Whinge TC Hashgate Cerberus Mick Mother Theresa Lemming Chopstix Scumper Lorraine Claire Foghorn TinOpener Hamlet and Jake the dog David ShaginaJag HeyBabe and Oscar the (shy) dog Greenfly Baldrick OldFart Bomber PoshTart Motox Dribbler Butterfly and Paddy the dog Lord Lucan Dumper Septic Squirrel BGB Lonely and Beaver the dog Pony Express Cloggs Uptake Zebedee Florence Wally Ms. Whiplash Eth

Firstly, my grateful thanks to Dumper for writing the Gobsheet last week. He did try to escape the task by rushing himself into hospital, citing the pain of an an ingrowing penis. The doctors quickly saw through this and advised him it was just a little prick before rushing him back on to the streets.

Crikey! It was damn cold on this grey, frostbitten Sunday morning. Winter was certainly champing for the off now we had galloped into December. As I followed Cerberus and Mick into the car park it was very evident from the number of big hips and some old hoars that we were in for a rough winter. I had inveigled virgin David into trying a Hash and he duly started warming up for the run before I tutted at him, shaking the head and advising an immediate halt. Mind you, I must state that TinOpener and Motox were spotted doing the same thing – perhaps setting a new precedent? There was a mighty puddle in the middle of the area and Paddy, Dribbler and David dallied too near. Lemming suddenly rushed over and covered everyone with icy water, the sod! However, Whinge got him back with a fine handful of flour. This degenerated into a bit of tit-for-tat and ended with severe dog abuse as Jake, Hamlet’s nutty black labrador, got a handful of Homepride over his bonce. There he stood, a large black dog with a totally white face, little avalanches dropping off him as he blinked in surprise. Ms. Whiplash, our revered GM, had decided to get herself and passenger Eth lost this morning so it fell to Motox to welcome newcomers and hand over to the Hares.

Foghorn, Greenfly (nice to see him running again) and I On Outed the usual way, leading bemused virgin David in entirely the wrong direction. It must be damn confusing for virgins when everyone leads off in a different direction variously shouting ‘On Out’, ‘On Back’, ‘On Check’ etc. He took it well as we retraced our freezing cold steps, running fast in a vain effort to get warm. It must have been even more confusing for him as we caught up with Zebedee and Lord Lucan, holding hands as they ran. Perhaps the good Lord has been spending too much time in San Francisco…

We soon got into frosty, wet forest and the ground here set the scene for most of the rest of the trail. Large, squidgy holes full of water and covered with a layer of leaves lay in our path and many a Hasher sprang lightly from a muddy tussock, confident that the leafy landing area was firm ground, only to find they suddenly seemed to be a foot shorter and wearing a glutinous brown sock. We trampled onward, Lorraine trotting about with her top off (no, not everything you fool!) while I vainly attempted to uncurl my frozen fingers from my instrument (no, the dictaphone, you fool!). I nearly took out Bomber on a particularly slippery corner as one foot exhibited all the adhesive stopping properties of Colin McRae's rally car. Luckily I managed not to do a Vinnie Jones on him and we discussed his successful Full Moon Hash on Friday. It had been a live trail, laid not with flour but with ice-cream cones. The thought of Bomber laden with ice-cream cones, hurtling round Caversham in the dark and chased by various other lunatics was somewhat surreal.

We reached the Grouse and Claret pub and Florence kindly stood and waited as I checked it out. All was going so well as I called the On from the check. The pack streamed after me. I forged on – to find a false! The helpful Hares had laid 4 blobs and a False! The swine. How we muttered and cursed. But we were soon at the regroup, a large flat area with a huge pile of road salt in the middle. Up they climbed; Cloggs, Zebedee, Baldrick, Lonely to name just a few. Kids on a giant sand castle throwing the stuff about. I trotted back towards the beer, accidentally splashing Uptake’s pristine blue tracksters with a thimbleful of water. I apologised of course but he was bent on revenge. Five minutes later, as I chatted with David, Dribbler and Butterfly he got it. Half a bottle of cold lager down the back – just what I needed as we began to cool down. (So, Uptake, don’t forget who writes the Gobsheets. I might just mention the incident with the rubber glove, the goldfish and the sheepskin knee muffs. Oops! There I’ve said it. Too late to rub out now…)

Wally then appeared, gloating over his brilliant ability to follow a trail laid with floury arrows. Surprisingly, we immediately On Outed again, splashing and slipping off into the forest until we fetched up at a minor road. Chopstix rested against a log, removing a sodden shoe in order to pluck a small tree frog from the interior. Dumper showed his true character by snatching it from her hand as he rushed past – the cad. However, he did finally return it. Minus the frog.

The Long and Short split appeared and the Long started off as a fine downhill splash’n slide, mud and biscuits scattering left and right as we plummeted through the forest. Marvellous stuff! I followed Hamlet and Mick and we soon hit a gently rising, gelatinous muddy track that led to a known spot by a road. Sadly this spot was in a cold, misty dip and the only way out was up. And a fairly steep up it was too. One of those leg-muscle draining, lung-bursting efforts that leaves you gasping and crawling on all fours at the top, desperately trying not to catch your tongue under your knees. Zebedee sped past as I turned on to the track. Have you ever noticed that you can’t hear him breathe when he runs? Perhaps he has specially fitted, Co-operative Bank employee gills. Perhaps he’s one of the Undead. Perhaps… oh perhaps he’s just fairly fit. Anyway, the bugger sped past and when I spotted David and Florence (or possibly Cerberus. They are of similar lithe stature and attractiveness) pop out of the wood I hit the On Inn and headed past Hamlet to the rather excellent pub. I must give it a mention. Nicely fitted out; a roaring fire on a cold day; friendly, efficient bar service and that lovely Brakspears OBJ to drink! Magic – just like a unicorn! If only I’d remembered to bring my dry trainers...

RA Motox presented the following :-