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The Cottage Inn
Upper Bucklebury


Skids, Simple


Flash Rainbow Warrior Donut Hashgate Swallow Slowsucker Cabin Buoy Ms Whiplash Salome Billy Bullshit Cerberus Shitfor Desperate Tinopener Lilo and dog Emma Greensleeves Loudon Tastless Spex Baldrick JWax Turdtreader Foghorn Cheating Bogbrush Fannybag Escort C5 Twanky Glittertits Pissquick Snowballs Potty Nutty Hitchhiker Dunny Rampant Rabbit Ann Jackie Gusset Dumper Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Penny Pitstop Shitshoveller SkinnyDipper Lonely Vertigo Motox Oddballs Florence Zebedee Itsyor Fiddler Alex Becky Ben TT2 Crop Circle

A Ripping T(r)ale

Life has that way of bringing you down to earth doesn’t it? It’s Tuesday evening and, after a fairly intense day, I was looking forward to an enjoyable session of Gobsheet writing, picking to bits Skids and Simple’s Hash and dishing the dirt on all and sundry. Home. Upstairs to change. Great. My cat Murphy had ralphed on my bed. In two different areas, leaving small, interestingly shaped hillocks carefully fashioned from now dried cat food. Hmm. How interesting, I thought, as I donned the arm-length, industrial rubber gloves, welder’s mask and body armour to deal with the piles (always found this ideal attire when dealing with piles). So you find me sitting down to write a little later than usual, having Dettol’d everything in sight, including myself. Smells nice.

After the Hash and thinking back I was surprised that Simple and Skids weren’t exhibiting symptoms of paranoia and reeking of skunk, given that the Trail seemed to have been laid by two people who had been completely out of it. The thing snaked and curled around the forests. Occasionally, it rushed off up a hill for no apparent reason, other than that the hysterically giggling Trail layers had seen some really interesting colours among the holly bushes that grew spikily upon it. You may note that the coloured text is in 12 font instead of the usual 12. This is to comply with Flash’s request that the Gobsheet be written so he can actually see the writing. Well, you can see some of it, Flash. Foghorn reckoned that 18 font wouldn’t actually be big enough.

Gusset actually appeared at the Hash tonight, bringing two Virgins: Ann and Jackie, who not only thoroughly enjoyed themselves but did a great job with the Down Downs later. Itsyor, Fiddler and Alex also appeared, driving through the Circle in a Mad Max attempt to mow down the participants. Closely followed by Zeb and Flo, who did their best to mow down any remaining standing Hasher. We On Outed, to enjoy the first big loopy joke by our Hares. It actually was a big loop – we came right back to the pub and ran past up the path that bordered it, trying desperately not to think about cold beer and hot food.

Other misleading directions appeared. Mr Blobby, Oddballs and I led the Pack all the way up to the end of the newly built estate behind the pub. There were intriguingly placed flour blobs leading up to a tantalising field gate… by which there was an ‘F’. Blast! We trotted wheezily back, commiserating with C5 for having had to do the extra mileage even though he is training to run a Marathon in September dressed in a skirt… Then the run right round that field even though we could have just run across the end of it. And a Bar-6! Uurg! Nobody could figure out where the Trail went and the Pack milled about beating its breast and wailing. We had been ‘kettled’ as effectively as a group of protesters at the G20 summit. Oops, a spot of the political creeping in there – sorry about that. Let me tell you about how I was attached by a twig… and a Twigg.

I was just in front of Rampant in a line of lost souls who had pelted up that holly-lined, slim path only to get to the top of the hill and turn back down again through an even more overgrown goat (very small goat) track. As we bent double I suddenly felt my progress impeded by something sticking into my T-shirt just behind the shoulder. Stopped dead I thanked my lucky stars that Rampant wasn’t too close behind me and I attempted to push onwards. A slight tearing sound came from near to my right ear and my feet seemed to lift off the ground. A branch had skewered my favourite year 2000 BH3 T-shirt (shown above by supermodel Mrs Blobby who seems to have borrowed Motox’s) and left me almost dangling. Rampant managed to hoick me off the damn thing without too much damage and we carried on to the Regroup a little later. Unfortunately, Spex noticed the tear and brought it to the attention of Glittertits (Mr Twigg) who decided that he could inspect the damage better if he ripped a much larger hole. I was left with a ‘muscle’ style T shirt that, if I had any muscles, would certainly have displayed them to all and sundry. I wasn’t the only one with a wardrobe malfunction. Bogbrush was tripping lightly along in front of me when he too stopped dead, having spiked his shorts on yet another jagged branch end. “Ooer.” He yelped, noticing that one leg of the shorts now appeared to be in two halves and rather too much flesh was showing. Several of the nearby male Hashers retired to the closest bush for a manly heave and retch, while Twanky trotted by, a smile on his beatific face.

The best incident of the evening involved Mr Blobby. As we all know, he is a superb athlete with a non-stop running style and he was determined to enjoy the approbation of the throng as he hurtled down a fairly steep, deeply rutted track towards a small group of apparently dawdling Hashers. “Athlete coming through!” He yodelled, brushing away the lightweights who failed to skip aside in time. Unfortunately for him, this include our RA, Glittertits. What he hadn’t realised was that where the track bottomed out was a lightly grassed patch of deep and glutinous shiggy. Gravity and recklessness hurled him towards it, into it (just slightly slowing), then out the other side. Where he realised he had left a plimsoll behind. Were he not such a gentleman I’m sure the word, “Bollocks!” would have sprung from his lips but he turned and limped back to where the kindly Donut had heaved the reeking footwear from the slime and was holding it out to him while desperately biting her lip.

This was an excellent Trail despite the obvious intoxication of the Hares while laying it. And Skids very kindly showed me later how to: a) remove a sports bra from under a tight fitting top, followed by b) ensure both boobs are then at the same level. Fascinating. Thanks Skids.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Glittertits presented a mass of beers and soft drinks to the following :-



Style points

Bogbrush, Hashgate

The torn twins

A damn close thing.

Ann, Jackie

Tonight’s virgins

Excellent ½ and large lemonade (Motox v. impressed with the leaning forward technique)

Rainbow Warrior

What a fine lady. She picked up litter at the Regroup!

Given her drink and allowed to drink it later at her leisure. I should think so.

Billy Bullshit

Spotted climbing over someone’s garden wall

Almost had blowback ¾ of the way through the pint. Wonderful!

Mr Blobby

Entering the shiggy and losing his shoe

Filled his boots.

Foghorn, Motox

Issuing stunningly confident mis-directions

Directed this perfectly


Being a sex kitten

Oh dear

Cabin Buoy

Phone during Down Downs

Put the call on hold, drank the drink, carried on with the conversation


Yacking while the RA spoke

This shut her up for a minute

Simple, Skids

Tonight’s Hares

A pint and a ½. Almost a dead heat!

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Cricketers
Littlewick Green SL6 3RA

Billy Bullshit




The Turner’s Arms, West End Rd.
Mortimer Common