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Run 405, Saturday, December 28th 2013.
The Woolpack, St Georges, Weston-super-Mare.
WHO: Ten Hashers and one really cute little hound.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT by this week's Scribe, Fondue: A motley crew of eight joined the Hares for this post-Christmas jolly.
After a hasty warm up we up and overed into West Wick where the slow and slothful - too much Christmas Pudding - were quickly separated from the swift and speedy (aka Walrus, Soggy B and Misapp) - not enough Christmas Pudding....
On On past Morrisons we straddled with our FRB's suffering a severe post-Christmas case of hyperactivity. Down past the lakes we continued bringing back memories of Down & Dirty's immobilisation and rescue and dear Koko's hash around the lakes.
Mutterings were heard on the bridge crossing the railway due to its zig zaggy nature making the Hash longer. Little Ben, offspring of Woodcut went AWOL by Sainsburys, but was returned to fold by some nice shoppers. On through Worle to St Georges where, with lights flashing, the railway barriers came down and halted our progress momentarily. Ten Hashers and a dog were counted in and ten Hashers and a dog were counted out, and proceeded on the right track, not the wrong one.
Russian Roulette Beer Stop, courtesy of Eager, chocolates not bullets with the promise of one being loaded with so much chilli that a head would be blown off anyway. Such sweet irony - Eager got the chilli chocolate but I am very pleased to report that Eager's head is still securely attached to his body.
Circle Done in the pub I think...
ONONON: No food so us big Hashers had a drink and read the menu instead. Little Hasher Ben amused himself by trying on liquid moustaches in various colours. Hasher piggies, Limpet and Trailblazer ordered chips and shared none...that's a lie.
Run 404, December 18th 2013.

The Salthouse, Salthouse Road, Clevedon, later "flowing" into Walrus and Call Girl's gaff.
HARE: Walrus.
WHO: 13 hound-less hashers.
RUN REPORT: Hold the front page!!! A bogs hash in a tried, tested and trusted location has been rained off! That is unless you had the chivalry (and suspected insanity) of Kerb Crawler, Walky Talky and REWIND who stuck to their flour guns despite a cloudburst which slowed to a mere downpour. Those who had set out from the pub begun with a warmup beside a van (strong side winds were compounding the precipitation) and did manage the customary circumnavigation of Salthouse Field and the partnering tennis courts, prior to assembling under a tree with the RA present for a common sense decision. Back to the pub it were, then – Bogs may be performers of miracles, and now we can add walking on water to our collection. As those inside the Salthouse dried off ever so partially, word reached us from the 3 survivors (using a phone on the trail!) that the rain had died down and they were mostly through a very enjoyable trail. Oh, for shame. An itinerary did however remain in place, to hash via petrol to the hare's abode for food tailor made for 32 but instead 13 would have to finish it off. REWIND, Walky and Kerb Crawler working up a hunger would no doubt help...
CIRCLE: By now we were almost dry in amongst Call Girl's home cooking, and inevitably “what a bunch, what a bunch” had to be sung to those who failed to finish a hash (oral contract – so easy to take advantage of), as well as a well-cidered down down to those who did.
ON ON ON: Now this was well worth being dunked into the Severn (it certainly felt like we had been and none of us are witches, yet) – mulled cider with clementines, mulled wine and full to the brim baguettes for the carnivorous and the ichthyophagous. A sheer delight. Eager even tried to compensate for the general lack of hashing with some hash mazes in Christmas cards – despite trying to get lost in them, all made it out safe in the end. On onglubglubglub....

Run 401, December 4th 2013.
The George Inn, Abbots Leigh.
HARES: Cinderella and Walky Talky.
WHO: 22 hashers, 1 latecomer and bench-warmer Coppertone.
RUN REPORT: On a blustery but still miraculously far from freezing evening we turned up in good numbers, a few Santa hats showing here and there but no Rudolph to pull us along. Flight would probably have been the safer option than our On Out - a daring skirmish across the busy A369 specially so as to split up runners and walkers, even though each initially chose the other’s path. Runners it were then who bounced along Church Road before changing course towards Leigh Woods, heavily guarded by a marsh of squelching shiggy underfoot (more than a little of it bovine). Cinders exploited the diplomatic immunity of a hare to shortcut across a field and keep any of us from being buried alive - dry ground was even briefly located before we sensed the presence of walkers oh-so-near. Come fate or flour, the slightly slower contingent had found their way across the busy road via a triumvirate of traffic lights - a hazard with at least two coatings of flour but once again bypassed by the chief hare. Some may at this point have suspected a charge of the head torch brigade towards Clifton suspension bridge was on the cards, but instead an arrow pointed us onto the back end of Ashton Court golf course (another footpath quite possibly never noticed unless you WALK along this road). Heading towards some tree cover we bid a thoroughly deserved thank you to mother nature for miraculously not smothering the markings in leaves - all Rs, Ws and BSs around here were as legible as could be. You read that right - a very early beer stop was on the cards! 8:05pm to be precise, so not a record for us, but certainly cause for caution. For as we guzzled down the cider and H2O on offer, several prowling bikes surrounded us - as if slaloming through trees wasn’t hard enough, these two-wheelers also now had to evade a huge Bog! Hard feelings were few if not none, and so we decided to do some equally early down downs - Soggy Balls for his efforts in catching us up and also a toast to virgin Alice - a handle obtained from following a rabbit down a hole rather than a hare to god-knows-where. Plenty of trailblazing remained - after negotiating another shiggy bedecked trail we proceeded downhill with a vengeance - for the final speed split the walkers’ must surely have counted their lucky stars. Remember the travelator off Gladiators? Well, pause it and throw in some shiggy and a coating of leaves and that was what the runners faced - a sensational challenge to warm down proceedings. On In along Manor Road - dignity was certainly intact if not our backbones.
ON ON ON: Keep calm and check your baubles! Cos they were about ten times bigger than usual in a cosy, festive looking bar with plenty of cheese and ham sandwiches to pass around (Coppertone appeared not to have devoured them). Skittles duty called early for me - hence our ability to resist playing Cluedo with a fully intact set on offer. Down & Dirty with the candlestick in the Albion next week it shall be, then...
Run 400 (plus AGPU), November 27th 2013.
Newton House.
HARE: Deep Throat and REWIND.
WHO: 20-ish human hashers and unusually no hounds. Walrus, Eager Beaver and Fondue arrived for the on-on.
RUN REPORT: Umm, this mostly passed the scribe by but a fair few markings were spotted out near Six Ways (definitely the On Out), and a clash with a turnback from Campbell’s Landing recently would have been quite a feat to avoid too. The pack encountered a menacing crowd of athletic club runners at the foot of the Zigzag but the encounter was resolved peacefully. One can certainly assume the trail was all but flat and gruelling, particularly with many a returning FRB by 8:30 and no limbs aching later.
CIRCLE: At the beer stop in the woods above Highdale Road. Bogs virgin Rachael Brooks was welcomed and sundry down-downs were awarded – including DT for realising at the start that he had forgotten to place the beer stop. REWIND drove the pack onward while DT rectified the problem and then caught up at the Walton Park, in time for the Sweetie Stop.
ON ON ON: Down to business, monetarily we are still here and desiring of NPO status, run and food fees will remain the same but the bank balance is a bit too big (£900+) so will be shrunk by free runs December to February (No run fee but we still pay for food). Beer stop expenses are down too - clearly a drinking club with a cheapskate problem.

Hash Stats reported 32 new hashers with bogs – of which 13 were rash enough to come more than once and 6 more than twice.

Roll up, roll up - henceforth came the elections for 2014 -

  • DT remains GM,
  • Brigadoon celebrated being the hare-iest hasher by a whisker (Brig 10, DT 9, Walrus 8) with a promotion to deputy RA (behind Cinders of course),
  • Beerbag maestro Rocky will be backed up by Inchworm,
  • Miss App will be deputy Hash Stats, supporting Walky Talky,
  • Double D and Down and Dirty (in absentia) took on Hasher Dabber duties,
  • Fondue came forward as deputy scribe (finally fulfilling that Thomas Hardy quality she demonstrated at Pushover’s wake last year) with Eager Beaver as lead scribe,
  • and REWIND stepped up to the hare-raising plate, as if he wasn’t the most co-harent already, backed by Walrus and Brigadoon.
Otherwise it was as you were for elections:
  • Kerb Crawler will continue as Hash Cash, supported by Limpit,
  • Rebore will continue as On Sec,
  • and Hash Flashers will be Happy Hooker and Rocky Horror.
And so a favourable review of 2013 was called for. The ASS hash had again succeeded in bringing out the scout and brownie in all of us (even if there were no stories around a campfire), and also the Yahoo! list has proved a great success for keeping imminent hares on their toes, a la bucks and does.

Can 2014 top it? Well, a hash in Weston Super Mare on St George’s Day (yes, a Wednesday) will help a great deal, and also we were apparently the most represented group at Isca - a standard to maintain indeed!

Otherwise, more of the same Bogs and On On to the George at Abbots Leigh next week - maybe not a Saint, but forever a hash host. Ah, the annual general p*** up/pig-out we’d almost-all been waiting for. The front page revelation of Fondue having no pavlova was explained away by it being a thanksgiving theme and thus replaced by a scrumptious and plump pumpkin pie. Among the other highlights were hostess Swallow’s ginger soup which we were only too happy to swallow (mopped up with plenty of pain Français), chocolate with the glace cherries on top from hibernating Fair Weather (okay it was still quite nippy) and a repeat of those spicy noodles.

