C5 Dumper Hashgate LeVoisin Gutbucket Kay and Gnarler the dog Katy Ben Adam Baldrick Motox Spot Danish Tom Natasha Toni Karen BGB Stewpot Mick Cerberus Neil Foghorn Chopstix Bomber Tom Paul Spex Trembler Ms. Whiplash Eth Iceman Tim Shirtlifter 2Bob Bev EasyRider Jane Paella Andrew Cheating Mr. Blobby Mrs. Blobby Utopia Lynda Septic TT2 Tweenie Zebedee Florence
… And much later Chuck Lonely and Beaver

Despite the slightly incorrect gridref, the paving-off of parts of Crockhamwell Road and another pub nearby with the word ‘Chequers’ in its name a fair-sized crowd turned up in the hugely-potholed car park. All except OldFart and Zebedee (the Trail Master!) with co-driver Florence, who all went off to the other pub with the word ‘Chequers’ etc, etc. Not surprised at OldFart I must say; I guess he was the sort of kid who’s Mum would send him out for a dozen eggs and he’d eventually come back with a small dog. Anyway, the sun was shining and this had brought out a veritable forest of legs that have seen very little sunlight over the past few months. Some provided a very welcome sight: Danish, Natasha, Katy, Bev to name but a few. Others (largely male) had a shudder-factor of earthquake proportions. There were Twiglets protruding from bell-bottom shorts, tree trunks covered in hair thicker than that on a bear’s bum and the odd fat knee (I include myself in this category. However, ‘tis but for only a little while longer. Perfection will be resumed shortly).

At the Gather Round we welcomed a lot of new faces. Very nice to see ‘em. And it was good to see Toni and Karen reappear, along with Tim, the posing Reading RoadRunner, wearing a T shirt commemorating a 500 mile run across the Arctic wearing only a turnip… or something like that. Jane was spotted doing some stretching and, when queried gently, informed me that her leg muscles were like guitar strings. Strangely surreal thoughts drifted through my mind – yes, that’s it; you’ve got ‘em too!

Dumper’s quivering finger (rather like the ghost of Jacob Marley) pointed the On Out and we all set off, bounding along like spring lambs on angel dust and worrying the local posers in their babemobiles. As expected, we hurtled straight into the Memorial Rec. Unexpectedly, we got caught by an early bar. It looked like one of Dumper’s since it was small but perfectly formed. (Fascinating fact #1: Dumper does actually hold the record for the shortest bar ever laid. This was on the Red Dress Run this year). Iceman, Gutbucket and I led the way into a rubbish-festooned, dead end before doubling back on ourselves and cursing our luck/stupidity. The doubling back bit should have prepared us for the crafty back check that followed – but it didn’t and many, many people steamed off in all directions only to find a false. We got it together though and found the first Short/Medium/Long split. Of course most of us took the long since the legs felt fresh at this point but some of our brains were not so fresh and we followed Hash Horn Tweenie off the trail into a dead-end sylvan glade filled with dancing butterflies and wood nymphs. We slunk back, hoping to see no-one and bumped straight into a grinning C5. Oops! Kay’s daughter Katy was having a little trouble getting into the rhythm so Kay employed the Shep-like idea of urging Gnarler to pull the lass along. It works for Shep and it certainly worked for Katy who was bounding along shortly after.

Now I was pasting down the road after Motox and speaking quietly into my machine when Bomber drew level, shouting in a highly thuggish manner and ruining my reporting. Two seconds later he attempted a deliberate trip on the dainty Motox and blamed it all on the ambience of the area permeating his persona. Typical hooligan – blame it on anything else.

There was a fair old bit of tarmac here but Stewpot enlivened it with a series of toots on his Hash Horn # 2 (mostly in tune but with the odd strangled ferret thrown in). And then we hit the wood. Oh to be off-road! It’s lovely – especially when the trail disappears, Hashers are running in all directions and I follow Mr. Blobby along a clear arrow… to find no more flour. Spex tries to help by pointing downwards and uttering the highly quotable "There’s a blob of flour. Is that any good?" Unfortunately, it wasn’t and I ended up leading a hardy group of arboreal explorers comprising Toni, Spex, Septic, Utopia et al into Bramble City. I hope their legs are in a better state than mine tonight! C5 popped up as we popped out on to the track, another delighted grin splitting his face.

The bloodied crew staggered off up to the lake. While the rest of us turned right, Baldrick shot off left, the Celtic curmudgeon bawling that he knew best, no-one’s going to stop me, it always goes this way etc. Can’t say I saw him again. Perhaps a duck pecked him in the privates and he had to walk back.

Now half way round we split off into some suburbia and Toni pointed out her house just before showing me her pussy. "How kind." I thought. Well I’ve always been quite fond of them and hers is a beauty. Short haired and obviously well groomed. There it sat on her garden path regarding us with a haughty, unblinking stare.

Unfortunately, we had got a bit lost by this time and had seen no flour for a while until Mick, Toni and I spotted a bit leading round the back of some unsavoury garages and went for it like bloodhounds on the scent. It turned out to be a fair old tarmac cruise but quite a bunch of us managed to stay together, including many of the newcomers. Surprising given their complete ignorance of Hashing and our lack of navigational abilities. Ask most of us to point out the Dog Star and we would immediately think of Lassie. We made our way back in through the Woodley shopping precinct where a) Iceman hurtled past me in a flurry of one and two-fingered gestures, and b) Lonely was spotted walking and chatting, his poor hound milling piteously before him in a desperate effort to get the fellow jogging. It didn’t work.

Since C5 had Hared, Motox presented the following (Incidentally, Ms. Whiplash our GM was spotted over at the chip shop eyeing up the pies during the Down Downs!) :-

11/06/01 - Hamlet and Fukawe’s Hash. Dress code is ‘Wear Your Old School Thai’. On2 The Hideout Tie Restaurant, Easthampstead Park, Bracknell. Grid: 843663. Small charge for the buffet. Should be joint with Guildford. More details (including the Hash venue) as I get ‘em.

20/06/01 – Turner’s Arms, Mortimer. 19:30. Curry Run. 7 pounds per head. See Motox.