Run Number:



Visit the website –
Website Email –


The Hop Leaf
Southampton Street


Lungs, Ms Whiplash, HP

Ghosts and Ghoulies

Nappyrash Donut Hashgate Slippery Snowballs Skids Simple Potty Nutty Motox Spot Cerberus BillyBullshit Desperate KateSkinnyDipper HarryPotter Unnamed Jacob I-Plod C5 Iceman BGB Frankie Whinge TC Gnomealone Linda CrustyToasty Amanda Baldrick Jwax PennyPitstop Slapper NoSole Flash

The Hallowe’en Hash

This area of Reading has seen its fair share of oddly dressed people and strange goings on, yet it was interesting to see the look on some of the faces of passers-by as we gathered outside The Hop Inn. An old chap tottered by on the other side of the road. He’d seen it all. It was etched on his face and showed in his stooped posture. Yet a huge grin spread across his raddled features as he looked over at us. And talking of raddled features Snowballs’ was somewhat more raddled than most. He had on a grey, stripped-back-face, rubber mask with protruding teeth and eyeballs to match. Very fetching. In fact some people failed to notice he was actually wearing a mask. But he was having problems seeing where he was going and had to hold on to a table, for the glasses he was also wearing kept steaming up in the rubbery atmosphere. He settled on turning the mask round so it was on the back of his head… which was slightly more disturbing. Iceman had decided to show his devilish side, with horns, a red T-shirt and a face redder than a baboon’s bum. Whinge had opted for a Dracula-esque look, topped off with a bushy black and grey wig that made him look like a mad barrister. But, since this was more hair than he has had for ages he enjoyed every minute.

But what of our ladies? TC had on a black tail-coat where the tails were separated by an inverted ‘U’-shaped space. Rather unfortunate while she was running because she also wore a very short orangey mini skirt that kept riding up. Luckily for her, it stopped riding up just before see-level though NappyRash, in a characteristically gentlemanly gesture, offered to run closely behind her to preserve her modesty. Our virgin Hare, Lungs, was the epitome of scary couture, with an outfit comprising sexy spider tights and a matching, diaphanous cobweb cloak topped off with a black fascinator on which perched a grinning, furry spider. Excellent! After a brief and instantly forgettable address by our revered GM, Simple, we On Outed down Southampton Street in a flurry of scales and wings and teeth.

We had been warned by our Hares that there was ‘a bit of tarmac’ on the Trail. Since we were in Reading we had kind of figured there might be. So we weren’t disappointed. I think we must have traipsed up and down almost every street in the town. London Street with its curiously named ‘The Knob Shop’. Behind Queen’s Road car park and the Kennet canal. The abbey ruins. The Forbury gardens. Market place. The Oracle. It was like an open-top bus tour without the open-top bus. Our Hares had informed us earlier that he Trail was about 6 miles long – they were certainly making sure we ran every inch of it.

We headed further out past Loch Fyne and out on the canal. Frankly, had I realised the length of the blasted towpath along which we were about to run (plus Falses) I’d have thrown myself in and let myself be sucked to death by the invisible fish that the anglers, dotted at various intervals along the banks were vainly trying to catch. I must say, if I was one of these fellows and I’d actually caught one of our piscine friends I’d have been very reluctant to take the thing home and present it to the little woman (I know, girls, but bear with me) for frying. The canal appeared to have drained out of the mouth of slurry hell with maybe a little diesel oil spill mixed in. Frying up anything dredged from its murky depths would risk instant conflagration. Death by exploding tench. Not a pleasant thought. The anglers angled. We plodded on. Unlike our convivial, chattering group they were solitary and silent. Rather like the fish for which they angled.

The two bright spots along this never-ending canal were provided by C5 and Cerberus. The former pointed out the fisherman whose rod almost reached the other side of the stream. We pondered (pond – bit of a watery joke there) why he didn’t either a) fish from the other side, or b) buy a boat. Says a lot about the mindset of our fish-loving fellows. The latter drew up alongside me and we puffed along together for a while, both her and my dodgy knee greatly enjoying the constant pressure shocks as we pounded along the tarmac path. “There’s a naked man up in that windows.” She informed me in the same kind of voice which might invite you to enjoy another slice of madeira, vicar? “Pardon?” I queried, keeping my eyes firmly on the path. “Silly me.” She added, rather disappointedly. “He’s got pants on.” Being sucked to death by the invisible fish was becoming every more attaractive. After another three miles or so I caught up with Donut, who was not spotting naked men in windows but who was wearing a fairly lurid girl’s Halloween witch dress we had purchased in Henley Tesco the day before – to the, by turns, amused and confused looks from our fellow shoppers. Lord sakes! It took ages to drag our weary carcasses along to the A33. And then we had to schlep all round Kennet Island and the back of Basingstoke Road before, hallelujah! we actually got off road. To enjoy another long slog along paths and fields. We lost Iceman at this point since, he said, he knew where he was going and he nipped off with a devil-may-care expression. HP smilingly watched as Gnomealone, Linda and Slapper ran in precisely the wrong direction before calling On Back and then kindly pointed us towards the On Inn that led up a stupendously steep hill, lined with houses. Despite the effort involved in getting up the thing I had to smile when I noticed it was named Alpine Street. Some past town planner had obviously had a sense of humour. And we hadn’t lost ours by the time we scrambled up the additional hill at Southampton Street atop of which lay the car park.

Lungs – you are no longer a virgin Hare and you had no need to worry about the Trail. Despite the tarmac it was good fun and even Whinge didn’t  you, Ms Whiplash and HP.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following in what appeared to be a brick-lined dog kennel:-



Style points


Today’s other virgin

Really very good

Cerberus and Slapper

Wearers of the best outfits



Suggesting Whinge is a lush

Proved that he is


Rear-ending’ Lungs!


Ms Whiplash

Accusing people of cheating while riding her bike and falling off it!

and furious


Vainly attempting to emulate Johnny Depp

Emulated a desperate drunk instead

Lungs, Ms Whiplash, HP

Today’s hares

Nicely done girls


The litterbug lost his black plastic cape on the Trail

No problem – of course

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






* Hat Hash – wear a hat *
The Plowden Arms
Shiplake Cross
Henley-on-Thames RG94BX
* please park on the road *





Hash Quiz Run
The Mill House
Bradley Moore Square
Dunston Park
Thatcham RG18 4QH