BoPeep Foghorn Lonely and Beaver the dog Spex Hashgate Motormouth 2Bob Puddleduck Bomber Ingrid Cap’n Haystax Flash C5 Ms. Whiplash Eth HeyBabe Tony Spot Smurf CircuitBreaker GBH GulabJaMoon StickyDicky Chopstix Baldrick Septic Nutcracker Potty Rosemary and Kundun the dog Abnormal SepticSporran(!) Amanda Greenfly Dribbler BGB Shep and Gnarler the dog Cheating PartyAnimal Harimau

Firstly, my thanks to Gusset for filling my boots last week (they’re almost dry now) and writing the Gobsheet. Volunteer scribes are hard to come by so it was much appreciated.

Now originally this trail was meant to be set by Mother Theresa and Lemming in somewhat more beautiful countryside. Sadly, due to the foot and mouth outbreak we are being forced to relocate Hashes to urban areas and today we had relocated to the seedier end of Tilehurst. Mother and Lemming were obviously so disgusted, or Lemming has been quarantined, that they didn’t turn up and the burly BoPeep and fulsome Foghorn kindly acted as Hares. Our picture today shows an ariel view of the Tilehurst region – Waitrose is just left of the main junction, with the station a little further on. And the station car park was where Lonely, Spex and I all met up, having missed the rather large and obvious pub where we were supposed to meet. The day was grey but mild as we greeted the newcomers at the Gather Round. Of particular interest was the delightfully named sailor-boy: SepticSporran. He tells me he earned this suppurating sobriquet while appearing in a Hash skit in Scotland. Being obliged to wear a kilt he scouted around for one but could only find a moth-eaten, worse-for-wear piece of car carpet that made his knackers itch like billyo and resulted in much scratching. Hence the name.

We On Outed as we meant to carry on – largely on tarmac and mainly walking. This suited me admirably as the old right leg is still smarting after a bit of surgical intrusion. HeyBabe has a similar problem so she had an excuse. The rest were obviously working up to a sprinting frenzy …

An early laugh was the sight of Lonely and Beaver standing in a small patch of shrubbery, both watering the flora in their own very different ways. Gratifyingly, Greenfly was caught out early on and it seemed that we walkers stayed well ahead of the (alleged) runners for some time, which is probably why Spex puffed past us moaning that she was having trouble keeping up. Apart from a short sojourn with Cap’n Haystax, who regaled me with details of a Russian-made American jet engine (amazing what you learn on the Hash), I was with HeyBabe and newcomer Tony. It was he who strolled round most of the Hash with his trousers tucked into his socks in order to give the impression that he was wearing plus fours. HeyBabe is an absolute must-be-with if you are the scribe. She’s a cornucopia of quotable material. For instance, she informed us she has a sylph-like bum. Sadly, she didn’t give us a sneak cheek peek to confirm this. Later she was unable to figure out how to make the green man appear at the zebra crossing. And finally, I overheard her informing Tony of the fascinating fact that humans can’t be heard very well among trees since the wood absorbs the sound. However, elephants produce noises that split just before reaching a tree, curve round either side and join up again on the other! The woman is absolutely barking.

The Hares had done extraordinarily well in finding not only wooded bits, but hilly wooded bits with shiggy and we duly slid about thankfully, Bomber showing off to Dutch Ingrid by picking up a handful of mud and slapping it on BoPeep’s back. I must say Ingrid did very well on the slippery hills since she comes from a land as flat as an uncooked poppadom. Talking of muddy backs I must mention Flash, who had one. He was zipping down a shiggy hill like a bolt of lightning (you know how he does) when he performed a spectacular Laurel and Hardy pratfall. Although I didn’t witness it the mental image gave me a warm glow of pleasure.

We passed through what would have been a nice, green hilly area bordered by trees and the relentless progression of Reading’s infill development plans. It would have been nice, but for the rusting, burnt out carcasses of abandoned cars littering the hillside. Fortunately, we stepped through this quickly and met BGB at the top of the hill who surprised us all by insisting that he had been round the long loop to join us short cutters. There was much scoffing and raised eyebrows on our part and he buggered off the way he had come, presumably to finish the bits he had ‘accidentally’ forgotten.

We walkers reached the regroup first, taking the pretty lane bounded by concrete walls and other people’s rubbish. We fell to discussing the possibility of getting mugged and Ms. Whiplash made the curious observation that she had nothing anyone would want. There was a moment of strained silence before the rest of us caught each other’s eye and guffawed splutteringly. We assured the lovely Whiplash that there was indeed plenty (and I mean that in the nicest sense) that anyone would want. At this point on my tape I whine, "Oh God! I’ve stepped in something." And indeed I had. A particularly putrid Tilehurst dog turd had leapt from the pavement and fastened itself to my shoe in a loving embrace. At least Gnarler, Beaver and Kundun were entirely free from blame, merely exhibiting a sympathetic nasal interest in my footwear. The rest of the sweating pack turned up, StickyDicky and Steve looking particularly drippy. Perhaps a little more training chaps? Gnarler essayed some clever knotting techniques that involved his dog lead, Shep and several Hasher’s legs. It has to be noted that, since Gnarler appeared on the scene, Shep’s right arm has lengthened considerably. He’ll soon be able to scratch his ankle without bending over.

After old feller C5 had finally managed to open the pub door to go outside he presented the following

My thanks to Lonely for a fine compliment. Standing in the car park afterwards, I was showing him a knee exercise that involved contracting the quads. "Crikey, Hashgate. It looks like you’ve got a snake down your trousers!" He exclaimed. Why thanks, Lonely.