Cloggs DK Motormouth Hashgate Honeymonster The Tremblers Spot Salome Ms. Whiplash Eth The Cuddles Mafia Dumper Septic C5 Squelchy Binbag Hamlet Jake(the dog) Cheating Baldrick Potty Nutcracker Andy(from China. Also known as DykeQueen!) GoGo(from Oz) NoWorries(from Oz) Old Fart Le Voisin (et chien) Florence Scrumper Mr. Mainwaring 2Bob Puddleduck Anthony Wally GBH CircuitBreaker Cap’n Y-Fronts Foghorn Lonely Greenfly Bill Spex Chopstix Iceman Humper and Doggyfashion (and Heidi the dog) HairyMary Cap’n Haystax…Whinge who only came to collect money!

Motormouth and I were late. We screeched into the car park on two smoking tyres, scattering the Hashers on the outskirts of the gather round and flattening a small rodent (it is now mounted on my bonnet, rampant, with a surprised expression on it’s face). Luckily, the trail went in the usual direction so it wasn’t difficult to pick up thanks largely to some helpful flour arrows and the sight of Cloggs’ pert rear end skittering amongst the trees. Of course, the last time some of us were here was when we were filming the Rosie and Jim children’s tv program. Those of us without age-related memory loss problems cast dewy eyes over those parts of the forest where stars were born. "There’s where we jumped in the made-up mud". "This is where a hundred soldiers on a cross-country run held up filming". "That’s where the director threw a tantrum". Etc. etc.

But back in present day things were warming up nicely. And so they should. This is an excellent place for a Hash – full of trees and trails, mud and brambles. And the unexpected. The Hares had broken with tradition. Instead of leading us into the woods and turning left we went further in and turned rightish. We tumbled across some well broken land that looked like a gang of drunken moles had rampaged through it one night. The earth had dried and hardened so ankle-breaking was well on the cards in the desolate moonscape. Luckily, no-one broke anything and sadly, no-one tripped over; but it proved a useful way to keep the pack fairly together since running was well nigh impossible. It was just as we were leaving this area that a rather sad individual (who shall remain un-named) sidled up and attempted to bribe me with, and I quote, ‘a magic stone’ that he pressed into my hand in return for a mention in the Gob Sheet. Now, as you all know, I am totally unbribable (unless it’s sex, money or beer) and would not sully the good name of the Berkshire Hash by involving it in a payola scandal. Suffice it to say that this low-life palm greaser is usually on his own and can be seen with a large dog named Beav…. But I shall say no more.

Not long after this we hit the mangrove swamp. Now you wouldn’t expect one of these in this country but Cloggs and DK had managed to find one. Ducking low among the overhanging branches we entered the (probably) alligator infested area. Being a gentleman I waited and pointed the way for those members of the Hash with poorly eyesight. Curiously enough, certain people decided not to take the mangrove way and opted for a more direct route (sensible move Circuit Breaker, Dumper etc). Now usually when we run in a forest there is the sound of ‘OnOn’ing and the odd muttered curse or branch cracking. The screams and yells from the swamp indicated total mayhem as foolhardy Hashers sploshed chest deep in foetid pools. I half expected the monster from the black lagoon to rise up and start munching the nearest. HairyMary, Michael, 2Bob and Anthony were among the casualties. Even the normally sane Baldrick had ventured in to reappear dripping from the groin. A very unpleasant sight! Nice one, Hares.

We then entered an arboreal bombsite. A wide, dry scrubland, littered with bits of dead trees, potholes and cunning, ground-hugging brambles. The exact opposite of what we had just been through. We (literally) tripped across it. The Hares were certainly providing variety, for no sooner had we got across it than we formed an impromptu regroup at a check by a placid, swan-speckled lake. It was beginning to get surreal. Perhaps tree-madness had hit; what next? A polar landscape swept by gales and littered with waddling penguins? A Peruvian desert with large, spitting animals? Perhaps the dry sweep of a French vineyard? But no. We had finally made that left turn into the more familiar Bramshill landscape. So we checked it out and DoggyFashion was heard to utter the F-word as we pulled up down a longish false. Coincidentally enough, I almost uttered the same word while pelting back when DoggyFashion’s hound Heidi decided to lope across immediately in front of me. Have you ever slammed on the brakes at a hundred miles an hour? It’s surprising how far your toenails will poke out of your pumps when you stop that quickly. I managed not to flatten the creature and carried on running on my heels for a bit.

Shortly after, the long and short trail bifurcated and those of us looking after children (that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it!) waved goodbye to the poor fools trekking out on the long, led by the amazingly attired Greenfly. As several of us remarked, it is a shame that his anaconda-style codpiece hides nothing more than a wizened old grass snake….

A warm welcome to Antipodeans GoGo and returning NoWorries and to DykeQueen and 2Bob’s mate Michael. GoGo was telling me that down in Brisbane they have mud runs where you are up to your waist in the stuff. Lovely! Good on yer cobb(l)ers!

I was unable to attend the Down Downs so thanks to Iceman for his report. C5 officiated :-

Easter weekend is Snowdon weekend, staying at Llanberris. If you’re interested see BoPeep or Spot for details.