Run 399, November 20th 2013.
The Star, Rhodyate Hill, Congresbury.
HARE: Eager Beaver.
WHO: 19 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: A well laid, varied and interesting route took us across the main road and around a maze of paths and tracks through Kings Wood, with the Lord Nelson eventually coming into sight. Could this be the beer stop? No we had to run past the pub and through twisting streets and alleys before we were allowed any refreshment and the final run in back to the Star. All agreed that it was an enjoyable hash – possibly with the exception of Slasher who, having passed the slippery rock where Rocky Horror fell into his name, decided to go mud sliding and trying to crack open a rock with his humerus, I’m not sure if he saw the funny side.
CIRCLE: the circle followed the beer stop, where Slasher was noted for falling down on the job.
ON ON: A variety of plates of food seemed to attract a few extra hashers who weren’t on the trail, and were followed by a cake with sets of candles in a 5 and a 6 formation (not sure which order they should have been in) in celebration of Down and Dirty not getting younger.
Run 398, November 13th 2013.
Ring O'Bells, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Rebore.
WHO: 26 hashers, 2 hounds and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: The Bell once again tolled for a well attended romp 'n' stomp around the back street labyrinth of Nailsea, clearly out to set a high pace with the high standards of a virgin hare. After scooting past Tithe Barn the pack split in half (“nice RS!” was the rallying call) and the runners were duly savaged by Rebore for missing a checkpoint as clear as flour in mud. Redemption surely had to be swift, and so it proved as the wannabe FRBs caught up with a semi-sprint through shiggy and shrubbery alike. They even used intuition over flour to find the right side of a hedge, but nonetheless fate decided that they had still not yet had enough handicaps. The cause went unnoticed by me (no doubt though it was some rogue fence), but poor Doggy Style remained in the headlines due to a very nasty run in with some barbed wire! The 5 minute disentanglement of this unfortunate hound courtesy of Slasher, Cinders and Double D was painful enough to watch, let alone experience – however the incident did end up paying homage to Rebore's back-marking skills. As a soon up and charging again hound and master rounded a couple of corners the throng were ready and waiting at a regroup. While then navigating Engine Lane and its ka-kas we did a little traffic control of our own – namely a welcomingly returning fish hook for 6, and after passing near the perimeters of rival locals The Moorend Spout and The White Lion we ended up at a sweet stop again straddling the Rhyne. What few drivers were out on this deserted landscape seemed to think the road belonged to them, but we reassured ourselves that those using petrol would not be partial to surely the biggest choice of sweet stop goodies in history – snow drops, tangy haribo, plain haribo and liquorice allsorts, no less. It gave our courage the pep-up needed for the extra shiggy ahead, though by this late and increasingly cold stage some were feeling a little too attached to the warm and welcoming bar of the Bells for comfort. A professionally anonymous few then chose to miss out on a beer stop plus circle up on the front drive of a friend of Double D – a recruitment policy bound to work when Cadbury fingers, spare snow drops, orange juice and cider were on the menu.
CIRCLE: Just as we were about to down down Rebore in his absence for missing his own beer stop, he turned up late to lay the blame at anyone's feet but his own; bless. Far less excusable were the brief, though blatant, shortcuts of REWIND and Walrus and a hamstring injury for Tumbling Ted (any pro footballer will sympathise). Those less established Bogs were left to grab the headlines, though – virgin Sam from Bristol learned the hard-ish way not to don headwear in the circle and Doggy Style was commended for her bravery in defeating that makeshift snare. A doggy biscuit or 5 may have mysteriously vanished, such was the reward...
ON ON ON: We like our On Ins serene and this was no different – a quick canter back to the pub while ignoring the On Out arrows from earlier. Once among the cosy rafters we were presented with a soupreme helping of minestrone and plenty of brown and white bread for mopping up. Call Girl, Bag Lady, Coppertone and Fast Forward also joined the party, no doubt incredulous as to how we were so free of mud given our escapades from here in the past. Congratulations to our virgin hare too – there's plenty more flour where that came from.
Run 397, November 6th 2013.
Campbell’s Landing, Clevedon.
HARE: Walrus.
WHO: 28 hashers, 0 hounds and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Drowned like rats! Or at the very least submerged like swans, with the Severn emptying at a rapid rate with plenty of blustery winds thrown in for good measure. We weren’t the only ones up for swimming on land - there were also some youngsters out on the beach rivalling our warmup with their running, but then they didn’t need flour. A false in the middle of our usual starting park soon put the FRBs in their place - On Out instead took us down the Royal Oak dark alley and into a quick speed split, walkers scaling some shiggy while runners headed back towards whence all that rain came from. Further inland and the precipitation persisted a little less, helped no doubt by the presence of ceilings thanks to a turnback and the tree cover that beckoned in park number 2 (coincidentally containing a fish hook for treble that). Astonishingly, we resisted the temptation of the zigzag and its far reaching views for the evening, preferring instead to split down by Six Ways and send the runners on a mission to rouse the missing Deep Throat from his abode. These peace-spreading FRBs came to suspect they were in for a long game of catchup, but ended up having the sweet stop to thank for a quick rendezvous. Amidst the garden maze of the Community Centre we feasted on halloween haribo (price repeatedly slashed) and even accepted with aplomb the visual treat of fireworks from the tennis club opposite? Both planned to coincide impeccably with one another? I wouldn’t put it past Walrus’s standards. Nor would I expect us to resist hash crimes when passing the police station - it was the walkers who turned vigilante with their own shortcut, now that the pace of the rain was picking up again. Our hare was not here to be second guessed either - just as many suspected we were heading to our most common viewpoint above Clevedon, the turnback never appeared and so a regroup it was at park 3 (Google Maps knows their names not). Rain only normally batters us bogs when we are late back to the pub, so with the time still not having reached 8:30 a teem down seemed a little extreme. Nonetheless, that was exactly what the runners received on their final split, heading past the Hawthorns and the bandstand (along with the tree that will never topple) in their weary, bedraggled state. By now and with bangers and hash mash to come in the still defiant Campbell’s Landing, an indoor circle suddenly seemed oh so ingenious.
CIRCLE: Rocky Horror turned up to announce he had run the trail himself (we believed him - he does have previous over Burrington Combe, after all), just in time to declare this 8:30 touchdown as too dry and too long. Plaudits, if not down downs, went the way of Backchat for a rare fish hook foray, then came genuine down downs for Soggy Balls entering double figures and a returning Rampant Rabbit looking as sprightly as ever.
ON ON ON: Much hyped and deservedly so - sausages of the orthodox plus Rebore-friendly variety appeared in abundance along with plenty of mash and onion gravy, along with some yummy Turkish Delights courtesy of Rampant Rabbit. Clearly all this was too much of temptation as Deep Throat, Bag Lady, Coppertone and Fair Weather turned up just as we were drying off. Oh, the irony of hash handles.
Run 395, October 23rd 2013.
Plume of Feathers B&B, Rickford.
HARES: Tumbling Ted, Harenet and Never Enough.
WHO: 20 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: The pack begun this dark and slightly foreboding conquering of Burrington Combe with a game of sardines in Burrington Square – next time round at the less spacious Plume of Feathers I think an open top hash bus would be called for. Anyhow, once Cinders had spent 5 seconds warming us up and the hares had laid down a much more complex itinerary, we were off on a speed split straight away. With these hares' reputations no longer at stake the runners may just have suspected foul play, but it took the visual confirmation of a T10 to drag 'em back where they came from. This even enabled the walkers to solve the first checkpoint atop Ham Link, pointing reservedly to a trail that ducked and dived into the woods – at this point we were still well below any top marker and seemed to be wading through Somerset's shiggy collection basin. With all that know-what-not underfoot the stakes were obviously going to be well raised for the runners – few of them dared to GENUINELY run through the bumpy bracken while looking vainly for the walkers, particularly as typical team leader Missapp had been relegated to walker for the evening owing to injury. A double cause for celebration, then, to reunite the pack at the same location of our sweet stop with a view from run 318. Not quite so much of a panoramic to observe in the pitch black, so instead we stopped for sweeties beneath Long Rock while trying to decide how many directions there were (let alone which was the right one). Well, the jelly babies, tangy and fancy haribo on offer certainly appeared to be food for thought – they inspired Never Enough to go off flour hunting with the walkers while the other Rowberrian hares kept the runners in tow, and out of all the trip hazards. Now, how could those walkers on the lower reaches of the Combe be made all the more jealous? Simple – choose a species even wiser than a hasher and try to seduce it! That was exactly what night owl REWIND tried to do to his own kind while head torches were respectfully dimmed at the main road. However, the owl that was out there seemed to decide “you hunt for flour, I'll stick with mice and voles”. In fact us runners couldn't even do that entirely of our own accord – much like beagles with truffles in times gone by, it was newly christened Doggy Style that sniffed out the flour that led back downhill – and straight into the ascending walkers (okay so that was probably the ACTUAL scent that drove our canine chum mad). With no trail left to bump into it was down through more slopes and trip hazards then, finishing at an almost abrupt 8:30pm at the ever illuminated Plume of Feathers, though well aware that we had a mini walk to end with later.
CIRCLE: Them hares had pulled no punches with this high and hefty trail, so we duly sang “on on on” to the tune of “hares on a mountain”, specially to set the walkers up for the fall of being temporarily lost on their trail – obviously the distant screams of the runners had played their part. A typically warm (for October) welcome to two virgin acquaintances of Slasher and their charming hound – perhaps next time my euphoria won't inhibit me from learning your names...
ON ON ON: When told of pizza all round one may assume it was shipped in – but in the case of this cosy little gastro, where on Bogs' Earth from? No, instead these crusty and yummy slices of the extra cheesy, pepperoni and Rebore-friendly variety were right off the menu, and Tumbling Ted and Harenet even managed to score extra brownie points for the home made gooey treats they had bought along to top us up. Some special announcements also tagged along for the ride – soon there will be a Mrs Rocky Horror (Stony Silence, perhaps?), and the hashing gods have found a cruel and painful way to slow FRB master Irish Spu down – anyone with a spare cruciate knee ligament is most welcome. Once our feathers were all plumed we briskly trotted back to our Gridlock game – a bit easier when all the cars are facing out of the square. On On!
Run 393, October 16th 2013.
The Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARES: Kerb Crawler & Walky Talky.
WHO: 19 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: One of our well known stomping grounds was duly circumnavigated on a moonlit night with enough of a storm brewing to topple any top-heavy bog; you can add to that a genuine fear for markings from the previous night being washed away by the day's many downpours. No such bad luck, but at least a change of pace as we on outed in a different direction to normal. At an opening (and faded) checkpoint Harenet and Eager Beaver unwittingly ran down a walkers' route, thus denying themselves the chance to play on a zip wire next to the cricket club, though retaining enough zip of their own to quickly catch up with the inquisitive FRBs. The wandering walkers were promptly spotted and then quickly lost again, all to the frantic tunes of “petrol!” and “ka-ka!” depending on your level of maturity. We even resisted the offering of hopscotch on one back double – okay, I didn't. None though could be wizened enough to resist the lure of fancy haribo at a sweet stop above the hyperactive River Yeo – the regroup specially stencilled in chalk on the fence to account for the wet weather. Indeed flour soon became scarce in the next field which was half empty with udder-bedecked livestock (the sort of which the hares had forewarned at the warmup), but thankfully this herd was less territorial than our usual offering – or perhaps it was just too dark to see those of us that had worn red. By the time tarmac was sighted we had pretty much been aquaplaning through the shiggy on offer, so a good stomp back down Wrington Lane seemed well called for, even at the price of walkers again misplacing their bearings and leading a rallying cry for a regroup. Any dark secrets of Cadbury Garden Centre were not discovered in the dark alley we skirted it via, though a most sudden emergence onto the B3133 at least retained a dangerous theme. Brigadoon's homing device was already pointing him to the (admittedly nearby) Old Inn at this point to rest a slightly wearied foot, but he summoned up his chivalry and merely shortcutted to the beer stop instead. Not that it was so quick for the pack, of course. First they had to pole vault/open a gate leading into the stinky sort of shiggy, and then the runners were made to play gullible in search of a turnback, honour-bound by principles as they were. A reward for this sterling effort emerged of course – while the walkers merely plodded along Station Road looking for an exit around St Andrews C of E, they got another taste of our everlasting love affair with the Strawberry Line, surely built for Bogs more than bikes. On to the beer stop/circle hybrid then with the church bell ringers really out to make themselves heard – obviously they were there to show us the ropes.
