The ‘ashers

Spot, Caboose, Butterfly, Dribbler, Nutty, Potty, Snowballs, AWOL, Gnomealone, Utopia, Florence, Mr.Blobby, Mrs Blobby, Iceman, Cheating, Tinopener, ShandyMan, Chopstix, Spex, Loud & Tasteless, Simple, Skids, Dunny, Rampant Rabbit, Lunchbox, Slapper, Redcock, Flash , Rainbow Warrior, Mrs.Dwight, Scoot, Shylite, Bogbrush, Fannybag, Lonely, Ben Ralph, Looney Tunes, Hot Legs, Daisy

‘ash descends on Great Bedwyn - Iceman blamed.....

....and indeed he was – see Down downs.

19^th April 1997 – ring any bells?? Me neither. It turns out to be the day the Bourne Valley Hash was born in the erm..valley near Andover. They had billed our run on Monday as a joint run to celebrate their 13^th birthday but forgot to tell us! Like most stroppy teenagers the majority of the Bourne Valleyites chose to skulk in their bedrooms so only a handful turned up to join us.

However, a reasonable contingent of Berkshire souls had made it over the border into the wilds of Wiltshire to the sleepy village of Great Bedwyn. They hung about outside the pub frightening the locals until BVH3 GM Redcock gathered them round and set them off.....the wrong way. This gave Lonely a chance to catch up. A victim of the ‘ash menace (not Lemming, for once) ,at the precise moment he should have been celebrating in the “Cheers” bar having completed the Boston Marathon ,Lonely was plodding along the Kennet and Avon Canal with Tinopener and me – shame. Better luck next year, Lonely.

The lovely evening and beautiful countryside had Lunchbox darting about capturing the ash-enhanced sunset .He doesn’t wear running gear, carries his equipment, takes all those photos and still manages to be ahead of most of us without a bead of perspiration. How does he do it?

After some towpath running, train-dodging and crop-trampling we came to a regroup – a golden opportunity for a beer stop maybe even some birthday cake and bubbly. It was hard to hide our disappointment when the BVH3 hashers magnanimously produced a bag of jelly babies and another of liquorice allsorts .Well, I suppose times are hard and the Bourne Valley GM is Scottish.

Attention was diverted at this point by the arrival of a blonde, fit, young lady out for her evening run who joined us for the rest of the long trail. Male members picked up .............speed and left me near the back of the pack with Dwight. We caught glimpses of red darting about in the green field to our left – it was Scoot. Dwight said that Scoot liked the hash and had no problem keeping up as there were so many “slower ones” but he would have a problem keeping up with a club of “real runners” – what a cheek! Eight of us had done the Thames Towpath ten mile run the previous day and finished well ahead of some of those “real runners”. C5 had even won the “experienced” veterans prize – so there!

With all this talk of racing Simple said that they should make everyone his size then see how fast they run. This could be a new idea for the Fun Run. People could have their weight increased to Simple’s (17 and a half stone) by giving them the appropriately-weighted rucksack to carry.......in front like an extra stomach, of course. I’d have to carry something equal to my weight and wouldn’t be able to stand up let alone run – you win, Simple!

By now we were running somewhere called Bedwyn Brail – I couldn’t see why it was called “brail” though despite my contact lenses!

Gnomealone was clutching his extra tit lovingly and said so many people had admired it and he was in a quandary about who should have it next. He was holding it so tightly, I didn’t think he’d be parting with it at all. He, AWOL and I slowed our place to admire the view and the sunset. They murmured soulfully about inspiration and poetry and then shot off beerwards. That left Tinopener and me to wend our way down to the canal into the village, lose the trail and guess our way back to the pub.

We weren’t last, however, as Ben ( one of Canoeist’s tribe) appeared back at the station car park a bit later looking worn out. He had exhausted himself by starting very late and catching up at the regroup. At least he ran this week as all he had managed of the excellent Goring trail last week was to mend a flat tyre within spitting distance of the pub. He went home without as much as a sniff of those delicious hash sausage and chips.

In the pub ,Spot, the RA, got the beers in early but we all waited politely until the posh hash diners had finished before we had the down-downs. Just as well because most then disappeared leaving just a few bitter-enders in the bar. Slapper is rapidly establishing his credentials as a bitter-ender. Other members of this elite après down-down discussion group had to prize him away from his bar stool still in full flow so that they could go home.

Thanks, Centaur and Dwight, for a not-too-epic trail in lovely countryside and a good pub.

On On! Flo

Down Downs

Redcock presented the first one and Spot did the rest:

Extremely colourful

Gnomealone reluctantly awarded the hash tit to Caboose who had admired it the most.

Receding Hareline