Asses and Arses

Hashgate Cerberus Premature Urine Mandy(a virgin) Neil ShutupWally Chopstix Foghorn Steve PeachyBum Uptake DoggyStyle LeVoisin Trembler James(without dogs) Methane Deadloss Adrian Simple Barbara John Nashit Itsyor OldFart Darren Iceman Spot Florence Zebedee BGB TinOpener C5 Mr & Mrs Blobby Utopia Lynda DK Motox WetDream Lonely and dog Beaver SlipperyNipple Pissquick Glittertits Mary & John (both virgins) Caboose LemonFairy Cheating …and a fair bunch of GH³ whose names I could not get. Nice to see you guys anyway.

Before we start. A big ‘Well Done’ to BH³ rounders team who stuffed Oxford on Sunday at Motox’ well organised day of pleasure at Wallingford. Despite being outnumbered and out-cheated they still won 8 rounders to 6.

Doing It Donkey Style

“So what do you want to do ?” “I don’t know. What do you want to do?””I don’t know,do I. Well what do you want to do?” It had been going on for hours. Hamlet sat naked on the bed and dunked his hobnob petulantly into the bedtime cocoa while Fukawe adjusted her mob cap and liberally applied the Oil of Olay. A large gobbet dropped on to her left woolly bedsock. “Oh bugger!” She exclaimed, lifting her ankle-length winceyette nightie and reaching down to scrape it off with Hamlet’s 9 iron. “Look. You decided to lay the bloody, buggering Hash trail so you come up with the sodding theme.” She squeaked, pointing the club at him. Hamlet carefully eased the piping hot, soaked hobnob up to his lips. Too late, the sodden biscuit gave way and plunged in a steaming mess towards Hamlet’s cobblers. “Yaaaarrgghhh! Me knackers!” Screamed Hamlet, bouncing Fosbury Flop-like from the bed while grasping his scalded members. As he crashed down he knocked the bedside table where stood Fukawe’s large, grey, furry ear muffs (bought as an antidote to the stentorian snoring of her bedfellow). They landed perfectly on Hamlet’s head. Fukawe by this time was bent double and heaving with laughter and she only just managed to wheeze out, “Hee hee hee haww. You look like a complete ass!” Hamlet suddenly smiled, forgetting the sore bits. “I’ve just had a great idea.”

And so the Ass Hash was born. The idea was that we would dress as or in sympathy with asses since we were Hashing from Donkey Town with Guildford. So why ShutupWally turned up wearing a furry bear helmet is somewhat beyond me. Iceman had craftily nicked a pair of superbly made paper ears from his daughter while OldFart (the poor chap’s obviously strolling down Alzheimer’s Avenue) wore an old straw hat with a carrot carrot dangling from it, which he made strenuous efforts to catch in his mouth. This just before making comments about sticking it up his bottom. I could listen no more and wandered off to chat to Zebedee and Florence, both sporting excellent grey ears. The only really odd person was Guildford Hasher LemonFairy who turned up wearing a dressing gown in the belief that one could just wear anything – he was later the subject of a christening with much flour, and well deserved too.

Now this Hash was characterised by two things – a complete dearth of flour (apart from a couple of well-blobbed areas) and an almost total absence of calling from GH³. It was like running with a silent Order of monks. Nary an ‘On, On’, an ‘On Back’ or a ‘Where’s the sodding flour?’ escaped their lips. In fact, I gave a mighty ‘On, On’ next to one of ‘em and he replied with a somewhat sardonic ‘Rhubarb, rhubarb.’ Perhaps they don’t call in Guildford when they Hash by themselves. Telepathic perhaps? Maybe subtle knottings of long grass to direct the pack? Do they secretly carry morse code flags – “Make a signal atop yonder hill you FRB. The trail goes left.” Orders Deadloss and the hapless FRB pastes off up the knoll to flap frantically at the following pack. Whatever it is, on this night we all sped about over a mixture of boggy woodland, heather-covered sandy heath, tarmac and park desperately seeking flour and generally keeping silent when we found it. As an example of how wrong you can go DK and I foolishly went up a tarmac hill from a check and dived off down a track when we saw what looked like a whole load of flour on the grass. Several hundred metres later we returned, to realise the white stuff was caused by a builder who had obviously walked in some paint in the nearby building site and had strutted a merry fandango on the verge to un-whiten his boot soles! It took us a good fifteen minutes to catch up with tail-ender Fukawe again. Tail-ender indeed, for she had fashioned a cute, plaited donkey tail and hung it from the back of her tight, shiny black lycra shorts where it bounced sexily on her pert, firm buns (Whoa back! Steady boy!). In full contrast, Hamlet had one also and that did absolutely nothing for me at all (Thank God!).

There was a fair bit of standing water here and there and Uptake and Foghorn enjoyed a bit of a splash. Even Urine got in on the act to the surprise of newcomer Mandy. It must be a bit of a shock to go out for what you think will be an off-road trot to find your running partner indulging in juvenile puddle antics. Perhaps the most mature of us were Mrs. Blobby, Utopia and Lynda. They would amble casually to a check then wait languidly while the rest of the hoi poloi found the trail. Having rested awhile they would then deign to saunter casually after all those horrid, sweating people. Swaipe me. Ain’t life grand.

Neil (yet again) managed to fall a**e over head when leaping a stile. OldFart lost his carrot. Itsyor put in some very determined running in the latter part of the trail. Florence managed to keep her ears on all the time. Hamlet kept very busy placing flour arrows for all us poor lost souls. But then the FRBs found he’d placed an arrow too many and Glittertits turned up the trail to whence it pointed. OldFart, Itsyor and I guessed that this was the On Out and so it proved to be, so we called him back. Going straight down the road came up with no flour so I hung about for some other poor sap to check it out. C5 and Uptake hove into view and promptly turned right into a grassy path with no flour. After no indication of where else to go I took this too and found myself back out on the heather covered heath – with no flour. Describing a triangle I returned to find Darren and Zebedee and no-one else. Thinking of the Hares we all voiced the same question. “Where the Fukawe?” And since she was nowhere to be seen we trotted back along what I thought was the same path. It wasn’t, of course. Somehow we popped out on the road a way down from where the cars were parked. Still, it was nice to finally be on known ground though Gawd knows how we got there!

Our thanks to Hamlet and Fukawe for a fine, joint effort. On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RAs Deadloss and Motox presented the following :-

Nice effort with minor throwage

Up and Coming

The Stag & Hounds
Pinkneys Green