Baldrick BGB Kay and Gnarler the dog 2Bob Hashgate Septic Dumper The Tremblers Spot Neil Cerberus Premature Honeymonster Ms. Whiplash Salome Foghorn Tony Lemming Mother Theresa Dribbler and Paddy the dog Motox OldFart Itsyor Scrumper Lorraine Glittertits Pissquick SixInches Cloggs Richard Gillian Iceman Shep Lonely and Beaver the dog Mafia Cap’n Haystax Wally Cheating GBH Quazimodo (from the Brussels Hash)

Mostly because just about everyone got lost in the frozen wastelands of Wokingham and had to make their own way back. Hashers staggered in, exhausted, from every direction feebly calling for beer and vowing never to Hash again. But let’s start at the beginning. Baldrick had been up in the lab all night very kindly concocting thermos flasks full of ‘hot toddy’ to warm us. Kay took a gulp, choked violently and declared the potion tasted just like urine. Apart from the social gaffe it excited certain members interest and she was quizzed closely on how she knew. Not very forthcoming our Kay, so 2Bob and I withdrew to share our own beaker of hot, straw-coloured, steaming liquid with bits floating about in it. I found the experience akin to inhaling kerosene fumes. One’s nostrils suddenly assume the shape of a MacDonalds sign and a gasp befitting a sneezing hippo echoes from deep within. 2Bob looked like a large warthog had crept up from behind and fastened its jaws round his tackle. Mind you, this was not the most curious sight. Lonely had arrived with a brown dog and hair to match! His boyish unruly silver locks had been clipped short and dyed so that it looked like he was wearing a cow pat on his head. I felt it would be rude to prod it and I didn’t want to get anything nasty on the end of my woolly glove so I left it well alone. The other curious sight was Dumper, who, after wearing half fishnet leggings last week had opted for tiny, knacker-hugging shorts (possibly a pair of Septic’s cast-off French knickers?) this. Watch out Beckham…

Ms. Whiplash was hoisted on to a barrel by three of four strong men in order to welcome visitor Tony and commend us to the day’s event. As she handed over to the Hares she leapt down, severely testing the integrity of the parking surface and confirming the requirement for a new pair of bra straps. Several roosting crows exploded from the trees half a mile away and those cars nearby with softer suspension bounced gently to rest. Hare Baldrick recovered his balance and faced away from most of us in order to give us information about the trail. We managed to catch the "On Out. Turn right" so we did, trotting down the road after Neil, Foghorn and Cerberus, the latter kindly leading me to the first bar check of the day. We back-tracked and headed off down a leafy path, pasting after the leaders when I thought I spied them in the field through the trees on the left. "Arrrre yeoooow?" I bellowed with all the lung power at my command. They stopped dead. They turned. They were not Hashers. Ooer. Cerberus placated them with some reassuring words and a friendly smile. However, one of ‘em looked distinctly in need of a fresh pair of trousers. We strode on.

The odd washed-out check came and went. A false trail led up from under the flyover from… no check at all and Baldrick called us back, pointed us in the right direction and followed us up the slip road to a low wire fence with a large hole in it. "Jump Beaver." Urged Lonely. "Naff off." Replied the hound telepathically. "I might shred my cobblers." After much negotiation with the creature he finally agreed to go through the hole after a signed agreement had been written and witnessed, giving him an extra daily portion of Chum, no baths ever and all the sex he could manage. Lonely was a bit reticent on the last clause but caved in when Beaver agreed to supply the KY.

It was all going so well. We burst through a superbly echoing underpass, following Cloggs, OldFart and Neil. We streaked across a turf field and hit a check. Two things buggered us. One was Cloggs calling a False up the farm track. The other was the sight of Baldrick ushering everyone else into the woods way back across the turf field. Premature (renamed from Mick last week) and I decided to go along the road in the vain hope that we might cut across the trail of the woodland treckers. Neil, Itsyor and Cloggs followed for the first half mile and we did see one flour blob amongst the frosty grass. Then we saw nothing – apart from the pleasant countryside. The trouble was, we knew this road from a previous Hash so we just kept on running. And running. And running. The road looped all the way round and we finally ended up on flour - but near the start of today’s Hash. Blast! Not realising that those who had not already got lost had gone towards the ski slope we cut across the field and into the woods, all the time listening for the sound of Hashers. There was of course no sound but our occasional "Hey!" and "Whoa!" as we slid over frozen, moss-covered logs or ran straight into dangling branches and dormant briars. At last it thinned slightly and I noticed a flash of water, seemingly slightly above us. "Blimey. It’s a river." I said. Then we realised. It was a large, bush surrounded pond. We were in someone’s garden. Great. We did the only thing possible in this situation – stopped for a comfort break and then jogged on, talking about Christmas. We eventually got to a hip-height brick wall. Premature looked over gingerly. "Always pays to check first." He opined sagely. This was just before jumping over into the pile of leaves, misjudging their depth and attempting to head-butt the wall. "Very kind of him to put on some cabaret at this point." I thought and dropped lightly over.

After a couple more barbed wire fences and fields we found ourselves opposite The Plough and nary a soul in sight so decided to find the On Inn and at least run the last part of the trail with some other Hashers. But it was not to be. After finding no flour on the actual On Inn we ran all over the place in the area behind the pub. In the end we trotted back to see Neil had returned first. A chat with Foghorn, Scrumper and Lorraine, Cheating, OldFart, Shep et al confirmed that most Hashers had returned hugger mugger (there’s a term!) with little or no idea of where they should be.

So an absolute triumph for Hares Baldrick and BGB who must be applauded for turning out on a bloody cold morning to lay this (ahem) trail.

Since this is the last Gobsheet of 2001 I would like to take this opportunity to wish you all a very happy New Year and look forward to many more enjoyable Hashes in 2002.

RA Motox presented the following :-

Wally has a video of Nash Hash so if anyone wants to borrow it, see him. He is also looking to produce a Hash map, showing various pubs with Hash comments. Again, see him.