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The Royal Oak
Bovingdon Green


Baldrick, JWax


Cerberus Billy Bullshit Donut Hashgate Slowsucker Swallow Little Stiffy Slackbladder Itsyor Cheating Iceman Dunny Rampant Rabbit Nutty Potty Simple Skids Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia Dumper Honeymonster Twanky Blowjob Dorothy Old Fart Rob Roz Ben(?) Greensleeves Stripper Tapeworm Madam Cyn Motox Spex Loudon Tasteless Snowballs Glittertits Pissquick Poca Gnomealone Florence Zebedee Fannybag Bogbrush Vertigo

A Right Royal Trail

Oh dear. The blasted recorder batteries breathed their last voltaic gasp and the damn thing went limp in my hand rather early on in the proceedings. Consequently, the above names are all from memory and my apologies if anyone has been missed out There was actually quite a large number of people on the night, including Iceman whose arm seemed to be hanging down strangely by his side. Closer inspection revealed that it was due to the weight of the GPS gadget he had strapped to his wrist. Interesting objects, these things. They tell you how far you’ve been and the route you used to get there. But not where you’re going. Seems to me that, certainly when Hashing, it would be a tad handy to know where you’re heading. As useful as a pair of football boots to a bloke with one leg.

Let’s pause for a moment to laud Mrs Blobby and Utopia who took part in the Race For Life on the weekend. They ran the 5k in a damn good time and thoroughly enjoyed overtaking people right, left and centre. Well done ladies! And to all others who took part.

Surprisingly, Slowsucker was the epitome of brevity with his Circle address, advising us with a grin that England had beaten Australia at cricket for the first time for donkey’s years. He handed over to Hare Baldrick who seemed a mite nervous to tell us there were two Regroups and that he had decided not to lay the really Long Trail. I just hoped Iceman had more battery life in his GPS than I had had in my recorder if it was going to be that long. We On Outed sombrely, husbanding energy against the expenditure to come. After mainly walking across the little green we trotted down a narrow path between barbed wire fences. It was starting well. Nice green fields either side and, suddenly, a stile. Everyone decided to cross it including Mr Blobby who stood up on it to look around for his bearings, suffered a sudden attack of vertigo and nearly fell off the thing, the comedy of which was much appreciated by those waiting behind him. It looked as though this may be the wrong way so some of us continued up the path… until we found the False. Little Stiffy, Slackbladder and I trotted back and decided to go through the fence on seeing the Pack careering diagonally away from us through the field. Stiffy slipped through easily. Then Slack put one foot on the lower barbed wire strand and pulled up the other for me to slide through. How kind, I thought. Must reciprocate. One foot on the lower wire and pull up the top one. Now Slack is a bit larger than me and we were in a narrow gap between bushes. He bent double, facing in my direction, and eased himself through. Then I realised why Stiffy was guffawing. Slack’s face was rather to close to my groin and, viewed from a slightly different angle, things could have looked rather dodgy. Slack and I straightened up as fast as we could, clapped each other on the back in a manly way, harrumphed a bit and shot off in similar but different directions. (Yes, I know we have had this picture of Barb Wire before but I’m sure some of our upstanding male members may wish to see it again.)

From this point we plunged headlong into forests and woods, all with their own variety of calf-ripping brambles and eyeball-slapping saplings. It certainly slowed us all down as we trudged across deep piles of fairly dry dead leaves, each pile hiding their own fun-engendering rotten log or ankle-twisting jumble of sticks. Florence skipped along in front of me, trilling ‘On On’ in a very ladylike manner while Spex managed to brush the back of her hand ‘accidentally’ across one of my lycra-encased buns as I slipped past her. I believe the term to describe the effect is ‘frisson’. Thankyou very much Spex. If I ever need a hand I’ll know who to ask.

It was quite inrteresting to see Baldrick actually laying the Trail while we attempted to find it on that steep, thickly wooded bank when absolutely nobody could find even the lightest dusting of flour on any twig or bole. Hashers scurried about desperately until our Hare wandered downhill, scattering liberal quantities of flour like a farmer scattering pig nuts before swine. Of course, having sped rapidly downhill we then found ourselves heaving our leaden carcasses back up again. Except for the sensible Mrs Blobby and Utopia who stuck to Baldrick like tics on a warthog and were led directly along the path to meet our wheezing band a little later on. Before staggering up yet another heart-pumping hill to the second Regroup.

Curiously on this Trail I think I saw Motox only once. Presumably, he had crashed his buffalo way through the forest so rapidly he was way ahead of the rest of the Pack. However, I bumped into our High Wycombe friends on a number of occasions. They were having some fascinating conversations. Two of them were discussing bread. “I put some out for the birds this morning.” Chirped one of their beefier number. To which his female companion Roz replied, “I think there’s a new loaf in the breadbin.” A vocal meeting between Bertrand Russell and Ghandi could not have been more intellectually riveting. Redolent with percussive metaphysical nuance and sinuous wit the words flowed slick and sinuous, a fleet river, pulsing and sparkling. Who needs the Oxford Debating Society?

Refreshed by our bathe in the waters of almost psychedelic, glittering prose we sped onward, suddenly realising that we seemed to be on the same track that we had On Outed by some 5.9 miles (according to Iceman’s GPS)(4.9 miles - Hashgate is obviously not in training! - Iceman) earlier in the evening. Yes, that same green loomed up. Followed by the spirit-lifting sight of the pub just down the road. We jogged in briskly, eager for a pint.

Damn fine Trail Baldrick and JWax. Thoroughly enjoyed it’s arboreal twistings. Thanks.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented the following :-



Style points

Rampant Rabbit

His birthday

Missed it. But sure it was ok.


Running past the RA and calling him a ‘fat boy’.

Smooth and speedy.

Little Stiffy

Synchronized Hash Crashing

Synchronized drinking!

Fannybag, Bogbrush

100 Hashes each! Well done.

Beaten by a woman!

Rampant Rabbit

Having enough breath to sing ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight’ while running

The lad did well for a second pint.


Got a ½ for being spotted running

Just too easy really.

Baldrick, JWax

Tonight’s Hares

A pint and a wine. The latter went down much better than the former…

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Round Oak,
Burghfield Rd,
Padworth Common, RG7 4QG

Mr Blobby




The Cricketers,
Littlewick Green, SL6 3RA


Billy Bullshit