Knackered

C5 Foghorn Iceman Donut Hashgate Mr Blobby Ms Whiplash Motox Spot Lemming Mother Theresa Desperate Shitfor Fiona NewBoiler JohnnyWalker RandyMandy with dog Ebony BlindPew Horny Sue Amanda with dogs Minty and Pickle LoudonTasteless Spex Blowjob Twanky Dorothy Whinge TC Bogbrush Fannybag HP NappyRash Slapper NoSole Dribbler Butterfly Itsyor SkinnyDipper Kate Nick Mark CrustyToasty Handful Ross (now Trigger) Posh Caboose SlipperyDick Iceman Marcus Zebedee Florence Chopstix Shandyman

A Slightly Fast First Half

Some dogs are just completely spoilt. While Amanda struggled in the cold car park with her excited charges: Minty and the aptly named Pickle, and JohhnyWalker had little Ebony determinedly tying him up by racing round him on her lead a couple in wellingtons approached the only calf-deep ford with their full grown collie. Now collies are known as hardy herders, strong, agile and stacked with stamina. The young gent bent down, picked up the hapless creature and wading into the stream. The poor doggie was so embarrassed he covered his eyes with a paw, lest the ponies in the adjoining field stopped their chewing and wandered over to take the horsey mick.

And talking of Mick, how good it was for us all to see Billy today supping on a red wine after the Hash and politely declining concerned offers of a seat on the grounds that he’s been non-stop laying down and sitting for quite enough time, thank you! Glad you could come, Billy 

Quite what Dribbler or Butterfly had been drinking, snorting or injecting we weren’t sure but Dribbler wandered vacantly around the car park offering the brace of very dead pheasants he was carrying to any taker and Butterfly stepped lightly towards the Circle wearing a sparkly tiara and carrying a wand. I sighed inwardly. Bugger, I thought. They’ve both gone (even more) gaga. I don’t know who got the pheasants. If only I had taken more notice of my Dad when I was a lad, watching him plucking and drawing these birds (not actually these birds you understand) on a Sunday morning I’d have had them myself. Bet they’re delicious. Butterfly floated into the middle of the Circle. It seems she is honorary Vice President of BH³ and was wearing her chosen badges of office. She quieted us, got us all to raise one foot as high as possible and sprinkled invisible fairy dust on us with her wand in order to speed us on our way. Shitfor voiced all our thoughts as she floated back out of the Circle. He announced loudly, “If anybody wants something to smoke, go and see Butterfly!”

We On Outed with our usual scattergun approach. I fell in with C5 who was fiddling with something on his wrist. I won’t report the actual words he used since some of the more delicate ladies of our group might swoon in the reading of them. But essentially he was having a little trouble resetting his flash GPS watch thingy.Technology perhaps not C5’s strong point. He stonked off, prodding at his arm and muttering obscenities.

The race had begun. I say race since the first half of this Trail was an eyeballs-and-tongue-out, non-stop leg burner. We stamped breathlessly over fields and along narrow roads, then for miles along the Loddon which ambled easily along in the opposite direction. Just as I began to start hallucinating I found myself next to Caboose so we started an oxygen-free conversation as we rattled along like 60-Capstan-Full-Strength-a-day blokes. Any topic of conversation would do as long as it took our minds off the pain. Add your own heavy breathing in amongst the next few bits of chat. “I wonder where the Loddon rises?” I queried mindlessly. “That’s something I’ve always been meaning to find out.” Replied Caboose. I let that go. Everyone’s got to have a hobby. Then he added, rather presciently. “Actually, any further, Hashgate and we might just get to know.”

Somehow we got into Dinton Pastures. Crikey! And still we flogged onwards like lunatics. Not sure how Whinge, who (I am glad to report) had been trotting on gently, got in front of us but we had a quick chat and careered on. NappyRash has taken Billy’s rôle while he rests and he obviously takes it seriously. He stood in front of a track leading off the main path holding up a sign which stated very officially that the path was closed to the public and no-one should go along it. An eldritch (a word for you, Slapper) squeal of “On On” came from beyond him and we bundled through him like a many-legged human steamroller, leaving him mud-spattered, gibbering and covered in footprints (no change to what he usually looks like after a Hash then). Along the wide stream, we reached what Hare CrustyToasty had labelled ‘the Push-In Point’ during his Circle speech. I took the rest opportunity to watch Shitfor, NappyRash and, I think, BlindPew trying to grab Desperate to heave her in. But this is Desperate and she duly beat the lot of them to a bloody pulp, leaving the bodies behind her as she straightened her hair and tripped lightly away.

After a lot more hacking we reached a flour sign that read ‘BS’ and a number of us rather mis-interpreted it as a comment on the Trail. It actually meant ‘Beer Stop’ and we popped out in the car park of the Berkshire Air Museum to be greeted with a small bar fashioned out of a wallpaper table, beer, lager, cider and water, manned cheerfully by Luke, Crispin, Craig, Steve, Theresa and Emma. It was quite a relief to stop for a bit even though the chill wind started sawing through one like a rusty knife. C5 advised me that, according to his GPS he had run all of 7 yards on his ATCF (As The Crow Flies) setting. Just before we started off again he restarted it… only to find he had switched on the watch function which advised him the time was 2 o’clock in the morning, he was 2 feet underground and moving in a Westerly direction. Great these gadgets aren’t they?

Dribbler’s fix obviously hadn’t worn off as we crossed a road. A cyclist wheeled through us. Donut saw the danger as Dribbler wobbled over the road on a course designed to meet the fellow side-on in 5 seconds. ‘Stop!’ roared Donut. Dribbler’s fight-or-flight mechanism, already befuddled by fumes of Lord knows what kicked in and she kicked off… straight towards the cyclist. Aargh! He missed her by the width of a pheasant’s feather and looked back, white-eyed, as she skittered into the park.

C5 managed to a) get stuck in a brook on the way back and, b) advise me as we finished that he had now run -14 yards and was located in Hungary. And it was next Tuesday.

A wonderful Trail, after we had recovered from the first half. Our thanks to Cerberus and CrustyToasty. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA C5 presented the following :-

Straight down. Well done!

Up and Coming