Posh Bomber Ladybird Artifuct Motormouth Hashgate Foghorn Mrs. Foghorn The Elder Lady Foghorn (sorry, forgot to ask your name – catch you next time) Scrumper Limpet Premature Cerberus and other dog Molly HeyBabe C5 Arnie The Tremblers Steve Julie Phil Helen(nice to see ‘em back) Lonely and dog beaver Baldrick Keith Greenfly Flash Ms. Whiplash Spot PonyExpress Motox Mr Blobby Mrs Blobby Lynda Utopia Neil Simon OldFart Puddleduck 2Bob…and Cheating, eventually

Motormouth and I arrived early enough to enjoy Cerberus’ attempt to park in a straight line and leaving enough room for another car in order that the gleaming paintwork would not be scratched. Premature assisted the efforts with much pantomime steering wheel turning and "left hand down a bit" type of stuff. Problem was, just as we finished admiring Cerberus’ handiwork HeyBabe swept narrowly into the next parking space in a Lexus bearing the scars on its bumper of a previous HeyBabe attempt to park. We pointed out the twisted metal to HeyBabe as she joined us. "Ooh, I don’t think the company know about that." She squealed with a grin. Cerberus fainted clean away, flattening poor Molly on the way down. Now around this time Motormouth was standing by a friendly horse. The gentle creature was looking the opposite way to to him which meant it was viewing (with some signs of alarm I should report) Ladybird’s bare bum as he changed his shorts. Motormouth unwittingly called over to me. "Come and see it Dad." I’m afraid I burst into uncontrollable laughter at this point and it took me some minutes to calm down and explain to the equally amused Motormouth. Posh was looking a tad mud-splattered as she walked back from laying the trail, a somewhat unusual fashion accessory for a lady more used to the catwalks of Milan and elegant conversation in designer surroundings. I suppose going out with Bomber is bound to have an effect at some point.

We On Outed. Those in the know (OldFart, Lonely, Mr. Blobby, Spot and I) shot off towards the check we had spotted as we drove in. Why on earth we do this I do not know. It is doomed to failure every time. The inevitable falses were duly found. However, we really didn’t mind since we were among a shimmering carpet of bluebells in the near silent forest, the magical blue haze complimented by the bright green of their stems and leaves. A moment to savour. So we did.

There was much scurrying to catch up with the pack and this action was repeated a number of times during the evening. 2Bob and Puddleduck figured they had spotted flour on a tree in the forest and went to investigate. They scurried back. Mr Blobby kept disappearing, then scurrying back from various falses. Phil and Helen just scurried generally since they had little idea of what the hell was going on – not surprisingly. I had tried explaining the rules to them on their first Hash (2Bob’s recently) but that had merely decreased their understanding. Still, they seemed happy enough and the pack was being kept nicely together. We hurtled and chatted along various woodland paths, C5 partaking of a spectacular aquatic trip and splash closely followed by Beaver who was playing canine submarines in a deep and muddy puddle. Baldrick hurtled down the muddy hill, shouldering people aside in a frenzy of testosterone-induced athletic fervour. He really must start spreading less Marmite on his soldiers. I was following Motormouth, pretending to take fatherly care of the lad but in reality, favouring the legs which had scooted in timely fashion round the Shinfield 10k that morning (congratulations must go to Centaur, Iceman and BGB who also partook). We reached the regroup and stopped to admire a fine, long and slightly misty view of… somewhere. I think it was towards Didcot but it was difficult to tell. On the restart C5 and I foolishly went the opposite direction to everyone else. And then we had to run twice as fast to catch up again.

Helen helped me increase my leg speed by telling me how she had seen a peacock in the middle of the A-something road on the way to the Hash. Obviously the woman had been snorting some forbidden substance and I urged Motormouth on in an effort to escape while calming the drug-crazed, aforementioned snorter with silken platitudes. It was around this time that some of the ladies found a fine old horse in a field whose rug hung from his back in a tattered shroud. They petted and patted him, adjusting the straps beneath his belly and generally cooed over him in a tactile sort of way. Several of us male Hashers stopped to admire their effort, idly daydreaming about the possibility of equine reincarnation. The thought of a sturdy set of female thighs, clad in tightly stretched jodhpurs, astride their backs was plainly delighting certain of the chaps although personally I couldn’t be arsed to eat all that grass.

After staggering along the steep sides of a couple of burial mounds we found ourselves trotting up a track which led to the Long/Short split. There was really no choice in this for me – the Short it was and HeyBabe, Neil, Puddleduck and Motormouth joined me. In a rather sad fit of general showing off I burst on ahead, figuring the check couldn’t be far. Wrong. I found myself on the muddy trail with no-one around, just the sound of baying Long trail Hashers a mile off to the left and a number of hounds in the Baskervillian mould a furlong to my right and closing fast. Surprising how useful adrenalin is in these sort of situations. Despite the hill of shiggy and stones in front of me I found myself at the check chatting to Greenfly in no time at all! We trotted off to find the trail and were soon joined by Premature, OldFart, Mr Blobby, Spot and Foghorn, with the Short trailers coming up fast behind. The shiggy was deep and squashy in this bit of forest and we soon understood how Posh had obtained her leggy mudpack. Motormouth and I squished our way up to the road where we found a signpost stating that it was 2½ miles to Checkendon. "Bloody hell!" Screamed my legs, for indeed the day was taking its toll. Motormouth was similarly a tad dismayed. But luck was on our side since we weren’t going all the way to Checkendon were we? Mr Blobby, Spot and Foghorn attempted the full distance by legging it down an obvious false. Then legging it back. Motormouth and I trotted down the tarmac, instantly delighted as the ‘On Inn’ appeared. It was all downhill from there – in more ways than one.

RA Motox presented the following :-