BH³ – Hamlet Fukawe Spot Hashgate Greenfly DafdoDildo 2Bob Puddleduck Smelliott Bev Insider and Kundun the dog EasyRider Jane BGB Honeymonster Foghorn Chopstix Speedbumps BakewellTart Khazi Gutbucket Iceman Mr. Blobby Mrs. Blobby Utopia Lynda Dumper Septic Ms. Whiplash Eth StickyDicky GulabJaMoon The Cuddles Wally Trembler Bomber Tom Butterfly Dribbler Harimau Tweenie LeVoisin Ladybird Itsyor Motox FannySniffer OldFart Cap’n Y-Fronts Tacky Bollox Steamer C5 Spex Baldrick Keith Mafia Mike Pete Cloggs Buffalo Paella WetDream PonyExpress Lonely and Beaver the dog

GH³ – Decay LastLegs Sis Sneuff DogBreath Lofty MrWhippy Bidet Gaylick Tonto RHUM Kneetrembler Replay Cynthia Wurzel Simple Nashit Lorna Julie Barry Anne Tastewart Bodyshop BirthingBlanket ShitForBrains NoNookie OldMacNick Arsehole Arselick DoggyStyle Ponce Shagpile Renault Grabarse Groinstrain Rippin’ Old Bag Nasty CalamityJane AncientMariner HareEater Legless BodyShop Litebite Honey Goofy BigMac Chris

WLH³ - Airhead Daffodil + 3 unknown others

Now I realise the lady on the left is a bit of a surprise but she is what popped up first when I entered the word ‘tie’ in the picture search field. I would have discarded the poor soul but I realise some of you are into this sort of thing and I hate to disappoint. No doubt also Ms. Whiplash can cast a critical, expert eye over the knotting.

The Hideout lived up to it’s name, cunningly concealed in woodland off a little known lane. Even so, zillions of people turned up including the strangely named DafdoDildo from Scarborough – he wasquite proud of the sobriquet. 2Bob arrived with Bev and Smelliot, driven in by Puddleduck. Bev seemed to have her eyes closed for some reason. Honeymonster streamed down the hill on his bike and nearly went a**e over t*t as he steered carefully into some trees. Much to Foghorn’s and my chagrin he regained control. Great shame, but there’s always a next time.

We gathered in the upper car park, a huge posse of Hashers mostly wearing ties. There were school ties that had not seen the light of day for many decades, flashy silk efforts, wafer-thin crumpled polyester jobs, some GH³ ladies with hockey sticks and gym skirts and Hamlet and Fukawe were wearing an enormous bow tie and painted-on freckles in that order. After a brief welcome to newcomers and trail-laying explanation the Hares sent us off… ‘accidentally’ in the wrong direction. This ensured that the FRBs and sheep started off at the back – a good idea considering the size of the pack. Some hard running got us back on trail which took in part of The Great Sam ½ Marathon. For a moment the entire playing field was dotted with multi-coloured Hashers, all of us lost. Until (Motox I believe) called ‘On On’ in the wrong direction. The pack wheeled like a shoal of fish, almost ignoring the desperate cries of Hare Fukawe. Actually, I must say that I only saw Hamlet once during the trail. Obviously the lazy git had not only forced poor Fukawe to lay the entire thing but had cajoled her into taking us lot round it as well. Truth will out – the feller’s a cad and a mountebank. And talking of Hamlet there he was at the ‘beer stop’ in the lovely off-road bit of forest we had run into. He had stated at the Gather Round that there would be beer at the regroup and various alcoholics were frenziedly kicking the undergrowth in search of grog. Fat chance! That sod Hamlet had never left any! He had brought one can along with him that he promptly awarded to DafdoDildo, sneering and laughing at our discomfort. Still, the pack had rejoined and I had had a chat with Steamer. Apparently, he’s been out in the wilds of China for the last few months with nary a beer or a Hash to keep him company. He had to start his own Hash by running to the local pagoda and back on his own!

We split for the long and short and Beaver promptly found the only mud puddle for miles and jumped in it with canine glee. His entire lower half was a filthy mess. Poor old Lonely – he has to sleep with him. Er, in the same house you understand. We delighted in running through foliage and undergrowth for the first time for ages. Many of us enjoyed it so much we deliberately lost the trail in order to better savour the forest – well, that’s my story anyway. Lonely and Cap’n Y-Fronts took a long, short-cut which saw them pop out of the bosky wood just behind me, looking a tad flushed I fancy. After much Hash fragmentation a number of us fetched up at the entrance to the Roman earthworks of Caesar’s Camp. Motox, Buffalo and I couldn’t believe that the trail went that way because ‘it always goes that way’. Our mistake; half a mile down the wrong route and the ‘On Back’ told us that it still always went that way. I duly followed Gutbucket and Iceman along the perimeter, watching the short-cutters trip lightly through the middle. It all got rather overgrown from here and disembodied shouts and cries came from all over the place. Mr. Blobby and Foghorn were leading us down a path that echoed eerily with Hash calls when Buffalo suddenly leapt out of the bushes with a banshee wail that nearly resulted in several of the faint-hearted requiring replacement trouserage. We eventually hit the B3430 again and crossed it in a manner not generally advised in the Green Cross Code. Paella, Ms. Whiplash and Eth suddenly appeared. People were popping up all over the place – Spex, Chopstix, Baldrick, Keith. And, you guessed it, no Hamlet. Well we got thoroughly lost by an underpass for about ten minutes. It wouldn’t have been so bad but Tweenie just had to play his bloody bugle in the underpass to get the echo effect. A cow with nuclear flatulence would have been preferable. Eventually Fukawe arrived and pointed us in the direction that Ladybird had already been to check (I said I’d blame it on you, Frank) and off we steamed for a tarmac cruise back to The Hideout, the less sensible of us treating it like a road race… Mr. Blobby, Gutbucket, DafdoDildo and several GH³ nutters.

RA’s Deadloss, C5 and (I think) Airhead presented the following :-