CIRCLE: Pineapple and plain apple went down a treat with the usual thirst quenchers, especially to toast this trail as too well marked and moonlit – the one thing you bogs can't control. Now, what could possibly have happened to divert the headlines away from Briggy and his shortcut? Step forward (carefully) Cinderella for attempting to squash Daisy into a flat hound, and then the hound herself for a bogs christening. The offence inevitably took place at a stile (trying to get your leg over with a hound, now that's just wrong!), and the immediate suggestions of “Flathead” and “Stylish” as names almost seemed plausible. Then came the eureka of all eurekas – Daisy shall henceforth be known as “Doggy Style”!
ON ON ON: An eerily deserted Old Inn (whose Clevedonian namesake we shall drink dry with DT at the weekend) diverted all its efforts to us with brown and white sarnies housing egg, cheese, onion, ham and tomato, though a certain fried potato snack is always conspicuous in its absence with us. A night also for the committee to make their voices heard – any Albion Christmas bookings to go to Bag Lady as soon as hashingly possible. Spread the word too about Tumbling Ted and Harenet's exceptional planning for next week – parking is in Burrington village square with the trail finishing at the nearby Plume of Feathers – make sure yours aren't ruffled.
Run 392, October 9th 2013.
The Crab Apple Inn, Clevedon.
HARE: Happy Hooker and Fairweather.
WHO: Around 15 hashers and 1 hash hound.
RUN REPORT: On the first cold windy night of the winter the hashers set off through the estates of Clevedon and onto the river bank. The first of five walker runner splits took the runners through the Warren caravan park and down Colehouse Lane beating the walkers to the first regroup. Happy Hooker lived up to his name and laid several fish hooks to catch the unwary front runners (FRBs) followed by a route to nothing with a long T back on a runners split next to the golf course. On around the Pill bay and up over Wains Hill on another runner walker split for a sweety stop at the stone built lookout. It was decided we could not squeeze all the hashers into this small folly and with the wind whistling around as they had forgot to install windows or a roof an early exit was made to carry on around the marine lake. The runners did a loop around the Salthouse field and then the hash took to the short cut donkey path to central Clevedon. Down and up though large Victorian stone buildings and over the quarry view point. Back up Strode Road and after yet another runner split along the riverbank to the Beer Stop at Hooker’s pad including fruit and flapjacks.
CIRCLE and ON ON: at the Beer Stop toasted the Hares on a cold but dry hash and the prospect of a second grandchild on the way.
ON IN along a pathway back to the Crab Apple who produced copious fab sandwiches followed some time later by two massive trays of chips. There was some debate over the length of the hash as different devices gave different distances around 6 and 7 miles although the hare had calculated the base run at just over 3 miles on g-map pedometer (not surprising confusion given the number of fish hooks and runner walker splits). Everyone agreed the hash was slightly too long including the still injured Brigadoon who battled along bravely.
Run 391, October 2nd 2013.
Arnold’s Way, Yatton, later retiring to the Bridge Inn.
HARE: Walky Talky.
WHO: 25 hashers and 1 hound - the miniature one.
RUN REPORT: Like hamsters in a maze, this run pitched at the eleventh hour toyed with the bogs’ sense of direction, much like the warm October evening did with our weather instincts. After lining up our automobiles and circling up for a hoki coki (interrupted by a non-hasher, to right boot), we proceeded down the dark alleys with ample flour towards a playground sadly missing a zip wire. It did, however, contain a couple of streetwise youngsters who briefly followed us on micro-scooters - clearly 2020’s hares in the making. Present day quickly led us to the railway bridge at Yatton - no locomotive passed under us so we steamed along to the edge of the Strawberry Line, bike-shielding FRBs at the ready. All in vain - we were instead destined for Mendip Road (no hills) and a sweet stop on a street corner after a turnback had kept the runners in check. A nice clash of sweet flavours - foam bananas, tangy straws and wine gums, all part of this being a mixed bag of symbols. A further smattering of falses and checkers propelled us in the general direction of the High Street, emerging opposite Lloyds Pharmacy but in need of no medicine, so we continued along tarmac towards Yatton’s off-licences. Resisting the temptation of the Magnums therein (I can really vouch for their high standard) we finally had our parade rained on as had been the lingering threat all evening; perhaps motivation then for heading promptly in the direction of our makeshift car park (runners were sent out on a turnback limb). A very quick drive to the Bridge Inn for Circle and On Inn - a great time to get warm and cosy.
CIRCLE: A very rectangular-looking indoor circle toasted a fine solo shuffle from Walky Talky, clearly not a one trick statistician pony. Tumbling Ted and Rocky Horror were also caught enjoying their £5 curry and pint mid-circle, but accompanying a virgin to a hash always makes the headlines. Here it was Sue from Failand, whose debut dovetailed with our birthday cake for the equally handle-less Liz. Hope you had a good time, Madam, and bear in mind that chocoholism is by no means our biggest crime.
ON ON ON: Built to feed hungry horses, was the Bridge. A self funded £5 curry and a pint would ordinarily be pebble-sized, but not here. Perhaps a few too many free-range children; next time we’ll go in our own big kids’ zone.
Run 390, September 25th 2013.
The Phoenix Bar, Portishead.
HARES: Flour Power and Pork Scratchings.
WHO: 24 hashers (including 4 dropouts) and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Anarchic, aerobic, full to the brim with multicolour markings, yet farcically free of flour in places, and all tailor made in tribute to the departed hound Lucky. All the trademarks, thus, of 2 returning hares with points to prove in the dark. Warmups were abstained in favour of a lesson in symbols – crosses for blobs and red, white and blue blobs that basically all meant the same thing. A long and straight on out down Brampton Way lead a few FRBs astray, thanks to missing a turnback for 4 (such is their rarity) – Coppertone commendably commandeered the backrunners and located the flour across the main road, just in time for the AWOLs to appear as well to the imminent relief of the pack. We then stood on the threshold of Portbury - a point crossed there and back again if you were a runner checking it out, but quickly led towards the REAL checkpoint of confusion by the hares. At said venue the majority of the pack invented their own On On while Flour Power (also by this stage missing Pork Scratchings; perhaps a little rusty) banded together a small group of “survivors” and headed on towards the marina. This navigational blackout appeared to have been well anticipated, for lurking just past Trinity School there was a fish hook for 6 – a help both in reining in the FRBs and highlighting the trail for the bakers' dozen reappearing head torches. Good and bad news came to the fore – Pork Scratchings had miraculously found his way again but 4 BRBs had decided the way was too long to find, and back to the Phoenix they had headed. Just in time to miss a sweet stop after Phoenix Park – filled us up quite nicely with Jelly Babies, pastilles and Haribo, it did. Flour Power at this point forewarned of a long walkers' loop or a riverside run for choice – an even divide transpired, and after taking in some typically twinkling views of the river Avon we arrived at different times at Flour Power's for the beer stop. While finishing the remaining sweeties and slurping some cider and cordials we opted for an early circle:
CIRCLE & ON IN: Along with welcome returns to the hares, the crimes included trying to jump into the river Avon and general misuse of runners' routes, as if getting lost many times over wasn't the flour icing on the cake. A returning Never Enough also opted to sort out catering with Flour Power, so cue a long On In including the fingers' mound and Premier Inn surroundings. 100 long minutes had since elapsed, specially for our favourite bring-yer-own bar.
ON ON ON: Flat and circular cuisine, specially designed to sate two dozen bogs. Pepperoni, ham, olive and veggie were the toppings (miraculously not yet devoured by the dropouts), and Bag Lady took very early bookings for that gluttonous occasion of ours at the Albion in the year's twelfth month. Hats off once again to the Phoenix – letting in outside food is quite a cash cow.
Run 389, 18th September 2013.
Brigadoon's pad, Marconi Close, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon, Ballsport and two-wheeled Cowslip.
WHO: 18 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: More of the same hashing and fro-ing from our most diligent hare duo-come-trio. This despite our warmup under a full moon being followed by a long case of On Out without flour – literally half way up Locking Road and we could see neither a bean nor a blob. Surely (having been set in the morning) naughty Joe Public had not been able to sabotage the whole shebang? Perhaps, but as things transpired it was the instinct of heading towards a railway bridge that helped us find the white stuff. After this preliminary up and down we stopped for some early sweeties next to a playground, then promptly decided that we were big kids. Rocky Horror and Eager Beaver tried and failed to fall flat on their faces on a DIY Merry-Go-Round, specially in time to see Cowslip turn up on two wheels and offer her co-hare services (still in school uniform no less; somebody's got prefect aspirations). Now that hash respect was where it was due, we shuffled the BRBs and FRBs a few times (allowing for an inevitable catch-up by Cinderella) and then set across Hutton Moor sports fields in the general direction of the ka-kas. Anyone suffering from flour withdrawal was reassured by the presence of a peculiar round white spot in the middle of a 16 yard box (plus the hares claimed the flour was actually around the edge of the field). On we onned parallel to the A370, taking in a nice calm flat-itude under the glow of our head torches. In fact it was so serene that Happy Hooker's sense of danger nearly went up in a puff of flour – only his paparazzi reactions evaded an oncoming ka-ka (it was only doing about 20mph, mind), so duly shaken we regrouped on a traffic island big enough to park a tank. We knew also that Briggy was laying on a scrumptious smorgasbord back home for us, so a trip past Frankie and Bennys plus B&Q to wet our appetite was very much obliged, particularly in preparation for some more speed splitting along a runway for humans. Well, we didn't quite have lift off, but there was a face off between runners who wanted to go every way they could – just as well that Briggy stayed and waited with some fresh flour arrows, all for the sake of FRB babysitting. No spoon-feeding was necessary on their next detour around a lake – just Cowslip who bravely remained on bike patrol (not bad after briefly reporting in by phone as lost earlier) – tonight though one had to earn one's keep for the sake of beer stop goodies. They beckoned over first another railway bridge (Kings of Locking Castle!) and then a ditch traversable only by tunnel, stepping poles or cargo net – well, I was too busy extricating myself from the latter to tally the totals, so instead opted for orange juice over cider and cloudy lemonade by the roadside. The administrator in our heroic hare showed once again – he now turned gatekeeper specially for us to tiptoe along Hutton Moor allotment (no PYOs today, though) and out the other side to an ON IN symbol across the railway that surprised most, no doubt ready by now to go another 10 miles. Time then to crowd around that kindling.
CIRCLE: Much easier without a time constraining pub – Happy Hooker was taught the value of life (and the green cross code), while Rocky Horror, Walrus and REWIND were the long cutters. Under the big cheese in the cloudless night sky we substituted Brigadoon and Ballsports' “hares on a mountain” tribute for Cat Stevens' “Moonshadow” - perhaps played with a fiddle while the cow did you-know-what. Announcements galore too – Bag Lady has seduced the Albion into once again providing us with a slap up feast for some unmentionable occasion in December, and Briggy already has plans (if not commitments) to show us his ASS in Cheddar next year. Here's to moon cheese...
ON ON ON: Butternut had been squashed into soup specially for us, mopped up nicely with white and granary baguettes around the patio fire. Every hash drink imaginable made an appearance (possibly not pink lucozade this time), as did complimentary Conchiglie, chicken salad and the blessed white and fruity stuff from Fondue.
The ASS Hash Weekend: Read review from Bristol HHH's Gazza HERE.

