Ham Burghers

Hashgate Steve Judy Ms. Whiplash Salome Spunky SkyDiver TinOpener Miranda and dog Emma Bomber Posh James and dog Jimmy Steamer Iceman Potty Nutcracker C5 Honeymonster Julia Sam Spex Motox Spot TT2 Florence Zebedee OldFart Itsyor Glittertits Pissquick SlipperyNipple Fiona Alex Liz Flash HeyBabe Lonely and dog Beaver Butterfly and dog Paddy Drexel Foghorn Cheating Polly Linda Ali BinBag Neil Sooty Darren SunBeam Simon Andy Jason Klepto Cap’n Y-Fronts and dog Tigger Greenfly Barbara Tony Julia and baby Sam

BH³ Goes West

“Do I really want to drive all this way for a Hash?” I asked myself while tooling down the warm, dark surface of the M4. Little did I know that there were various reasons why I was going to enjoy myself tonight. The first became obvious as I drove into the lovely village of Ham and drew up next to C5, who was warming his old bones outside the fine old pub with Honeymonster and SkyDiver. We exchanged pleasant badinage. I parked. Then joined C5 and Steamer for a wee in the pub loos. They stood side by side while I stood in the cubicle. A moment’s silence fell. “Great balls of fire! What on earth is that?” Exclaimed Steamer suddenly.. Well, you know how thoughts come into your head. Perhaps one of C5’s odder physical peculiarities had caught Steamer’s eye. Perhaps a flash of his Salmon and Oddy ‘Ball and Socket’ truss had frightened the poor fellow. Whatever it was I shall leave it to your imagination to savour. It had something to do with mushrooms…

A huge mass of people had turned up despite (or perhaps because of) the location, including virgins Liz and Alex, Simon’s friend Andy, Klepto and members of Bourne Vally Hash, Darren, mobile John(see Down Downs), the lovely Wendy, Greenfly’s bit of Canadian crumpet, Barbara(nice to see you again) and, since we were damn nearly in Salisbury a huge contingent of North Wilts Hash consisting of… Sunbeam. And a very obliging bloke he was too, falling at my feet while climbing out of a steep, muddy ravine and rolling rapidly into the ditch. Thanks for the cabarat Sunbeam.

We of course knew we were in for a long one since Dwight and Centaur were tonight’s Hares. These chaps lay an excellent trail – and sometimes get a bit too sneaky! Imagine a triangle of land with a narrow track along each side and thickish grass in the middle. Spunky and I go up one side and hit an ‘F’ three quarters along. Back we come and go along the second side to find an ‘F’ just past the apex. We return a bit. Surely it must be across the middle but there seems to be no flour. Stymied. Buggered. Run out of ideas. Woss goin’ on? Fortunately, we were called On from the corner of the triangle just past the first ‘F’ we found. We run past Centaur, a wry smile and an acid comment on everyone’s lips. Further on the sods caught me out twice with false trails through deep nettlage. The buggers were head high and stung viciously with each feathery caress. My only consolation was the deeply satisfying knowledge that either or both of the Hares had flinched and gasped through in order to lay the flour.

The first regroup appeared and millions of people appeared to be there already! Including the little-seen Sooty and his lad. New bloke John put his foot right in it by receiving a phone call as we milled about. He was casually and serially abused quite rightly and skittered off down the road with a red face and a conciliatory expression.

Sometime later many of us found ourselves being called ‘On Back’ to the forest edge after completely losing the trail. Centaur stood by his newly cast flour arrow declaring, “It was light when we laid it”, as we stepped gingerly into the forest blacker than a coal miner’s boot sole. This certainly slowed us down and I found myself behind Judy and Steve. I laughingly suggested we needed an Indian guide and Steve (rather too quickly for my liking) suggested back that he needed a Scout. I gasped at his candour, especially in front of a lady. As Chairman of the Executive Committee of the 1^st Shiplake Scouts I cannot bring myself to condone that sort of behaviour.

We raced ever onward, a small splinter group consisting of Motox, Spunky, C5, Honeymonster and various others long having left the main pack. Zebedee, Foghorn and I reached a path marked ‘Private’ along which was parked a Land Rover in which was a couple of rather large Ranger types. If there had been only one I suppose he would have been The Lone Ranger, getting back to the Indian scout theme. Foghorn went Tonto (Stop it. You’re not funny.) Sorry. Onto the trail and chuffed ‘em up. They certainly seemed to be smiling and non-aggressive. Seeing that they hadn’t tied Foghorn to the front of said Land Rover and driven into a tree, the brave Zebedee and I (Look. I told you about that Indian joke stuff. Now pack it in!) set off after him at a rapid pace.

A second regroup appeared on top of a rise among lots of grain lorries and one of the most beautiful skies with a hint of crescent moon. It had been quite a hard drag up the track to this bit and we were all glad of a break. A long, ankle-breaking downhill run followed and Tony appeared, as if from nowhere. A bit like Flash or BGB usually do. We ran back into some tarmac area, the pack keeping together nicely, especially when I hit a long False and we all ran back together to the check! Off we went into the fields where two very large brown horses galloped manically by either side of me while Zebedee hung back, obviously waiting to see if First Aid assistance might be required. How kind of the fellow. A long, long track awaited Bomber, Zeb and me which luckily I got right and they got wrong. Well, it was getting dark. Eventually the pub loomed up in the gathering dark. An oasis of booze and light. Lovely. Thanks Centaur and Dwight for a fine run through superb countryside.
On On. Hashgate.

Down Downs

RA Motox presented the following :-

For accepting the bell

Up and Coming

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