Berkshire Hash House Harriers 



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The Hare and Hounds

Sonning Common


Billy, Cerberus

Commoners In Sonning

AAArgh! The blasted voice recorder has decided to sit in its imaginary corner, legs and arms crossed, shoulders hunched and lower lip pushed out in a major sulk. So if you don’t see your name below, my apologies, but blame the technology… or lack of it.

Whinge TC Donut Hashgate Lemming Mother Theresa Foghorn Twanky Blowjob Slapper NoSole Debbie Motox Ms Whiplash Mrs Blobby Mr Blobby Swallow Slowsucker Shifty Jill Butterfly Nappyrash Diver HP Iceman Zebedee Florence MessengerBoy C5 Matt Roz Mark Angella Fannybag Bogbrush Posh Caboose Horny Mike SkinnyDipper JohnnyWalker Bumwiper and dog Ebony Lilo and dog Minx Tinopener Dunny Rampant

Just The Six Miles Then

My/our thanks to C5 for producing the Gobsheet last week. Not only did he play a small part helping C4 to organise the Moonlight at his house the night before but he gave those who did not know a brief dissertation on the origin and meaning of the phrase, “freeze the balls off a brass monkey”. Most kind.

Hare sticks tongue out: 'Cheeky' hare pokes tongue out at photographers A very appropriately named pub today, no doubt carefully selected by Cerberus and Billy and though we drank it dry of beer later the place and people were very hospitable and the sausages, chips and bread were very welcome. Especially since the temperature had dropped quite alarmingly from when we had On Outed. Our tiny, and large, hands were frozen.

Initially, it had almost been warm, with the sun finally appearing after seemingly weeks of dreary weather. I can’t say, however, that there was yet anything of the spring lamb about BH3. A few hardy souls, like NappyRash and Slowsucker ran about for a bit until Billy pointed us at the foresty bit I had expected to run about in. Local knowledge you see. Being just a mile or so from my manor I’m quite familiar with this area. But, of course, local knowledge is a dangerous thing on the Hash. One might know where one is, but certainly not where one is going. That was certainly the case today since our Hares had laid a cunning Trail that wound its serpentine way around the countryside, occasionally doubling back on itself. It described a scaled-up version of the stuttering route home Billy might take after a night at his local. Of course, we were luckier than Billy since we didn’t have a Cerberus waiting for us with folded arms and a rolling pin.

Since we are reeling about a bit let’s do the same on the Trail.

It was pretty cold on the hands when we first started, carrying the recorder didn’t help. So when Bumwiper very kindly offered me her black woolly gloves I put ‘em on quickly and ran off before she could change her mind. What I hadn’t noticed until later was that each had a rather twee Whinnie the Pooh logo embroidered into the back of each. Think I got away with it.

Somewhere in a forest that Mr Blobby and I were trotting through was a Whinge. It was sitting on the floor with a shoe and sock off, inspecting its foot. “All right, Whinge?” We enquired solicitously. “Got a thorn in my foot.” He replied forlornly. “Well I’m not biting it out.” I advised him, mixing my metaphors slightly. Mr Blobby gave the mixture a stir as we scurried on our way. “You wouldn’t make a very good Andromed… um, Androcles.” He added. We agreed that the minor synapse hiccup was something that happened increasingly as one’s years advanced, forgot each other’s names and scampered blankly on our way.

We approached a narrow track leading between two paddocks, bounded by stout fencing topped with a little exotic barbed wire. Behind the fencing on the left stamped two large horses. Fine creatures but about twenty hands high and built like brick… horse barns. Florence and I skipped by them gingerly. They followed. We skipped on a bit more. They not only followed but stood by the end of the track… waiting for us. What would they do? Kick the fence down and trample us with snorting derision? Chomp on us with those mighty equine choppers? Actually, no. They waited until we drew level, then blew raspberries.

By the time we reached Peppard for the second time peoples’ GPS watches were reading from between 7½ and 8½ miles. Billy later insisted that the whole Trail was no more than 6 and both Hares mentioned that they had actually shortened the Trail in case it was too long! Luckily, only a bit of a valley, a wooded hill, a road, two ginnels, another hilly bit of wood and a little tarmac separated us from the Nirvanah of stopping and getting a drink. Twanky and Donut enjoyed the Trail so much they added a bit on and turned up half an hour later. Don’t blame ‘em. A fine Trail. Thanks Hares.

On On.  Hashgate.

Down Downs

Presented by Shitfor. Assisted (?) by Desperate.

Who Got It

Why and How They Did


Not knowing he was on a golf course


Sad enough to clean his running shoes every week


Had a dog running behind her…?


Cerberus’ dog had had to go to the vets with cystitis. “Something wrong with its eye?” Asked TC.


Attacking Dunny with a stick


Covered in blood from barbed wire (again). Nominated BumWiper who had accused him of ‘cheating’ because he was lying down for a bit

Cerberus, Billy

Still insisting the Trail was 6 miles long they deserved and enjoyed their Downs.

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






“St Patrick’s Day Hash” 

Wear Green
The Thatched Cottage
Cannon Lane, Maidenhead SL6 3PE

Paddy O’Iceman




Waiting for the info.





Joint Run with North Wilts Hash

The Spotted Dog

Gladstone Lane, Cold Ash

RG18 9PR

Please park on the main road






Last Sunday Hash


Easter Sunday Run

The Black Horse

Checkendon, West Berkshire