All the photos:

Run 387, September 8th 2013.
Perry’s Cider Mill, Dowlish Wake, Ilminster - ASS Run 3!
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: As you were minus Happy Hooker, Fair Weather and Oskar.
RUN REPORT: After making a breeze of packing away the tents, we parked up in the orchard next to Perry’s Cider Mill 100 stone throws away and faced the ever so tantalising wait while the hares put the finishing touches to the trail. In the midst of this we sampled the Cider Museum and gift shop plus a taste of our On Inn later, and still were able to start ahead of schedule. Once up and away it was up towards the New Inn and back again thanks to a turnback, prior to entering the real trail in amongst first some rather serene cattle and then their much more inquisitive offspring. Well bullocks to that, then, especially as the trail became something of an elastic band with FRBs passing BRBs at least thrice, en route back to the road. A photo stop without Happy Hooker’s expertise regrouped us - with our smiley faces though the direction post did indeed resemble a very good sign. If that sign was clear, then the next aimed to confuse - an ON INN symbol from a previous hash around these parts; just as well then that Briggy was well equipped with novelty throw-down symbols to help clarify the flour ones. After many an uphill and shiggy we found an even concourse through the crop fields en route to a regroup outside St Andrews Church - there also happened here to be another use of those portable symbols in a “reserved for vicar” sign, so Brigadoon inevitably used the checkpoint symbol as a halo (one for the photo-ops). Some couldn’t wait to run away from this mischief, it seemed, even if it meant a steep uphill and then a trudge through many more crops for a real ON INN. Tent sleeping had clearly affected my internal compass, as I felt sure the pub was in the opposite direction to that chosen. We aim to disorientate, particularly with our sausages dipped in cider.
ON ON ON: Prior to a final circle we tucked into a mountain or two of rice and chilli (stroganoff specially for the veggies among us) and seemingly had a split of upper and lower 1st and 2nd class seating. Inevitably the Briggy Brigade had to be in the best seats, though they starved nobody of 2nd (or in some cases 3rd) helpings. Bravo!
CIRCLE: Mainly a congratulatory one out in the New back garden, directed at Brigadoon for the best part of all our culinary and (more importantly) hashing experiences. I can’t wait to see his ASS next year.
Run 386, 13th September 2013.
Alpine Grove Campsite, Chard - ASS Hash number 2!
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 3Approximately 32 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: After a grande dejeuner courtesy of Fondue, we assembled on schedule and with gazebo now in place for Briggy’s itinerary. Look out for raffle tickets on trees (though flour may also occasionally mark the way), enjoy several sustenance stops and try to get lost. A point well proved then by On Outing a different direction out of the campsite, including for many a leap of faith over a ditch. No one though entered the open country with a brown behind, though some of the hounds dignity had to be spared - they were tethered temporarily so as to protect Shaun and his woolly comrades. Oh, and the two legged hashers needed some caution too - a dainty step or two over some electric fences, made that little bit harder if you had a hound to hurl. What FRBs there were need not have worried about the possibility of Fried Fondue, since all appeared present and well at our first regroup, complete with a couple of early raffle tickets. Standing before us was an army of sheep (not a black one among them) that could give as good as they got - but only if you didn’t tread carefully. On through them it was then, with hounds Sparky and Mudlark even granted the luxury of drinking the nearby trough dry. The water turned out to be merely hors d’oeuvres, though, for after a busy road crossing there came the first sweet stop without sharing. Basically, everyone got their own miniature haribo bag in either plain, tangy or fancy form, with feeding hounds an option on the side. One certainly impressed tortoise-turned-hare was Rebore, who suddenly became a pack leader and lead us all the way uphill to a runner/walker split. The walking fraternity might have known trouble was afoot when they saw the imminent barbed wire - with no hound holes more than a little heave and ho was needed to get Oskar over that hurdle. Well, out of the frying pan...and into the staring contest with two bovine bullies, cheered on somewhat by the regrouped runners at the top of the hill (obviously nervy walkers were the best part of the view they were enjoying). The third-of-a-marathon now entered a nice serene stage (another bull warning sign went both unheeded and unfounded), trudging through more than a fair share of shiggy to reach a very special beer stop! The hares fished out plenty of ciders plus a surplus of orange juice and pink lemonade, though it was our surroundings that we were mostly in awe of. If not the multi-technicolour totem poles, then what about the pink apple tree alongside? Clearly too good a chance for most Bogs to miss - we all wanted a bite of that. Now that was proper refreshment, so surely time then for a proper hill? Well, perhaps, but with the added catch that it had to include the secret garden on the way (all but the odd FRB assumed it was private property), plus another sign of Brigadoon’s masterful planning once back on tarmac. First there was a detour tailor made for dog walkers, and then there was a toilet stop off to the right just on the approach to Chard Reservoir. We ended up spending about 15 pennies - a small price considering the “toilet” was out of range of any rude photos from the FRBs. One of these, Duracell, contemplated an ASS skinny dip for the second September in a row, though it may just have offended our view of the eerily calm waters, and so he thought a little better. Instead we headed through the trees to another beer stop, complete with the morbid news that Briggy’s intended pub for stoppages had closed down this very month! Commiserations were duly given with the remainder of the ciders and soft drinks, with the pack parting specially to let one VIP on a tricycle pass through (she certainly smiled at us more than the passing through drivers did). Plenty of thirsty work had already been had, but by this mid-afternoon hour some hashers were beginning to feel more like solids, and Chard was not to disappoint as we entered via its appendix. With bunting, tents and even a little ticker tape on show on the greens, could it be that word had spread and the whole of Chard had assembled to greet our arrival?! Well, perhaps next year given our growing popularity, but actually this was the annual Crewkerne Street Fair (as lucky with the weather as we were turning out to be), including among its festivities children’s sumo wrestling, junk food at cut prices and, of course, running hasher dodging! The runners inevitably feasted heartily on the hot dogs on offer while the cool dogs ambled off with the walkers, who by now were feeling more than a little wearied and in need of legal sit-downs. They had to wait till after another hill, though, with Fondue getting the most rapturous applause for her day’s efforts (including head breakfast chef) upon arrival at the Bell & Crown. In a specially emptied beer garden we quenched our thirsts before pressing on through Chard Cemetery, including a picturesque archway for a chapel - now that’s what I call resting in peace. For those whom apples, haribo and hot dogs were insufficient, here beckoned the get out clause - Wetherspoons in Chard High Street, which we basically claimed as our own by commandeering 6 separate tables. Knowing that the sausage in cider was waiting back at camp, our choices ranged from chunky chips to a modest muffin, and from then on (with many Bogs AWOL by now anyway) it was every hasher for him/herself to get back from whence they came, mostly by petrol. The forecast heavy rain had left our 7 mile traipse and trapeze well alone once again - did we really expect anything less?
CIRCLE: Once back at the campsite with the chance to stick our sausages in cider, there was simply too much to pay tribute to. Well, the hares seemed like the best place to start given their stupendous efforts - a trail best described as sunny, shiny, cloudy and with unusual toilets. Last night’s hares Walrus and Call Girl got their due, too, and then came the second annual awards show. Firstly a whole pint to down down plus a fishing net for Irish Spu - no, really he kept it down (fishhook rebelling was the crime). Next there was a music set for our star musician Rocky Horror (clearly having lost none of his enthusiasm from St David’s in January), party glasses for fashion icon Missapp, skipping ropes apiece for Old Legover and Mrs Doubtfire (you can guess the crime there), sunshades for furthest traveller Woodcut (for whom we slyly sung “Rule Britannia”), and Get Lost Pens for Eager Beaver, who tries his best not to lose them anyway. That left mysterioso for the remainder - we proposed renaming Duracell as Portuguese Hand Pump (presumably some misdemeanour at Wetherspoons?!) and paid tribute to Clanger for dressing as Wetwipe and thus confusing some of us (hashers are meant to be just like snowflakes, after all).
ON ON ON: The Sausage in Cider went down a treat, supplemented naturally by red wine and taters which we can never get enough of, followed duly by every cake under what remained of the sun and some Cadbury Celebrations. All just in time to set up a kindling fire for the raffle! The ticket in cow shiggy inevitably won first prize (I suspect a fix), then came modelling balloons and a junior bowling set for Rebore (ever the big kid), a water blaster for Walky Talky (trouble afoot!), tent pegs and a “bulging buddy” for Irish Spu (censorship recommended!), sudoku toilet paper for Missapp (what a c**p prize), light up bunny ears for Rocky Horror and a tutu for Drop ‘Em (those last two are coming soon to a hash near you). All in all, enough merriment to warrant all the more camping, and still more to come tomorrow. Night all...
Run 385, 6th September 2013.
Alpine Grove Campsite, Chard - ASS Hash Number 1!
HARES: Walrus and Call Girl.
WHO: approximately 30 happy campers, 2 hounds and 2 late to the pub.
RUN REPORT: The ass we've all been waiting for! Some arrived early to pitch their towering tents while others arrived at the eleventh hour with smaller sizes for singles, but all were ready and pitched up for the hares' 7:30pm briefing. None wanted a washed out breakfast so some were delayed starting due to gazing at the gazebo instructions - handy thing a fish hook for 6, then. This helped to locate the back stragglers Cinderella and Kerb Crawler (for once they had a good excuse for being late), and once the troupe had come together as one along the Blacklands Copse, Walrus offered compensation by sending the runners into a turnback, with any tempting shortcuts under fierce bovine guard. One more genuine runners' loop occurred prior to a large pedestrian symbol, but nonetheless runners were still accepted on the way into Chard's suburban terrain. In fact, we had already managed to recruit some junior support on our first night there - more than a few yo ung `uns out on and off bikes were ready to shout encouragement, and even to challenge us to a downhill race! Unfortunately we could not extend this offer, since racing on the hash is still classed as a petty offence (there hasn't been a case reported though for nearly 3 years, by yours truly at Sand Bay), therefore we merely exchanged pleasantries and perhaps a few of Walrus's business cards. Mummies and Daddies would indeed have done well not to approve of virgins on the next stretch - a temporarily kerb-less march along a B Road while searching for an On Inn. We were in search of the Golden Fleece, after all, and this final straight felt as challenging as anything faced by Jason and his Argonauts. Chard, we had landed!
CIRCLE: All promptly shepherded out to the patio, and all that tent-pitching effort made us rightly exempt from down downs for an evening.
ON ON ON: REWIND and Fast Forward must have pressed pause - turning up only at this after dark hour. Egg, cheese and ham sarnies in abundance greeted us - no reason though for me not to wolf down a knicker-bocker glory too. A quick canter at different times back to the campsite via The Drift and a stupendously starry sky - surely then a bright blue sky to follow on the morrow?
Run 382, August 21st 2013.

