Run Number:



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The White Hart, Eversley


Twanky, Blowjob, Dorothy


Whinge TC Donut Hashgate Bogbrush Fannybag Bomber Posh Desperate Shitfor Cerberus Billy Bullshit Slowsucker Swallow Zebedee Florence Honeymonster and Max the dog OldDog Handful AWOL OldFart NoSole Slapper Mrs Blobby Mr Blobby Dumper Septic Megan and… sorry, couldn’t hear it on the recorder Lynne JustMoist CabinBuoy Motox Cheating SkinnyDipper Dave Full Frontal Itsyor Spex LoudonTasteless Iceman Messenger Boy Fukawe Hamlet Slippery RainbowWarrior Flash

Mud and Technology

Such a typical and yet un-typical Hash we have not had for some time. Typical because the sky was blue, the air clear and cold and the shiggy truly gloopy. Un-typical because we have not experienced these conditions for a long time. After last week’s gloomy weather it was a welcome change and there was a spring in our step as we listened to the Hares at the Gather Round. Twanky, in true theatrical fashion, tried to steal centre stage but Dorothy strode forward into the breach and gave us an informative and humorous chat about the Trail to come. Twanky managed not to throw a hissy fit and we On Outed across the road to be greeted with the sight of a deer’s bottom. It was Swallow who pointed out this phenomenon which was half way down a track and attached to the rest of a deer that looked round lazily and incuriously while chewing thoughtfully on something. Possibly an unlucky squirrel.

Up to this point it had been pretty dry. So that would be about a hundred metres. We turned up a leafy ginnel and that was it. In front of us was slick of dark water bounded on one side by hedges, on the other by a wire fence. Ankle-deep and it smelled horrible. A mixture of horse pee, treacle,cockroach droppings, nine day old rice pudding and tramps’ socks. Apologies if you are just about to bite into a pork pie while soaking in the bath but this was indeed ankle-deep shiggy of inter-galactic sludge composition. However, even this stuff wasn’t as disgusting as the sight of C5 and Slowsucker snogging at a kissing gate. Now I know their eyesight is going and they are both ‘hanging on in quiet desperation’ but there is really no excuse for such overtly ginger behaviour.

Now one of the vagaries of the recording machine is that it sometimes ensures it is permanently on and sometimes permanently off. I haven’t quite decided which is more irksome. Is it preparing to write the Gobsheet, seated with the laptop located at thigh-level, thumbing the ‘on’ button only to find the exquisite prose from last week issuing from said machine? Or is it the adoption of the same position, that similar digital calisthenic and half an hour of auditory dross with only the occasional flash of oral gold that can be conveyed to the waiting page? Tonight we have the latter. It’s really quite fascinating how dull can be the repetition of several conversations one had which, at the time, seemed the very epitome of fascinating loquacity. Was Slowsucker really interested to hear that I had eaten a delicious plate of rabbit the evening before? Did Spex really experience that almost ecstatic involvement she showed while discussing the rapid lowering of the temperature over the last couple of days? Crikey! That’s four question marks and an exclamation in one paragraph. Perhaps time to move on…

Actually, I was quite lucky that the darn recording machine was working at all. After what seemed like a solid hour of traipsing along wide and wet scrub and woodland tracks we slipped into the forest. A bit of off-road. Very nice, we thought. But it was treacherous, with grassed-over holes and roots between the brush and saplings. It didn’t take much for me to catch my foot in one of these roots. Time slows as you fall, doesn’t it? (oops – another question mark). Fortunately, this gave me time to think as I slo-mo’d towards the waiting mere and I realised the most important thing to do was keep my equipment dry. This thought has spared me from disaster on more than one occasion and it stood me in good stead now. I twisted to the right and crooked my elbow to ensure the recorder was raised as I plunged the entire side of my body into cold, muddy water. Though splashed with droplets of shiggy the thing still blinked at me. To stop the water cascading down my arm and into the machine I raised it. And the water cascaded down my ribs, hip and leg. “Interesting.” I thought with true British phlegm as Bomber, close behind and laughing like a hyena, enquired as to my well-being. I got my own back by assuring everyone who smilingly asked if I had fallen over that Bomber had pushed me into the shiggy. However, this dousing was not half as wet and cold as the ford through which a few hardy Hashers had waded through earlier. Good luck to ‘em. Some of us had taken the short cut…

This woodland and water terrain had got us thoroughly confused which is why Donut led the entire Pack as FRB for a good two hundred metres before falling exhausted into a ditch while Bogbrush, Zebedee and I trotted past like the true gentlemen we are. Interesting trio, that. We are considering naming ourselves the Achilles Three since we all seem to be suffering in that particular area. Must be the sheer amount of flabby bulk we all have to drag round. Talking of Zeb he was roundly lambasted Itsyor at a Check. The fellow had sped off to check out the Trail as he is wont to do. We called out, “Are you?” and received no positive reply so Itsyor advised us very loudly that, “He hasn’t gone far enough!” and “He should check over there!” All this while standing around idly at the Check and in front of the RA. Silly boy.

Oh dear. I spoke too soon about the recording machine. It has just started squealing at me like a stuck Jimi Hendrix record. Technically speaking it’s knackered. Oh well, the last time it did this I stuck it in the airing cupboard for a couple of days. Guess I’ll try that again. Luckily we are nearing the end of the Gobsheet, as we were the Trail on Sunday. A trot along the tarmac and a little bit of delightfully coloured (thanks to the leaves) forest and we were back at the pub where there seemed to be lots of people who had arrived back before their partner and who didn’t have the keys to their car. Unfortunate really, since it was getting a tad nippy. But they later warmed up with either a curry or a chilli in the pub and washed it down with an excellent pint.

Our thanks to the Hares for their work – all four of them!

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following :-

Hmm. Let’s see what Ican remember.

Mr Blobby and Slippery for canoodling in the woods.

OldDog for 200 runs.


All four Hares of course.

Billy for something or other.

Oh lawks!! The mirror just fell off the wall in the downstairs bog! Something’s trying to tell me something. I’ll stop here. See you next week

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






The Two Poplars
118 Finchampstead Road
Wokingham RG41 2NU





The Swan, High Street
ComptonRG20 6NJ

Scoot, Centaur

Hash Christmas Lights Walk

Yule be dazzled on 25Nov10 @ 7:15 p.m. Meet at the Vue cinema, The Oracle, Reading. Short walk, pub and food. For details contact Motox.