me during a damp Hash that his wet running gear felt like a body stocking – and that it was rather enjoyable. Whatever it is obviously runs in the family.

Our Hares today, Dunny and Rampant Rabbit are known for their propensity to run ridiculously long distances for no good reason so we were all really looking forward (a smidgeon of irony creeping in there) to the Trail. I noted they had carefully lined up two Ariel washing liquid dispensers full of flour behind their car and two identical water bottles had been placed neatly to hand in the boot. I never had them down as compulsive obsessives before but I’ve revised my opinion. However, this helped on the Trail since the Checks were laid perfectly and every one we went over was marked with an efficient arrow by Rampant. How helpful. Especially if one got left behind during the inordinately rapid rush to get the thing over with and into the pub. Slowsucker intoned a few lines of poetry (not sure why), and we were off at a pace designed to burst every major blood vessel.

We hot-footed it up and down the same hills, back-tracked, back-checked and got to a nice, cool stream which we thoroughly enjoyed sploshing through, IronBalls showing off his military training by leaping in to it like a madman and dashing to the opposite side in an instant. If that had been a dry wadi and the Taliban had been dug in on the opposite side they’d all have poo’d themselves and run off screaming. A gobbet of dark and smelly shiggy whizzed past NappyRash’s head, hurled by the fun-loving Shitfor. Great idea but lousy execution. On the other side Slowsucker found a small trout, speared on the end of a stick. There’s always an element of the surreal on the Hash isn’t there? None more, perhaps, than when we got to the small chalk quarry in front of which was an area where Scouts make camp. After a bit of dithering about, partly engendered by ‘F’ in a circle of flour that everyone thought was a False but that turned out to be Dunny and Rampant’s idea of a Field Check we skirted up around the top of the quarry, having found the Trail. So what were Billy and Cheating doing, haring off diagonally across the field and away from the cries of ‘On On’?! Never did see them again and don’t know if they ever found the Trail. Rampant reckoned they would get extremely lost. A well matched pair, I hear you say…

The Regroup was laid in a natural forest bowl and Cerberus, having spotted it, sauntered towards it, saving energy for the Long Trail ahead. Wise lady. Cloggs and Nonstick appeared. Dribbler exhibited early signs of mental decay by failing to remember that it is turkeys who gobble, not geese. Oh dear. He wandered off vacantly, not sure whether he wanted a gobble or a goose.

Before I run out of space let us give our congratulations and very best wishes to Chopstix and Shandyman, who were married on Saturday. The sun shone in St Mary Bourne, the day was beautiful and the bride was radiant. They rounded the day off with a superb, fun evening in the Village Hall, even Bomber was seen dancing at one point! All the best to you both from BH3 and we look forward to seeing you again soon :-)

The Long Trail did just what it said on the tin. It was long. Lord knows where we actually ran but it was a mixture of forest and superb, undulating countryside covered either in a grassy sheen or buttercup-filled pastures. And by this time the clouds had cleared a little, allowing us to enjoy the glory of the sun setting. Florence and I ended up trotting together downhill through the silky grass until we bumped into Puppy, who appeared a tad lost. Bearing in mind that we were but a couple of minutes from the pub this was a little surprising but given that most of us were brain dead by this time we understood. We staggered into the car park, gasping for a pint.

What a damn fine Trail in a great area. Thanks to our Hares. And we look forward to doing it again in just a couple of months. Lucky or what?

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following :-



Style points

Fritz, Maggot,
Poisoned Chalice

Tonight’s returnees

Maggot slopped it down fastest, the others preferring to enjoy the pints

Our visitors from Delaware

Damn fine stuff from people who drink naff beer most of the time!

Slowsucker, NonStick

Their birthdays

Guess who was last…


Getting married to Martin on the weekend. Best wishes, Poca

Stunning stuff. Think she gets it off her old dad.


Talking about grandchildren!

Not bad for an old girl

Dunny, Rampant

Tonight’s Hares

A pint and what appeared to be a small glass of egg nog!

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






*Lonely celebrates another decade*
Kings Meadow car park, Reading
Poss. On2 Three Guineas,
Reading Station





The Greyhound, High Street
Whitchurch, Pangbourne RG8 7EL


Sponsorship Event
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