Newton House, Hill Road, Clevedon.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 22 hashers, 2 hounds and 3 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Coming stocked to the gills for a bring 'n' share later, an exertive hoki-coki warmup made the assembled Bogs that little bit hungrier and perhaps not so willing to spend 97 minutes away from the grub. Nonetheless we were here to earn our keep, and so off we set into a T3 that pointed us through the neighbouring park – a little confusion from misreading a checkpoint was inevitably thrown into the mix. Rather than a very premature On In, we instead headed down Sunnyside road next and then up one of our well known intestinal paths under tree cover. A T4 well away from any beach lay in wait, and a welcome direction shift too for it led to a viewpoint/headcount looking out over a Clevedon swathed in damp drizzle but still retaining its charming décor. Rebore and Eager Beaver were suitably amused to start a wise-cracking contest on the way back down to sea level – in fact some of them were unsuitable for this pre-watershed hashing tradition, so it was just as well that a traffic light beckoned to put a stop to that tomfoolery. On Bogs trails, of course, that usually merely means another piece of mischief or misguidance comes in to replace it, and so it proved. After the runners had roused scheduled latecomer Down and Dirty they got their just desserts for cold calling – the flour that would not show itself, unless you went through Pizey Avenue with a fine toothed comb (and on the correct side of the road as the FRBs learned with disdain). Signs that the walkers were not by now a mile off emerged when several marked out checkpoints were spotted; nonetheless one task that the runners certainly wanted no help with was to finish off DT's specially tasty Haribo Français – it appeared at a sweet stop next to a brownies' hut where those gooey treats were inexplicably not on the menu. With all present and correct (Rebore apparently bereft of ribs after all those jokes), we moseyed on towards Yeo Moor Primary School and even had to remember our Green Cross Code on the way, what with all those boy racers to avoid, facilitated by the odd subway. To call it marathonic would be unfair, but the emerging roar of the M5 at least had us feeling our calves for signs of wear and tear by now. What better pit stop then than a Cider Stop (preordained by the hare) in amongst some orchards tailor made to keep the doctor away? There was even apple in unprocessed form for the teetotallists among us (hounds tend not to be!) and the chance for a scandalous photo of Flour Power had she spent any more than a penny in the bushes, given the quickness of our On On! So lengthy was the On In that a minority had bypassed the cider stop ready for sustenance in abundance back at DT's, though Flour Power was certainly not going to miss saying hello to more of her equine chums. Nor it seemed was the weather in the mood for us to finish after 9, as the heavens duly opened on the way back up, up, up. Oh, and the light had its say too – as a couple of head torches came out of their summer hibernation. See and be seen, after all...
ON ON ON: Any circle in DT and Swallow's conservatory would have resembled more of an icosidigon, so instead we left crimes and stats to flutter away for one evening and instead started our own restaurant, with the visiting Backchat, Fair Weather and Down & Dirty chipping in. Naturally hard to choose a piece de resistance, but the top candidates were the hosts' multiple salads, Fair Weather's farfalle fancy, an oriental helping from Walrus (surely with a swift dash of Call Girl?) and of course Fondue's travelling companion, the pavlova. Enough food indeed to slightly damage the Titanic - just as well we set sail for the Ship Inn at Uphill next week, me hearties.
BOGS go to Lundy Island. Written by Walky Talky.

9-11 August 2013.
WHERE: Lundy H3 (Bideford Rugby Club).
WHO WAS THERE: Walky Talky, Mis App, Inch Worm, Coppertone, Bag Lady, Rebore, Limpet, Mis App’s brother and about 40 other hashers.
FRIDAY: Bag Lady & Coppertone were so keen they got down a day early and Mis App’s brother was worried that he would not get enough exercise so he cycled from Ilfracombe. We all turned up Friday afternoon at the Rugby Club and pitched our tents in a Bogs area (thanks to Bag Lady's sign). The evening's hash led us all round the houses and eventually into a pub, it was then a few steps to the next pub and a few more to another pub, where most of us gathered and got food from a local takeaway before making our way back to the rugby club.
SATURDAY: It was an early start on Saturday with a short walk to catch the boat at the Quay before it left at 8:30, the trip was smooth (ish), but not smooth enough for a few of the passengers (all bogs were fine as far as I know). Once on Lundy we were eager for the pub, but some of us were held back because Coast were filming outside the pub and they didn’t want a pirate invasion. The hash led us around the island with many twists and turns, even leading us through the middle of a picnic and scrambling through bracken, with wonderful views the whole way round. Once everyone had caught their breath and had some food the circle commenced. Inchworm got a down down for losing a wrist band, Mis App’s brother was then named Forest (Gump) because he had shown everyone that he just likes running (in any direction). Forest was the picked up for wearing new shoes, so had his second down down from his shoe. There was then a down down for a pair of equally matched losers; Mis App exchanged her water bottle for a pint of cider at the bar and Forest (for his third down down) lost his parrot on the hash. We then did what we wanted until getting the boat back, Limpet took Copperman (and others) up the lighthouse and you guessed it she also went swimming! It was then all back to the rugby club for food before an early night for most.
SUNDAY: Sunday morning had a more relaxed start, with a cooked breakfast and plenty of time to pack up before making our way to Westward Ho! for the hangover hash. Inch Worm took the even more relaxed approach and turned up after the hash had started. After about an hour we were back at the pub for a pint and an ice cream, before saying our goodbyes and making our way home.

Run 380, August 4th 2013.
The George Inn, Abbots Leigh.
HARES: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 33 (plus Duracell)
RUN REPORT: The Rocky Horror Hash gave those who did the runner’s loops a god stretch of the legs over close to 6 miles (according to Spotted Dick’s electronic tape measure), whilst the shorter route options made sure that the whole pack saw quite a bit of Abbots Leigh woods together. Duracell decided not to live up to his name when his batteries ran out just as we went past the pub a half mile into the first runners loop. A sweetie view point overlooking the suspension bridge and the Avon gorge gave 5 minutes for Rocky to do some live hare trail laying, then on the way to the beer stop Walrus decided to turn into Limpit after battling with a tree root, and Jo and Jess sang and danced through Paradise Bottom – and repeated their performance for the circle..
CIRCLE: Audrey 2, Lin, Holly and Andrew were welcomed to their first BOGS hash.
ON ON ON: a warm welcome, very nice beers and tasty sandwiches have put the re-opened George back of the hasher’s list of pubs to go back to.
Run 379, August 3rd 2013.
Merlin Park, Portishead, on to Coppertone and Bag Lady's gaff later.
HARES: Coppertone and Bag Lady, with apt live haring from Inchworm.
WHO: 19 hashers, plus many a BBQ visitor.
RUN REPORT: An excellent way to warm up for an all weather barbecue – even Kerb Crawler and Cinders managed to make it in time for Deep Throat's customised penguin warmup. On Out did indeed take us through the backdrop of Merlin Park (albeit without sorcery) and on past the ancient ruins which now look 4 months more ancient than our last visit. Age was also the friend of our next view point overlooking the quarry and civic amenity site – it looked a lot shinier in this semi heatwave than in the dry grey of April. Prior to On On the FRBs instigated the longest ever game of patience while waiting for the hares – perhaps they had become cattle fodder in the previous field, but no – they were spotted by their offspring's offspring (whom incidentally had killed time by using Eager Beaver as a climbing frame). "Petrol!" inevitably had to be screamed at some point, as things transpired it was just prior to entering West Wood – the next door neighbour of the more catchily-named Weston Big Wood. Certainly there appeared to be more up than down; a good thing then that most of the up was with steps and the ground looking more flour than mud. Plenty of time too for the runners to try very hard to get lost, but the chanting of the walkers was simply too near to do so, and thus a regroup once again looking out to The Downs was in order. Not to be second guessed, Coppertone duly pointed out a hitherto un-bogged trail to the left which led us to the same beanfield we had On Outed with – this time round an upside-down F could be safely ignored and the nearby zip wire commandeered to end the trail. Brigadoon inevitably gave it the toughest test, but it held so firm that the real plaudits had to go to Duracell spinning to, fro, to, fro, to, fro, to and fro on the swing. And all in time for an eating contest, too.
CIRCLE: Back at the hares' abode a mocking tribute of "too cold!" may just have been what turned the weather, though none could doubt the hares' directional prestige. Welcomes were also given to the junior virgins from Hong Kong, possibly already used to sunnier climes.
ON ON ON: Make that "In In In!!!" After we had sampled the appetising olives and doritos the yonder Severn decided to empty itself onto our hosts' lawn, luckily with the barbecue under cover. Fondue compulsorily turned up with her egg whites and caster sugar, just to make sure we exceeded our daily recommended of everything ten times over. For next week the culinary bar has indeed been raised, by George...
Run 378, July 31st 2013.

The Angel, Long Ashton.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 33 plus about 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT (written by this week's Scribe, Call Girl): Great hash, warm, light and full of fun. Running across the field, the trail took us in to Ashton Court, lots of room to spread out, taking in the Grant's Grommit, views across to Bedminster and a beer stop and down downs combined.
CIRCLE: So many returnees and virgins, Cultural Attache with a florid pair of pants, Rampant Rabbit who brought a home made cake,Wood Cut brought half his street, and Dt brought his daughter.
ON IN: Splendid nosh, Brigadoon still hobbling modelled the new t-shirt for the ASS Hash.

Run: Bogs go to ISCA Roman Away Day 26/27/28 July 2013.
Topsham, Devon.
Who: 10 bogs and about a centum of centurians.
Run Report (written by Call Girl): Setting off on a warm sunny Friday, Bogs inched their way in ones and twos along the crawlway, known locally as the M5 and sat navved to Topsham Rugby Ground. Tents and vans unpacked, we were soon nosing around and inspecting sleeping, and in Fondle's case, ensuite arrangements. She's a true bog hasher! Within seconds of arriving, loudly, Rebore was crawling around on his hands and knees searching for his teeth, moaning about dentist's costs and draughty gums, but a large gap just allowed the wind to come out quicker. Some offered to help. "What colour are we looking for?" asked Walrus, helpfully. Fag buts and chewing were no good it seemed.
Dipping named T shirts into buckets of dye, everyone was soon hanging out their new tie dye hash laundry.
Friday night took off in full swing, a round circuit of this pretty and unspoilt village, with so many pubs. The men (?) looked gorgeous in their revealing attire, painted nails and lipstick; us girls, well we just couldn't compete. The locals whistled and beeped, a very odd lot they are in Devon. After a rip-roaring curry back at the club, a disco carried on late into the night, with some old geezer from foreign parts, pulling Limpet on the dance floor, not bad for an old bird! Walkie Talkie, as ever resplendent in up to the minute fashion, popped in and out, to the locals appreciation and won a down down for entertaining the boys. Well done Walkie!
To everyone's surprise, Saturday morning dawned and after an early slap-up breakfast, we were coached to Budleigh Salterton where we ran for the boat. Sailing along the coast on a flat sea to Beer, hashers enjoyed the calm before the storm. Long and short runs brought everyone to the seafront in Seaton, where lunch provided a much needed rest from a downpour. Limpet, Walrus and Call Girl had a brief swim in the sea in their briefs; Walrus dried his under the dryer. A case of drying your dirty laundry in public. Running up and around to the open topped tram we were well rinsed as we sped to Colyton, sheltering at the pub before being picked up by coach back to camp. Another slap up meal followed by even more disco, by this time Miss App had found an app for drinking and was by now well and truly oiled. Brigadoon let himself be tethered to Call Girl for a hotspot and together they enjoyed a browse and an internet moment. Disappearing once again early to bed to read, Hair Net and Tumbling Ted got on with their favourite book, Fifty Shades of Grey (25 each?)
Yet another day dawned, hashers folding their tents around their car keys, returning tent pegs, emptying bidets. Those remaining circled up and teamed up for some extra racing with space hoppers. Just a short route around the town before many down downs held in the sunny club grounds. Filing in for a full roast carvery, hashers stuffed their faces before saying their fond farewells and racing off up the slow lane.
All in all a great weekend provided by Isca, with so many thoughtful extras; bottles of water, pac-a-macs, t-shirts, snacks en route. And as I unpack the tent to retrieve the phone, unpack the shampoo (unused) shower gel (unused) I just hope for next year that they get plumbed in!

Run 376, July 24th 2013.

