Berkshire Hash House Harriers 



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The Sun, Hill Bottom



Sun Seekers

Iceman Simple Skids Donut Hashgate Swallow Slowsucker PennyPitstop OldFart Alison(now Hotlips – see Down Downs) Foghorn Chopstix Shandyman MessengerBoy Whinge TC Nappyrash ChocChuck Spex LoudonTasteless Desperate Cerberus BillyBullshit Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Utopia C5 Motox Nick 2Bob Puddleduck and dog Lucy Slapper NoSole Bogbrush Fannybag James Spot Ms Whiplash Dunny Rampant Florence Zebedee Bumwiper and dog Ebony Uplift Itsyor Dribbler Butterfly AWOL Lonely Posh (and Bomber much later)

Lost, Found and Exhausted

To begin with the end, as it were, Bomber finally rolled up on his Moulton bicycle looking somewhat gawky and inconsistently proportioned with that large cycle helmet on his head. “Has it started yet?” He questioned me. The Sun, the pub, may have been lit up but the sun, the real one, had long gone and been replaced by the slim silver crescent of the moon in the darkening sky. Also long gone was tonight’s Hash. It turned out the poor chap had been subjected to severe railway delay. Posh greeted him (offering her perfect hand for a brush with his lips) and they retired to the pub for a consoling curry – which seemed to take ages to eat!

The end had other concerns for Slowsucker and for me. We had lost our ladies! Everone had returned, including walkers Mrs Blobby and Utopia. Most were in the pub enjoying a pint. But of Swallow and Donut there was no sign. The dusk got duskier. We nipped up the road and checked the On Inn track with no success. We knew there was a significant amount of IQ between the two of them (despite the reported drop in general IQ since Victorian times:  Daily Telegraph 14May13) so used our own considerable brainpower to figure out what they’d do. We discarded the theory that they might fashion a hot air balloon out of interwoven dock leaves, breathe into it with their hot breath (they must have been running hard), rise above the forest and float on the wind towards the pub. The idea that they might pick up some hazel twigs and dowse their way back was shot down almost as soon as it took flight. Could they find an English-speaking mole with a highly developed sense of direction and an altruism rarely seen in a burrowing mammal? No, we agreed. Let’s get in the car and go round the block. At least we’d be warm. Half way up the Whitchurch road we spotted a couple of panting women, looking desperate. Well, we thought, might as well pick ‘em up… can’t find our girls. And it was them! We stopped. We rolled down the window. I smilingly asked, “Fancy a sweetie darlin’?” and Swallow flashed back with “If you show me your dick.” Well, I’m not easily shocked but, not being familiar with the joke, I boggled a tad. But, hurrah, we’d found our lost sheep lambs and we shepherded them back to the pub to tell their stories.

At the beginning we had all sat in our cars watching angry grey storm clouds bunching in front of us like a heavyweight boxer ready to throw the first punch. Spatters of rain splashed on our windscreens and dust devils whirled sporadically across the dusty car park. The thought of leaving the safety of our cars to run five or so miles through this lot did not enthuse us. Luckily, the rain held off. So that was all right then. It was just freezing blasted cold with occasional gusts of wind.

We shivered up the hill the usual way, unable to see anything because of the incredibly bright sun – I nearly knocked TC over in he blind dash. I think we were all very keen (like the wind!) to get off the road and into either the left or right track that led off it and a bit of shelter. It was the right one and we hurtled off gratefully into the woods.

Now either Dribbler is on drugs or he’s still in the land of euphoria after UKIPs success at the local elections. I overheard him telling Iceman (on seeing one in the sky above us) that one cannot take photographs of rainbows. Iceman rightly took issue, though restrained himself from naming Dribbler as a Gamma-brained nutter. He should have let it out since Dribbler followed up by stating that all photos with rainbows on actually had them painted on after they had been developed. Well, two points here:  1) nobody develops film any more and, 2) the paint runs off – I’ve tried it. Dribbler offered further evidence to support the nutter concept when he and I chanced upon what was left of a glazed kitchen door bang in the middle of the forest. “Perhaps,” He opined sagely. “Tis a magic door through which we could walk to the Beer Stop.” I felt it best at this point to a) smilingly agree and, b) run away from him as fast as I could. I did.

Bluebells – there were a mass of the hazy beauties. Coloured, according to Bumwiper (whose dog Ebony had attempted to engage me in a worrying canine bondage session by entwining her lead around my legs – “Coo. Hashgate’s got his leg over that bitch” mentioned OldFart) in blue, white and, guess what, purple! Didn’t know you could get purple bluebells. I thought Bumwiper was having a similar mental episode to Dribbler… until I checked it out on the Net. Joke on me there J

Booby advised C5 and me that he had run 10½ miles while laying the Trail (and later confided he’d used 8 bags of flour) which was allegedly 5 miles long. It seemed to most of us that we’d already run about 7 and the legs were weighing heavily. It was all good stuff, trails through the woods and all that. But it was beginning to wear. Things weren’t helped when, just after Booby let us know that we were “well on the way back” we found ourselves on the Out Trail. Urk. General confusion and despair, Particularly since we’d just run all the way down a long, sloping track. Oh well, when the ‘On Back’ echoed out above us we just had to run all the way up it. And follow the now pink flour. Confused? So were we. But a highly pleasing and pink ‘On Inn’ appeared. The fact that it was a good ½ mile from the pub didn’t put us off. At least we were on the right track at last. Florence was so excited that she put on such an incredible burst of speed. It was so fast none of us actually witnessed it.

So then back to the beginning, we were at the end of the Hash. As usual, Booby, a teasing, serpentine and very enjoyable Trail. Thanks very much.

On On.  Hashgate.

Down Downs

Presented with polish and aplomb by C5.

Who Got It

Why and How They Did


Her birthday. A truly thrilling Down. (Ok, it wasn’t)

Mr Blobby

Smooth and stylish like the old dog himself


Wearing a duck call round her neck during the Hash. Sad.


Uprooting innocent vegetation in the forest. Quick or what.


Stretching at a gate and holding evryone up. Woofed it.


Can’t remember but she is so fast!


Our GM logged his home Hash on a website as R2D2!!


Named ‘Hotlips’ due to a recent curry-eating session. Nice one, girl.

Booby and Slapper

Booby as tonight’s Hare. Slapper as the Hare who got lost on his own Moonlight Hash Trail laying J

Up and Coming



Grid Reference






Hashy Birthday Party (Ticket only)
Tadley Rugby Club 
Red Lane, Aldermaston, RG7 4PA

GT, Whiplash & Slackbladder


5:30 pm


“HP’s Hawaiian Beach Party” 
Note 5:30 pm start!
NEW VENUE - The Grosvenor. 
Kidmore Road, 
Caversham, RG4 7NH

Birthday Hash with
Heavy Petting




Hashes to Ashes” Remembrance Run
Yattendon Village Hall
RG16 0UE
£1 / £2 tick for members/ non members. BYOBeer

BGB, Dumper,
Tin Opener, MotoX & Flo