Trembler Lonely and Beaver Zebedee Florence HeyBabe Wally StickyDicky Spot Spex Shep and Gnarler Potty Nutcracker BoPeep MotherTheresa Lemming Ms. Whiplash LordLucan LeVoisin KneeTrembler Hamlet and Jake Foghorn Chopstix Eth Cloggs Cheating C5 Bomber BGB Baldrick Squirrel

My thanks this week to Zebedee and Florence for the tale of the tape. I knew I could ‘bank’ on Zeb to be ‘co-operative’ and ‘manage’ to give me a good ‘account’. (If you don’t understand,ask Zeb). Now there was an eye-popping start to their commentary. I’m not sure if the machine was accidentally switched on in a bedroom sometime prior to the Hash but a male voice is heard stating "Just put the red light on." Followed by, "Just push it up. Push it up". Then a female voice, "Can’t work this complicated machine!". I leave the mental picture to your fevered imaginations…

To prove they arrived late (surprisingly enough) there is no mention of the Gather Round/On Out but a breathless Florencian scurrying as she tries to catch up with the Hash to see who is there. Wally, it seems, has injured a hamstring and feels he shouldn’t be running. I’m sure there are many who agree with him. Spot had the excellent idea of bringing some eggs along and, shortly into the trail, got Lemming with two of them. Nicely done, Spot.

Zebedee (unfortunately) takes over the commentary at this point and wastes valuable airtime blowing his own trumpet and saying how pleased the Hash are to see the return from injury of this great athlete blah, blah, bleah, pass the sick bag mother, etc. It gets even worse as he meets Wally who borrows the trumpet for a little personal triple-tonguing of his own. This mutual back-slapping degenerates into personal anecdote as Zeb recounts how he managed to lose his car keys on the Bash on Saturday, forcing poor Florence and the emergency services out into the cold and damp. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Oops! Sorry. Fell asleep on the keyboard. Let’s see what further magic tales the tape unfolds.

The Hash staggers it’s way into the centre of Hartley Wintney – much tarmac and vehicles – and Zeb records the sound of Shep as he thunders to a halt after a flat-out 3mph sprint. Curiously enough this is a very canine-like panting and Gnarler the dog is mentioned. But we know better don’t we, gently reader? I’ve seen Shep with his leg up next to a lamp post. Luckily, he doesn’t go round sniffing people’s bottoms – well, not that I’ve seen, anyway.

Further on, Cloggs managed to egg on (literally) Hamlet who appeared very pleased with the sulphurous shampoo. She then followed this up by speeding off into the bush for what Zeb described as "Number ones, I hope."

Lonely maunders on about everyone going the correct way from a check, despite his best efforts to lay a false that would have required participants to use sherpas and heavily laden mules. One’s heart bleeds for him.

A common comes into view and this provides a great opportunity for the Hares to get their own back – which they duly seem to do; Hashers disappearing in all directions. Including Zeb, who extols the beauty of the day, muses winsomely that I (Hashgate) really ought to be there, then takes the p**s ‘cos I have only one and a half legs! The callous bounder.

Potty kindly informs us that Cloggs and C5 were comparing codpiece sizes when in the middle of Hartley Wintney. If that means each others I’m sure Cloggs would have won easily. Well, it was a tad nippy! Mind you, Potty ponders that C5’s kingsize hernia might just have carried the day. Cloggs then gets dumped in a large, muddy puddle by the gentlemanly figure of Foghorn, who is then mightily splashed by her in return. Potty, C5 and Bopeep debate the merits of brain transferrance because their ancient bodies are so knackered. (I can recommend a good vet, chaps.) Zeb then blames Florence for their late start because she lost a contact lens in the bath that morning. I must say, most people have a bath after the Hash. Weird. Spot and Foghorn dump Lemming in some deep shiggy and he rises like Al Jolsen, eyes shining through a mask of mud. Followed shortly after by a fine Wally dunking by Spot and Bomber – well done lads. Zeb states that he is staying well away from the merry pranks in order to keep the dictaphone dry. I always use that excuse, too. Then the poor chap spies a tennis court by a farmhouse and starts perving on about Anna Kournikova and gymslips. This is really too torrid an outpouring for your tender eyes so I will skip the bit about the goldfish and the rubber glove.

The Hash wends it’s way over commons and bridges in glorious weather. A triple stile. Horses. Wet fields. And on to the regroup. Following which Lord Lucan initiates a superb rugger tackle on Lemming as he stalks the girlies. Lonely led HeyBabe, Chopstix and Mother Theresa astray down a false and ran off and left them! Unlike some of us he obviously can’t cope with three women at once, poor chap. The long and medium trails come into view and disgraceful mud fights break out, with C5 as main protagonist. StickyDicky kindly offers his version of the "On, On" shout for the benefit of the machine. It sounds like a man trying turn himself inside out. Soon after the pub comes in sight Zeb and Sticky celebrate a joint first by breasting the tape hand in hand (‘coming out of the closet’, I believe it is known as!)

RA C5 presented the following :-

Curry Run – 22/11/00 19:30. See Foghorn for details.

Bourne Valley Hash – 05/12/00 19:00 The Royal Oak, Worting. Gridref 606517 on B3400. £3 includes a pasta meal. Bring a torch. Hamlet is laying the trail.