The Crown Inn, Winford.
HARES: Backchat and Inchworm.
WHO: 28 hound-less hashers.
RUN REPORT: Another long journey by petrol do do a long journey by foot – proceedings began in a nicely spacious car park with DT's signature hoki-coki, but when the hares stepped up to the plate and announced the absence of a beer stop, the gasps could almost be heard from our home turf. Nonetheless the promise of other sustenance stops en route soon set off the starting pistol, with the runners leading a frog march towards Frog Lane and the walkers sticking to the fancier-named Redding Pit Lane. Very much an early case of dea ex machina for the runners – while exploring Greatstone Lane they were suddenly ambushed by some not-so-little horses and their precious loads. A proposal of "cavalry!" as a future warning along with "petrol!" and "ka-ka!" went down well, even if a slight checkpoint error on the way back to the walkers did not. This was a good time to remind the pack (visually) that this was very much a bovine trail, not that it had stopped Bag Lady donning red and Brigadoon his well known orange (he certainly had the balls). Oh, and there were static hazards too – a very wobbly stile built seemingly on top of shiggy which Brigadoon, Ballsport and Cowslip went out of their way to skirt around. Pride and dignity remained well intact for a speed split around Frog Lane Farm – to the extent that hares and non-hares alike were outraged to discover a vandalised regroup symbol out on back road number umpteen. Well, if that didn't go down well, there was certainly something out in them thar woodlands to thank the public for – thanks partially to a turnback, the runners on their next assignment found that one path through the trees really smelt like a hash trail – the class B sort, that is. Still, they were only high on their own euphoria as they came to spot the walkers in the distance, and just as well since it looked even from afar as though they were about to wolf down the sweet stop goodies. For a quick enough sprint and rallying cries of "save our sweeties" there was the reward of...well...shredded radish! Always nice to see a four-star superfood at a sustenance stop, particularly here since it then gave us an excuse for following up with as much marshmallow as we could stomach – there was even enough satisfaction to squeeze up for the welcome return of the Happy Hooker group photo. On On proceeded through crops and nettles ("Oh Calamity!" thought those not in long trousers as the heatwave enters its death throes), complete with the roar of Jimbo and the Jet Set overhead as we were on our own taxiway back into Winford. Yet another roar, this time of oral encouragement, came from the locals outside the Prince of Waterloo – clearly drinkers without a running problem – and it came just in time for a most welcome fruity stop by the Church of Saint Mary and Saint Peter. Saint Backchat and Inchworm too, if you don't mind! For just as six lazy FRBs decided to sit down for a photo, they fed us well with red grapes (ever the convalescent's favourite) plus enough fruit drops to possibly meet five-a-day, discounting the sugar. The runners opted for another see-saw trail with territorial non-hash hounds and what looked like a huge bobsleigh run to contend with, but their navigation was aided by still being able to hear the distant guffawing of Rebore – clearly out to entertain his walking ilk. A by now wearying pack needed one more regroup out by the main road to civilisation to restore some order – perhaps a bit of a squeeze for Bogs by the dozen load, but still within RA safety standards. A rapidly darkening trail through Treebeard and his fellow ents finished things off, taking the same On In symbol designed to help locate the pub when driving in. And all of that planned within one week by two stalwarts of the highest hare prestige, apparently!
CIRCLE: Back to the good old days of a circle before a scoff - the fruit stop sitters were named, shamed and framed as Cinderella, Walrus, Deep Throat, Missapp, Duracell and Katoyboy. Meanwhile Walky Talky had once again shown her old man too much respect, a rousing tune of "Grand old Duke of York" greeted the hares and happy returns were given to Flour Power and Woodcut. Stop those presses though for 200+ hashes for Brigadoon! Even if the true milestone was last week, according to Walky Talky. What grand red letter events then to welcome virgin Nina from Deutschland, who, irony upon ironies, had had the hashing energy sapped out of her by the day's travel. Could it be that the pub had even more to offer?
ON ON ON: Ja, das ist gut! This remote Inn still put on a fantastic spread of egg and tuna sarnies (brown and white), plus enough chips to finish a whole bottle of mayonnaise , mini cheddars and the more upmarket supplement of quiche and sausage rolls. Doggy bags/crudely folded napkins were at the ready – this was certainly an apt choice of The Crown on the week an heir to the throne was born (sorry but somebody had to mention it).
Run 375, July 10th 2013.

The Woodborough Inn, Winscombe.
HARES: Tumbling Ted and Harenet.
WHO: 21 hashers, 0 hounds (!!) and 1 pub-sitter.
RUN REPORT: Continuing the heatwave theme with a special two-second warmup from Rebore, an acclimatised pack of Bogs on-outed towards the ever popular Strawberry Line, but instead happened upon a runners' loop that led through many a shiggy and back onto the road out of Winscombe - no automobile could have taken our way out of choice though - first there was a staircase stile, then a wade through very long grass, and then nettles aplenty as we veered towards Winscombe Hill. Here the runners sped ahead before doing a double take and deciding that the distant gap in the trees was worth corner cutting for (what are we off-the-grounds like?!). Still, at least it meant some company and a safety net for back walkers Brigadoon and Ballsport, clearly out to earn their keep now that we were nearing their well-established Mendip Challenge terrain. Pretty light work was then made of the trail's last uphill; perhaps we were inspired by the placid and seemingly identical twin h ound of the late Pushover who greeted us at the top - sadly though no amount of tail wagging could get him a share of the oranges, sporty and tangy Haribo and pastilles at the sweet stop. All things bright and beautiful could, however, enjoy the bright and beautiful view at the sustenance stop. This included Brent Knoll looking every bit as appealing as when it first sprung out of the ground, Axbridge Reservoir looking calmer than a millpond, and even a glimpse of Glastonbury Tor for the 20/20 among us. To get a closer view you needed to be a runner and a dodger of wild horses, though this didn't stop a shameless Tumbling Ted from putting a spot of flour on one of them to mark the On On - "make him run!" we all thought, and so the horizon beckoned for the FRBs. And, so it turned out, a little bit of trouble! For the runners kept steaming ahead towards the edge a la Christopher Columbus, before the ever savvy Bag Lady spotted a missed blob of flour to the right and led `em back from the brink. The walkers were quickly caught up with at the car park at the bottom - they themselves had enjoyed a somewhat less excitable trapeze down through King's Wood, and absentee Flour Power most certainly would not have been able to resist the tree swing at the bottom. It was a shame nobody had brought a circle of Double Gloucester, since the next runners' hill would have been perfect for such a downhill chase - still, they tumbled down fast enough and still had enough wits to scream "ka-ka!" where necessary. The hares' fun and games was rounded off with a turnback baited with an R symbol, plus an ON INN cleverly concealed among Winscombe's back doubles. Time then for a beer stop comprising a big pub.
CIRCLE: Down & Dirty joined us indoors having done her own half-hash in the opposite direction - here we bid a refreshingly cool welcome to Bogs virgin Jill from Backwell, here courtesy of the friendly persuasion of Nothrax. Happy returns also to the hares and Spotted Dick, all of whom scaled the heights and frights like they'd never been away.
ON ON ON: A big snack stop after all - a mini mountain of chips plus plenty of ham, tuna and egg sandwiches were rounded off by grapes, melon and oranges galore from the hares. Not even bucks and does eat that healthily, so On On for next week's Old Barn run - I predict 30 degree temperatures and inclines...
Run 374, July 6th 2013.
Birkbeck Road, West Wick.
HARE: Fondue.
WHO: Fondue, Eager Beaver, Bag Lady, Coppertone, Rebore and hound Mudlark, plus three visitors later to put on the barbecue.
RUN REPORT: Piping hot but still with a pinch of breeze for this Saturday hash - any warmup would have burned us alive so instead we set off through the back end of West Wick. Eager Beaver became the test pilot for runners routes, keeping solely to all but one throughout, and first on the sightseeing agenda came the chameleonic obelisk previously dashed up to by REWIND last year - this time round it was glowing a pretty sky blue and keeping us regrouped. One of two fish hooks for all 6 of us were encountered shortly after, perhaps rebelled against because it was mistakenly stencilled in as a turnback. Never mind, all Bogs runs have to make the front pages somehow. Therefore, it seemed quite appropriate to keep the walking pace heading around the nearby lake and sending the running contingent (all 1 of them) continually off to the right to locate flour under the trees. We soon came to the only ignored runners' loop, which would have taken in even more of West Wick, so instead we all crossed over the dual carriageway with varying degrees of success, but thankfully with no evasive driver action needed. This confirmed the trail as more or less a mirror image of Fondue's previous abound from her abode, though even with a narrow country lane to hash down we still found room for mischief and mishap. First we managed to encounter two sources of petrol (presumably the roads' only occupants), next we rebelled against another "Tish hook", and finally Rebore and Coppertone were incredulous to think the rest of the small pack had stopped to say a more than friendly hello to a curious and tiny Shetland alongside our trail. Far too small it was to be ridden, so on we had to plod to the regroup out back by West Wick, pausing briefly for a 6-strong head count (one of them was down below and held up by four legs). A nice leisurely On In under the still strengthening sunshine, blighted only by the revelation that Fondue had neglected the sweet stop. Clearly there was something more savoury in mind back in that flawless kitchen...
CIRCLE: Brushed aside in favour of a slap up feast, though I do remember Coppertone having a sit down under the glow of the obelisk and an entire throng ignoring a fish hook. GMs and RAs would certainly not have approved!
ON-ON-Q: Down & Dirty, Brigadoon, Cowslip and Jinny joined the throng, and boy did we do well to finish off this mountain of grub, capped specially by fruit-infested Pimms, Fondue's patented pavlova and gingerbread made by Down and Dirty but not tasting down or dirty. On on for Winscombe next week, who will be preparing for a visit of the Wurzels later in July (I think Bogs demand more preparation, though).
Run 373, July 3th 2013.
The Druids Arms, Stanton Drew.
HARES: Never Enough and Waynetta.
The Hash With No Number. 27th June 2013.
13 Clevedon Ladies Circlers, 3 or 4 Hares and 4 Helpful Hashers.
WHERE: Campbells Landing. Again.
RUN REPORT: After a quick stretch and warm up and an explanation of turn backs, falsies, blobs, check-it outs and everything else in the Hash rule book,the pack set off in heavy drizzle up by Pier Copse.
FRBS quickly emerged as the trail progressed, so Walrus kept throwing in fishhooks to keep them happy and warm. Down and Dirty did a stirling job of marching up the hills and inclines to show how Hash Ladies do it and Briggy spread himself about including helping Circlers check it out up trees (thank you REWIND) and monitoring the back end.
Eager Beaver's masterclass in how to set a turn back well placed check it outs, worked a treat and kept those FRBs in check.
Everyone happily completed the trail, with 6 runners on the final running loop, with Briggy escorting the rest of the walking ladies back to the pub.
ON IN: Campbell's Landing did us all proud, with mountains of chips, quality bangers, sandwiches and chicken in batter! A circle of Ladies and Hashers was formed in the pub and we sang a few lines to the chosen offender. Walrus handed out hash Business Cards to all, perhaps newbies soon? All in all a cracking night made possible by everyone.
Run 372, June 26th 2013.

