Chopstix Foghorn Hashgate Motormouth 2Bob Puddleduck HeyBabe Bomber Baldrick Spot Shep Daisy and dog Gnarler BGB C5 The Tremblers LeVoisin Eth Lemming Mother Theresa Lonely and dog Beaver Dribbler and dog Paddy Ms. Whiplash Potty Nutcracker Judy Mick Greenfly Barbara Itsyour WhiteFang BoPeep Hamlet StickyDicky GulabJaMoon Zebedee Florence Cloggs

It was flipping freezing. A cold wind chilled to the marrow. Ice and snow lay on the ground…. and so did Puddleduck who had slipped over on his bum after chucking a snowball at Shep who slid past us in the car park, pulled by the willing Gnarler intent on doing his husky impression. Shep retaliated by picking up Puddleduck and rolling him in the snow on the roof of Bomber’s car. Puddleduck and 2Bob were not having a good day, for 2Bob’s van had sustained a flat battery. Luckily for them Motormouth and I were able to pick them up on the way. Unluckily for us 2Bob’s map reading ensured that we had fine views of Chesil Beach, Snowdon and Lincoln cathedral before finding the pub. Still, we managed to slap snowballs on Lonely’s and BGB’s car, plus someone who turned out not to be with the Hash and we did get one inside Zebedee’s – which was nice.

At the Gather Round Foghorn showed us the poncy cerise flour he had used and told us that the first bar check was a bar-4. He had forgotten to put on the 4! Chopstix informed us (very quietly) that she had lost her voice due to too much drink and karaoke. I mused that if Foghorn could be persuaded to do the same BH³ could reduce the incidence of Hash hearing problems at a stroke. Standing next to Foghorn in full flow is like having your ear glued to an air-raid siren during a sortie by the Luftwaffe in WW2.

We shuffled off stiffly and waited for someone to find the trail. The cold had seeped into our very souls by this time. Foghorn harangued us and we eventually made our way into the permafrost field opposite. Now I’ve always thought of C5 as a bit of a gent; the sort of upright chap a girl could rely on. But now my belief was shattered, for right in front of me, he shoulder charged the gently trotting HeyBabe and rugby tackled her to the snowy sward in an entirely unprovoked attack. Laughing maniacally, he sprang up and ran off like a banshee, leaving the poor girl shaken but not stirred. A similar thing happened later when C5 shovelled a great handful of snow down her back – the cad. He was also involved when he and Lemming led us down a long false after one or the other of them had called the On. I can see we shall have to watch the fellow, senile delinquency seems to be taking hold. We all milled for a while at the check and I noticed Foghorn give Spot the nod so Motormouth, Puddleduck and I followed him (following also the fine tradition of Hash cheating). If we thought we were cheating it was nothing to those (Shep, Gusset, Nutcracker) who went over that earlier false to meet us as we finished skirting round the outside of the huge frozen field!

Across a small stream; through another icy field and towards some tarmac and Daisy (I may have misunderstood, of course) very kindly offered me her bra. It may have been something to do with me having stuffed Motormouth’s gloves down the front of my shirt. Who knows? We loped and walked quietly through a field of fine young horses all long-haired and soft (unlike Lemming who is very short haired and hard). This reminds me of a story about Motormouth when he was younger. One winter as we drove past a field of shaggy horses I remarked to him "They’ll keep nice and warm in their winter coats". "They’re not wearing coats!" He exclaimed, shaken to the core by his father’s stupidity.

Lemming did his older generation impression by discussing with the boys what they had been given for Christmas. He seemed most interested when they told him how much money they had got…

We reached the regroup underneath the flyover and Zebedee hurried over to me, all bright-eyed with his joke. Sniggering a little he told me that, since Greenfly had already started checking it out the ‘RG’ ought to stand for ‘Run Greenfly’. I smiled and nodded, glancing left and right for an escape path. Dilated pupils, flushed complexion, twitching, giggling and snorting – no, I thought, he can’t be on the drugs. No dealer in his right mind would sell gear to anyone that old. Perhaps Florence has been dosing his cornflakes with too much bromide?

Foghorn led us round the roundabout, over the slip road and into the undergrowth where 2Bob did a very passable ‘accidentaly grabbing an electric wire’ impression. Anyone who has seen the ‘101 Dalmations’ film knows what I mean. This was where HeyBabe was attacked again by C5 and also by Foghorn who sprinkled her with pink flour. And I must confess I knocked her cap off. What has the poor girl done? I put it down to looking too much like a victim, which makes it all her own fault. "Fair enough." I hear you agree. We burst through a superbly echoing tunnel (which is probably still ringing with our joyful shouts) and hit the long/short trail split. Purely for the boys’ sake I felt honour bound to take the short trail and thus enjoyed the company of a Trembler, a Nutcracker, a Gusset, a Chopstix and a Barbara. I think that was all our select band. Forgive me if I missed anyone. Strangely enough the temperature was noticeably not so cold and the snow was actually starting to melt. It was odd to feel as we trotted off, intent on keeping ahead of the long trailers. Through a couple of paths and a bit of bosky wood and we came out on to the drive of the magnificent Easthampstead House. We headed away from it to the gates and left on to the road, before turning off into a fine ice and semi-frozen shiggy track. It was just a short jog from here to the pub and, as Wally would boast, Motormouth and I came in first.

RA C5 presented the following :-