Hamlet Fukawe and Jake Chopstix Foghorn Hashgate Spot Cap’n Haystax Tina Turner C5 Dumper Septic Zebedee Florence Cheryl Sting Steamer Miranda and Emma (the new Hash dog) Limahl Baldrick Brian Neil MC Hammer TinOpener Flash BGB Ms. Whiplash Tacky Noddy Holder 2Bob and Heidi the three legged dog Puddleduck HoneyAnt David Paella BoPeep Shep Ziggy CircuitBreaker Cap’n Y-Fronts StickyDicky Magic John (back after a two year break) Bomber RealMcCoy BobDylan Mudman Mrs. Mudman Dribbler Butterfly and Paddy the dog Iceman David Lonely and Beaver the dog

"Gimme money. That’s what I want", hummed Dumper as he collected the tick. Though more of a jazz man he was obviously getting down to the groove with the rest of the (um, er) hep cats, daddyo. Hamlet looked great in a Syd Snot T-shirt and dog collar and was busy sneering his way round the car park and gobbing gelatinously on anyone within ten feet. Fukawe had adopted a more New Romantic look with a short black, bolero jacket, rouched at the waist, over a striped shirt. Very Duran Duran. The rest I can only describe as Gothic – as in horror. Perhaps it had been a hard night (it was the Moonlight Hash after all). Foghorn did his ZZ Top…..but then he always looks like that. Lonely came as (or with) One Dog Night. ‘Flash’ came as an old Queen (think about it!). Zebedee wore the same infested, bloody old wig he always wears. And C5 turned up looking like Glen Campbell without the rhinestones. Or it could have been John Travolta in green. Knife-edge creases ran down the stunning emerald flares, matched with Peter Wyngarde-style velvet jacket. It was a truly awful sartorial confection and we were all very glad when he changed into running gear.

2Bob, Puddleduck and HoneyAnt squealed up in their van, all hanging out of the windows and retching. Apparently, Heidi their three-legged dog had taken a dump in the back (perhaps scared witless by 2Bob’s driving?) and the lads staggered out looking a tad grey.

But to the trail. Luckily, I could walk round today. So Bomber kindly agreed to record the action at the front, while I recorded the action at the rear. The sun shone – we On Outed. We ran, walked and limped out of the car park and I found myself chatting to Iceman and Lonely, who had (allegedly) twisted his ankle on the Moonlight the night before. Now Lonely had brought David (a fairly new Hasher) and he was leading Beaver. Or, in fact, Beaver was pulling him along a few yards, then suddenly turning and dragging the poor lad back to Lonely. Most amusing it was too. A thunder of rapid footsteps caught up with us and Flash Doppler-effected and red-shifted past at the tremendous speed of approximately three miles an hour. Obviously faster than us, though, as we dawdled down the road to the first major check. As we reached it Fukawe pointed out that, despite the check having been kicked through, many Hashers of lower intelligence were still checking in the opposite direction! Bomber mentioned that Hamlet actually had to direct the FRBs into the woods.

Things seemed to get worse at the front as Bomber and Foghorn get on the wrong side (is there such a thing?) of a compost heap and straight into the Hurst(?) leisure centre. As I did not see this on my way round I have no idea how they got there. By this time the pack had disappeared from view and I began to appreciate the dedication of Cap’n Haystax who turns up nearly every week and has to stonk round usually on his own. It may be a nice walk but it’s a lot more fun when there are other people around. Good on yer, Cap’n!

I managed to catch up with the tail enders and was greeted by the sight of poor Fukawe being lowered carefully into a stream by two of the Hash’s true gents. She didn’t struggle much but did utter "I’ve got a Prolapsed disc." Now why she should wish to appraise us of the latest addition to her record collection I know not. She arose dripping, like Venus from the waves, and we carried on. Dumper appeared, lost after attempting a short cut and we came to a small bridge over the stream. Oh, dear! Trembler, Dumper, Mudman, Mudwoman, Dribbler and C5 indulged in highly juvenile mud throwing antics until they and the bridge appeared to have been pooped on by a low flying elephant with a gastric problem. The regroup came and went and those of us who were sensible took the shorter trail. On the longer, Foghorn managed to run into some barbed wire, Zebedee lost a shoe in the shiggy and Spot (the dirty devil) placed a very muddy handprint on Cheryl’s right boob! Spot, BGB, BoPeep and Iceman were later well caught out mincing around some muddy bits.

The short trail meandered pleasantly through a racehorse training area where Dribbler, Puddleduck and I inspected the horse trail to discover that the soft earth was mixed with millions of bits of plastic wire casing. Weird! But I guess it works for the horses. Now just after this we entered a bit of pine forest and I challenged Ms. Whiplash who appeared to be taking a rather obvious short cut. She hardly broke stride as she riposted with "I’m the GM" and flounced off leaving Fukawe and myself slack-jawed at this awesome abuse of power. She’ll be wanting to feed Kristian (Puddleduck) to the lions next! Fukawe then gave the small group around her a very positive confidence boost by asking "Are we on flour?" Luckily we were, so we carried on and discussed French cooking pots for a bit. Crikey; the things you get up to at the back! I never knew it was so stimulating. The trail meandered through very pleasant woodland, where Beaver and Jake had a wonderful time frollicking about and barking at imaginary rabbits. Then to a length of road where we all complained of far too much tarmac on this trail and what on earth were the Hares thinking of. Luckily, the two hundred yards of it led straight to the pub where the splendid Gusset had laid out cheese, bread, pickled onions etc. to welcome us back.

RA C5 presented the following and, being a true gent, refrained from renaming Cheryl ‘Groped’ because it was raining. Later Cheryl, later.