The Captain's Cabin, Weston-super-Mare.
HARE: Missapp, long ears & all.
WHO: 23 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Delightful come delirious scenery around Kewstoke for this trail, with the numbers out in force thanks to Mr Sun not being too baking. A Father Abraham warmup was performed with the added instrumental of the crashing waves below, even if the distant silhouettes of Brean Down, Sand Bay and the 2 Holms were not our destination. Instead we on-outed at a high tempo along Kewstoke Road – despite NOT being under the influence of alcohol REWIND still managed to acquire a traffic cone-come-hash horn to blare "On On" with aplomb. For this instruction we chose the first of many available eroded paths up into Weston Woods, with the rather high tide still taking a while to lose audibility. The real test of durability actually came from nature – on an early runners' route the forensic scientist in Missapp quickly determined slugs to be the cause of many a partially-erased checkpoint – but nonetheless our great instincts (plus a little bit of trial and error) managed to find a way through the thicket while the walkers teleported in for a regroup. Keep climbing was the itinerary, with many a left and right checkpoint but straight on mostly for choice during the hike. As a reward there came a little bit of tough love – we had reached our favourite adventure playground but found the zip wire to be commandeered by some young landlubbers – still that wasn't going to deprive Rocky Horror of a quick zip, nor Bag Lady of a quick swing. Meanwhile everyone else was enjoying a consolatory sweet stop of strawberry straws and chewy Haribo – a much apt choice for Big Kids' Clearing. Fondue and Backchat missed a marking here and decided they were runners (possibly on account of Mudlark doing all the pulling), thus metamorphosing into a well-distant pair of BRBs praying for a fish hook – these prayers were partly answered, for only a solitary Eager Beaver out of 4 hookers came back from over the horizon. Thanks also to a couple of non-hashers for showing the BRBs the way onward (really, Mr Back Marker?!), and from there the regrouped pack were easy enough to sniff out. At this point Brigadoon had a "slightly senior" moment and forgot how to walk, preferring instead to semi-sprint through the trees and T-junctions to find another regroup. With our breath quickly back we located a mini-Rambo trail through thick nettles and brambles, and nobody in shorts seemed to regret their decision. After all, the controversy of this trail was being held in reserve, for after rounding a couple more bends, scandal struck! At Missapp's specially marked viewpoint overlooking the sunstruck Severn, we happened upon a young canoodling couple! Among many suggestions for the VP symbol there was "change it to VD!", though that would have been unfair as the happy couple were wearing clothes at the time; therefore, Eager's suggestion of "Violation of Privacy" was accepted – Bogs' privacy, of course. Well, we needed bring down to Earth after that, and quite abruptly so as we came to the same stairs from historical run 272, albeit not with a fish hook at the bottom this time. With the pack well split by this point, Brigadoon kept up his runners' pace by circling a pond in Prince Consort Gardens, even without a shoe – meanwhile the other FRBs recognised the Beer Stop symbols in close proximity, and thus merely contented themselves with a return to the fabulous 360º views that we had begun the trail with. A fine picnic hamper to enjoy them with, too – toffee and strawberry ripple Jammie Dodgers went down a treat, as did super-succulent melon and a wide choice of thirst quenchers. Autopilot mode remained for Brigadoon for a quick On In – posing at his own starting blocks to head down to the Captain's Cabin (though not quite a la Usain Bolt). Clearly a trail tailor-made for returning paparazzi Walrus and Happy Hooker, always a joy.
CIRCLE: Simply too nice outside to do this within walls, so we spliced it with the beer stop. Missapp's second haring was also her 50th hash in a year (I can feel my skin turning enviously green), while Eager's explanation of "VP" was deemed the most politically correct in these very sensitive times. Faux pas went the way of Limpet having a nice trip, Call Girl and Duracell for donning headwear in the circle, fish hook evaders Deep Throat, Slasher and REWIND, plus Fondue and Backchat for their rhotacism (i.e. pronouncing Rs like Ws). The warmest toast though went to virgin Jeremy, an acquaintance of Slasher who could hardly have picked a better trail to be introduced to fully-fledged hashing. On On to you, sir.
ON ON ON: Very big and luxury for a Captain's Cabin, and plentiful grub too – DIY chip butties and a mountain of sausages quickly lined our bellies, as did a supplement of pecan cakes and chocolate brownies assembled specially by a Fondue set. Most certainly a pub for us to plot a return course for...
Run 371, June 19th 2013.
Weston Train Station come the Apples Cider Bar, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 20 hashers, 1 hound and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: A hash followed by quarter of a hash back to our vehicles for this sunny and near-solstitial trail, with the hares clearly in the mood for a bit of tomfoolery. First there came a prophecy amid a hoki-coki warmup of high hills for all to conquer (way to set the calmly checked balls rolling), followed by a circumnavigation of Weston Motoring School and a good reason not to shout On On, since it would have confused the adjacent cadets out for a bit of hup-two-three-four. Once back where the hares were mockingly stood, we did indeed reach the visionary high hills, leading a whole 10 metres up and over the railway line with a photo op thrown in for good measure. A pity that paperazzi Walrus and Happy Hooker were absent, but all the same I am sure Brigadoon knows how to press a button just as well. Beckoned did Weston's back alleys, albeit with few tomcats and instead a sombre but salutary amble past the departed Koko's abode, naturally surrounded by checkpoints. A bit of luscious greenery was now clearly in high demand, so step/run forward the well-preserved Ellenborough Park with a few short-cutting runners and a sweet stop by the exit. As we shared out our ever-treasured Haribo we were visited by Chip & Dale, even if it was only brief thanks to a ravenous non-hash hound plus Cowslip playing "fetch" with the BRBs – that then clearly galvanised us out of our gluttony and pointed us in the direction of the slightly set sun. Built for hashing and train walks, was this promenade, though I assume not for the still dormant Tropicana which we regrouped next to before sending the runners out across the sands and under the Sea Life Centre. Clearly out to make light-ish work of the sand, the runners miraculously "beat" those with both feet on the ground to the next regroup, where we had to figure out the hares' ulterior motive for a stroll around the Sea Life Centre perimeter – why, to see the habitat of sea life, of course! For fixing us with a predatory gaze in the distance was Weston's own temporary King Kong and his equally sandy entourage, who are otherwise mostly fenced off from camera, film, and naturally Bogs. That had certainly put us in a sightseeing mood, and so therefore the locked gates at the not-so-new pier seemed a crying shame. Mercifully we were still treated to the sights and shadows of the stationary big wheel, plus a steady walk in the general direction of Kewstoke except we came up about 3 miles short of it. Instead then we doubled back across the road and came to a shuddering halt next to another of the hares' prophecies – a beer pause. Well, since we were next to a fountain and with a hare who has a licence for water pistol possession, foul play was again suspected as Briggy and Ballsport briefly departed. Thankfully, our noses were on hand to discover their intentions, as a mountain of seaside fish 'n' chips 'n' chicken nuggets came into play, plus Briggy's well-judged supplement of Stout Cider in most of the colours of the 'bow. Having tried it and certainly not knocked it, it was time then for an On In even though we didn't wish to miss a minute of this lovely sunshine, for the spanking new Apples Cider Bar lay just ahead, and we felt more or less like the ribbon cutters.
CIRCLE: Assembled upstairs in a room no cigarette has ever been in, sitting crimes were acknowledged on the part of Coppertone, Bag Lady, Skidmark and Swallow, plus Inchworm for his runners' shortcut. Up popped a visiting returnee in the form of Turbo, looking no less of a cheetah than ever. Well, if ever you want a hare to chase...
ON ON ON: Missapp announced the Captain's Cabin just up the road for next week's hash, keeping with our love affair with views of the Severn Estuary. Any more grub from the pub and we may just have struggled to reach the car park from earlier. On On with a huff and a puff.
Run 370, June 12th 2013.
The Golden Lion, Wrington.
HARES: Deep Throat and Nothrax.
WHO: 21 hashers, 1 hound and 3 you-know-who-latecomers.
RUN REPORT: This trail began quite bizarrely with a penguin opposite a lion - that's the warmup song and the pub respectively, and the weather was also spoilt for choice, changing from the day's downpours to bright and still. Once on and up the main road out of Wrington we found a steep uphill to our right leading into pastures old and new. Duracell aptly led the charge up into the trees, just in time for the roar of nearby Boeing 767s to be heard overhead, and many genuine rival wildflowers for our favoured bluebells decided the time was right for a little germination, popping up around the landscape in a manner which would have delighted Claude Monet. Equally wide-ranging in colour, if not taste, was the sweety stop with enough wine gums for one and a half each - us Bogs always find a fair way. Once under the foliage in earnest we headed on into big Corporation Wood, eerily coated in a blanket of mist no doubt owing to us puffing and panting too much. After fal ling this way and that the runners caught up with the walkers in time to see the mist part, pointing quickly downhill to a beer stop in luxury setting - outside the front door of Avery Wines (one for the connoisseurs!). We took in an early sustenance of lemonade, cider and fresh fruit before being given the itinerary with Deep Throat's usual laser precision - down and left for the walkers, down and right with care for the runners. A wise move, since speeds were to remain apart all the way to the pub, which explains the beer stop at 2020 hours. Well, my choice was to have my feet at least partly off the ground, and quite necessary it was too - for without a little elevation, many a walker may just have been pulled under by the soaking grass that beckoned. Plenty of nettles and doc leaves on display too, but nonetheless only superficial damage was present as the runners then took to tarmac. All for a false sense of security, of course, since it was then time for runne rs (including a pink-topped Missapp) to confront first bullocks and then their larger, though female, brethren. Some confusion as to finding the runners' On In, though quickly dispelled by recognising a previous On Out field complete with a wheelbarrow (possibly the storage for all the flour on a well-marked trail). Back once again at a good time of ten past 9, a luxury afforded by circling indoors. The rain even made the decision to restart as play time ended, so it time then for that Golden Lion to swallow us up...
CIRCLE: With grub already being laid out we paid tribute to two Grand Old Dukes of York (Nothrax down-downing her half hesitatingly but still with class) and then listing the crimes. Walrus had prematurely pirouetted into the hedgerow, Walky Talky had used the handle "Dad" on a trail and Fondue saved an allegation of sustenance theft for the pub. A gap as long as an ASS hash for 2nd timer Janet - who first bogged back at the start of 2011 (the clue was that she was a bit bewildered by the "are you a virgin?" joke, which I admit is getting quite old).
ON ON ON: Lots of ham, cheese and egg sandwiches complimented by crisps and the odd easy chair; that was never going to take long for us to demolish - on on for British Summer Time.
Run 369, June 8th 2013 – The Splash 'n' Dash.
Beach Road & Campbell's Landing, Clevedon.
HARES: Walrus and Call Girl.
WHO: 15 hashers, 1 hound and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A very well organised trail at such short notice, taking us along a familiar trail but with the twist of upping the down routes and downing the ups. To begin with after warming up with the weather alone, the runners completed four sides of a pentagon and had the savvy to overtake the walkers before taking the narrow route up to Dial Hill and its exquisite views, made all the more pleasant by basking in the sun rather than the moon as we often do on Clevedon's peak. Mendip Challenge 30-miler Brigadoon decided to save his energy for the dip later on at this point – wise since blisters were bulging and the only way onward was up. No shiggy on the way owing to the high ground, and just as we thought this was going to be a trail without sweets, Walky Talky burst open the remaining jelly babies from Wednesday to enjoy from Clevedon's top marker. Paces then briefly split again as we decided to interrupt a yonder game of cricket, with the runners confusingly completing a home run while the walkers kept just behind the white flag boundaries. Rallying cries from the cricket crowd were mistaken as having been for us; perhaps that's why Coppertone admirably picked up the pace as the FRB at this point and "checked it out" downhill before accepting the inevitable turn round. Dial Hill's residents must be used to our symbols by now, but that clearly had not stopped our latest one being vandalised and therefore treated as a regroup – that turned out to be helpful as the runners then lost their bearings heading down through the trees, only Tumbling Ted keeping on course and the other runners opting to follow the walkers' lead. Next came one of our favourite hills, namely Strawberry, but still with a twist. Quite literally, as we all applied the brakes at a Tree Spot Stop and attempted to identify the species in front of us by its twisty, gnarled roots and branches alone. The quick consensus was Beech, and so on we went reminding ourselves that that stony if not sandy place was our destination. A long split of speeds effectively made for multiple On In symbols, and the walkers would have done very well to match the sights enjoyed by their quicker brethren. First there was a graveyard circumnavigation, and then there were two viewpoints while winding down along the path to Ladye Bay. Testimony to the planning/luck of the hares was the final viewpoint treating us to the sight of the Waverley's timely arrival at the pier, complete with friendly exchanges of waves to conclude the trail. Now time for On On On...
ON ON ON: Make that On to the beach, Off with the garb and In with the water. Characteristically the Waverley disappeared back up the channel with most of us not noticing, though early water birds Brigadoon and Limpet quickly found their way out to the pier anyway. Later on most of us stayed closer to shore, supplemented by Cinderella plus spectators Fast Forward, Down & Dirty and Backchat. The modesty towel was quickly agreed upon as having been mankind's greatest invention, and Campbell's Landing as a pretty decent hash location too – for we had pretty much cleaned out the special offer stock once finished for the day. Here's to a successful hunt for the Golden Lion next week.
Run 368, June 5th 2013.

