Burghfield Commoners

NoSole Donut Hashgate HP NappyRash Motox Cheating Pissquick Poca and children Ewok and Finn Whinge TC Hamlet Fukawe TinOPener Lilo and dog Minx FullFrontal BGB LoudonTasteless Spex Ms Whiplash Salome Florence Zebedee BlindPew RandyMandy Dunny Rampant Iceman CrustyToasty Amanda and dogs Minty and Pickle Julie Brian Nick Blowjob Lonely Bootsie Alice Itsyor SkinnyDipper

… And In With The New

And so we say goodbye to the golden summer of 2012. Not so much from the weather perspective as the sporting. Wimbledon, Tour de France, Olympics, U.S. Open Tennis, volunteers, British friendliness and exuberance, attitiudes towards disabled (ha! A misnomer if ever there was one) people, BH³ begins its autumn term. And how did our new Hare Razor/Trail Master celebrate the end of our golden summer? By laying a Trail in the virtually trail-free Burghfield Common. He was following a tradition started the week earlier by C5 who had the equally thankless task around Beech Hill (see Gobsheet 1816). Slapper had actually stepped up to the plate for this Hash since Centaur had had to take a rain check on the Trail he had opted to lay on the day.

We also say goodbye to the previous style Gobsheet that has been around for quite some time. Though friendly and familiar I figured it was about time it was ‘refreshed’. Would that it were so easy for Hashers. A tweak here. A click there. A little style update. A lick of cyber-paint. And we’d all be fresh, new and different – if essentially the same. So here is the updated format. It may get a little more tweaking as we go along. Hope you like it. Let me know  Additionally, you may have noticed that paper copies of the Gobsheet have been as rare as an apology by a politician. Deliberately so. For a number of reasons. HP has quite enough to do without printing them out. As an environmentally friendly Hash we really should cut out paper. Even Motox has access to a pc. It will also allow me to write more than two sides of A4 when necessary. The downside is that you may have to read even more drivel than usual. However, the paper-free experimental period has resulted in only one minor gripe which means that either, everyone is reading the Gobsheets on-line, or, no-one gives a flying dewberry. I’d like to believe it’s the former…

Motox acted as GM this morning since our new GM, Shandyman, and new RA, Shitfor, rather amusingly were absent. Also absent were the Mortimer Mafia (C5, Mr Blobby et al) and the Thatcham Posse (Simple and crew). Fortunately, the Caversham Cosa Nostra: Whinge, TC etc) were present. As indeed was a face from the past – Salome put in a welcome appearance. Quite what Motox thought he was doing by wearing a yachting cap with the letters GM attached boldly to it was anybody’s guess but he enjoyed his moment of glory before Hare Slapper sent us on our way.

So what was Slapper going to do in this awkward area? We soon found out when we headed for the large, neat, diamond-shaped park surrounded by poplars and found his Field Check just inside the entrance to it. Ok. It’s a field. With a Field Check. We checked out the field. And just as the FRBs reached the far edges of the area Slapper called us all On Back! Hmm. Can you have a Field Back Check? Seems we could. We circled round the rear of the pub and headed off down a ginnel towards a churchyard. NappyRash and I were leading at this point and, in a rare flash of rapier-like humour, he called out. “It’s a dead-end.”The tumbleweed blew and NappyRash, oblivious to the blank faces behind him and enjoying his own cleverness essayed the jolly jape again. Amazing how quiet it can get in the country isn’t it? Everyone shuiffled past, averting their eyes with embarrassment, into the ploughed field.

The wind, having played with the tumbleweed, decided to play with us and switched round to blow gustily directly in our faces. Since it was exceptionally difficult to stumble our way across the soft, giving, clods by the time we reached the other side of the (what seemed like) the hundred-acre field we were (almost literally) blown away with exhaustion.

And where did we end up after a short trot down the road? Why, over the road near the pub and back to the diamond-shaped park. Uurgh!

From this point on we hit suburbia, big time. I lost count of the number of estates through which we plodded, largely uphill, and the endless reels of tarmac that stretched out in front of us like grey tongues. They all began to look the same. Slapper had done the best he could with the limited vegetation between the houses but there was precious little of it. I began to regret not bringing on-road shoes. HP and NappyRash began to feel quite at home after last week’s half-marathon round the streets of Budapest. BGB lay down, allegedly to remove a thorn from the sole of his shoe and, not to be outdone, CrustyToasty did exactly the same thing, extracting a vicious looking spike that would have challenged even Androcles. Quite how they picked up these items in areas where the only foliage was well-mown, but small, lawns was beyond me.

My batteries packed up. No, not the ones in the pacemaker but those in my recording machine. Luckily, a) I had a spare pair in my pocket and, b) I actually had not lost all I had recorded so far. Usually the damn machine blinks blankly at me, may or may not utter a dying squawk and refuses for a day or so to work at all. Considering it has been with me, rain, snow, hail and shine for around eight years it’s probably not done so bad. The Regroup finally appeared, thank the Lord and, as we On Outed again down the (you guessed it) tarmac Donut announced. “I’m not going anywhere without Slapper.” Which was a bit of a surprise to me. The thought of waking up in the morning and turning over to see Slapper’s grinning face was a bit too much to take in.

Itsyor summed up the Hash by telling me. “It takes a certain kind of mind to lay a Trail like this. Slapper’s.” I heartily agreed as we caught up with Whinge and raced (yep, don’t know why we did either) down the long road that led to the cars and a very welcome pint for the footsore masses and the chalk board offer of a ‘Senior Citizen Lunch For Just £6.95’. Not sure any of us had the energy to eat one.

Thanks Slapper, for stepping in the breach. The lad’s going to make a cracking TrailMaster.

On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox not only acted as GM but also a very witty RA this afternoon.

Up and Coming