The White Lion, Silver Street, Nailsea.
HARES: Kerb Krawler and Walky-Talky.
WHO: 26 hashers, 2 latecomers and 2 hounds – a record for 2013!
RUN REPORT: Thank you, my sun! On an evening with the mercury having risen as dramatically as the attendance, "limber up" seemed the more appropriate christening for Deep Throat's usual hoki-coki. On Out with dry roasted hashers on the menu then, negotiating several checkpoints plus our former cover-photo playground we emerged on Pound Lane ready to once again tackle Farmer Giles' territory, though this time stopping short of the non-hash hounds. As we approached the Middle Yeo Drain Walrus had brief premonitions of a Camping at Cadbury like in times gone by, but a sunny sweet stop soon bought us back to reality – back under 400000 volts of pilon, in fact, specially for a supercharged split of speeds. The calmer way onwards for those with at least one foot on the ground had both its rewards and scares – there was first pick from sweet stop 2 with more chewy treats, then there was the sight of the charge of the runner brigade along North Drove Rhyne (Irish Spew and hound Sparky were leaving a trail of dust in their wake), and while this was all happening a boy racer made no small effort to wipe out the idle walkers on the bend. No such rotten luck, so on we went after feeding the runners the scraps – an "On On" after some indiscretion through the cow pats (sorry – bovine shiggy...what am I thinking?) towards a segment tailor-made for big kids. Specially in front of paparazzi Walrus, Irish Spew tried vainly to squeeze through a hole in a bridge that was narrower than my belly – and I'm on a diet. Pride gone but without a fall, the troop then followed through what resembled The Secret Garden and back to civilisation (the proof being that Down and Dirty pulled up and asked imminent runners the direction to the pub; always trustworthy). Hot and hungry work it had been, so for the beer stop we downed our usual drinks plus apple of the plain and pine variety, all while relaxing in the light wind beneath a willow. Such a red letter occasion too and therefore the Circle had to be done right there, right then:
CIRCLE and ON IN: Tumbling Ted and Harenet caught us up having upped their stakes with a couple of extra home runs out near the Rhyne (well worthy of solitary drinks, that), while happy returns went the way of Pushup and the 2 Duracells (what was that about supercharging?). Meanwhile Walky Talky has now reached 25 hares and thus has bought the t-shirt, Happy Hooker has bogged 150 times and Flour Power the rather round number of 200! This nearly made the appearance of our first virgin in a full moon seem middle page news, but that shall never be the case. Therefore a very warm welcome to Bogs virgin Sue, semi-dragged along by Limpet but in no way dragged during the trail. To On In we split speeds once more and Walky Talky trustingly pointed the way on for the walkers, who were indeed spiralling towards the bar by now. An excellently timed touchdown of 5 past 9 for this very inclusive trail – now, could the food top that?
ON ON ON: We headed indoors just in time to avoid the worst of the crepuscular insects, to find Call Girl, Down and Dirty and later Fast Forward ready to help finish off a feast. Salad, sausages, celery and carrot sticks and Y(H)ummus went well with paper plates and lots of sandwiches, all albeit as an hors d'oeuvre for Flour Power's un-birthday cake, as brown as shiggy but tasting a lot nicer.
Run 367, May 29nd 2013.
The Kings Arms, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Cinderella.

Run 366, May 22nd 2013.
The Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARES: Happy Hooker and REWIND.
WHO: 22 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Now that we have bogged more times than the sun sets in a year, it seemed most appropriate to raise the bar again. The evening's sunny festivities began with a hoki-coki occasionally interrupted by through traffic, but clearly all too keen to get up and under way. After taking the graveyard-come-riverbank route onto the Strawberry Line, the runners felt compelled to head the wrong way and thus make dodging the bikers even more of a trifle; nothing like a good viewpoint then next to a pond spliced with a regroup to bolster our symbol nous. After crossing the busy A370 it was time to separate the hashers from, um... the idle. For the visible blobs of white stuff quite clearly marked On On through the lower road nearer the water's edge followed by another trudge up towards a bridge; nonetheless this "proper route" was selected only by a very meagre minority. Justice was however served pre-circle by forcing the enforced FRBs to wait longer at the next regroup, effectively putting them off a little longer from sweet stop number 1 just around the corner – atop another bridge we shared the fruit pastilles as unfairly as we could, especially since preferential treatment for the walkers was the imminent theme. Happy Hooker here did indeed promise a lengthy diversion for the brave running fraternity – of the type that requires full speed ahead, then full astern thanks to a partially vandalised turnback. Those with two feet off the ground managed to catch up with the pack just in time to quell nature's fury – a feisty field's worth of bovines promptly herded us towards the water's edge again (jumping in was our unused contingency plan), but thankfully whisperers DT and Rebore did their voluntary jobs with usual aplomb. After hurdling a couple of gates we came to a spot where dragonfruit had previously been demolished by Bogs – well, sweet stop number 2 was just as healthy, if not quite as glamorous. Grapes, apples, oranges, marshmallows – made everyone wish for a beer stop, it did. Particularly as several of us discovered our inner child while ambling past a slide, all forming an untidy heap at the bottom. Not all hashes are perfect, but it took a lack of horsepower from the runners to scupper Happy Hooker's plans here – for since we mostly kept together while negotiating through sheep and horses, none had gone ahead sufficiently to find a turnback. Cue a rallying "On Back" from the hare then as we headed past Brigadoon's former swimming hole – now dubiously marked as Pee Stop, one only wonders. In fact Happy Hooker even decided to use this as an excuse for a late spot of fishing – first there were 7 angled FRBs (of which a mere 4 were landed) and then a master – the one fish hook to rule them all (sadly it failed and they all wriggled off it). One thing we certainly were going to stop for was a beer stop blended with flapjacks, leftover baklavas and a zip wire. Not even for the sake of a red letter circle since we had already hashed past 9pm, viz:
CIRCLE: Many happy returnees! Coppertone amiably completed the trail using a staff that would make Gandalf jealous, while Bag Lady, Flour Power and Nothrax showed zero signs of rustiness. Walrus and Tumbling Ted though had made the circle up resemble more of an egg cup, thanks to doing their own warmup yonder. Guilty as charged...
ON ON ON: Plenty of splendid sandwiches to scoff and plenty to advertise too – a canoeing weekend on June 28th-30th plus a Strawberry Line bike ride earlier in June were proposed by Rebore, and Bag Lady hereby calls on you Bogs to design a bumper sticker for promoting the Bogs Hash on the road. Dimensions 250mm by 50mm – all entries in by end of June – fab prizes to be won, though possibly not a Rolls Royce.
Run 365, 15 May 2013.

The Nut Tree, Worle, Weston Super Mare.
HARE: Fondue.
WHO: 19 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Head torches were finally laid to rest for a bright and pretty warm evening, made all the more cosy by stretching to the tune of Father Abraham at the off; just as well since Tumbling Ted and Harenet tried splashing us with their automobile as they arrived. To fit her recent holiday theme, Fondue began the trail with a touch of Chinese Checkpoints around the local neighbourhood, made specially hard to spot thanks to being partly laid by her non-hashing companions, but still very clear as to the way on once spotted. Certainly easy enough to spot our first speed split, with REWIND inevitably making use of a swing and the flour popping up like molehills in the lush green grass (if you were a runner, of course). The imminent regroup was mistakenly christened a checkpoint by some, though as a precaution the way onwards and upwards featured a fish hook for 6 – impeccable haring indeed. View points and sweets then featured in abundance on the outskirts of Worlebury Golf Course – a sun swathed Somerset to treat the eyes and a mixture of Liquorice Allsorts and toffees to treat the palate. A good time too to ditch the tarmac and rejoin the soft underfoot and novelty symbols – first there was a turnback spliced with a viewpoint, and then there was a viewpoint in earnest looking out to Sand Bay, which the runners inevitably needed calling back for from their blind alley. We also cracked/tore open a surprise second sweet stop here, comprising fruit pastilles and fake lips (presumably you eat them under the mistletoe?) and of course a trio of photos by Walrus the happy snapper. Now, you all know the expression "don't say you weren't warned?" Well, turn it round for what befell us next – a 1 in 1 slope/drop down, down and still further down towards the former toll road at Kewstoke, thankfully with the occasional tree here and there to use as crash mats – some of us may even have been secretly disappointed at the absence of a turnback or fish hook at the bottom. Nonetheless, many of us must have had an inkling as to how this descent would be rewarded at the imminent beer stop – well, Fondue even managed to up the ante on that one. For not only were we treated to ample helpings of her pristine maple and pecan and sponge cakes, but also there was the healthy option of apple – enough of it to keep the doctor away for 7 days. Once all washed down with some equally welcome drinks we thought we had it easy for the On In – surely it was just a mere hop and skip through the same park as earlier to complete a figure of 8, right? Well, perhaps, were it not for one of mankind's more sinister inventions – the padlock. It was precisely one of these that caused a hasher pileup at the finishing line – most of us could hurdle the waist-high fence or be thrown over, but a team effort was needed to help hound Oscar finish proceedings – a fitting finale for a hash full of dogged determination.
ON ON ON & CIRCLE: We had a little Nut Tree, plenty would it bear! Joined by the pub babysitters Brigadoon and Down & Dirty, veggie friendly nacho cheese and dips were served up along with chicken for the omnivores among us, plus a very chocolatey birthday cake for Eager Beaver! A clue as to his age – the right number of candles would have just about fitted on the cake. Around our feast we also congratulated Fondue for using too much flour and down-downed Fair Weather for refusing the fence on the final furlong, and Cowslip for falling victim to THAT slope, with the mud stains to prove it. To cap a fabulous evening, those interested in footy got a chance to see a dramatic Europa League win for Chelsea on the TV (you know, the "league" that isn't a league), but only Fondue was truly deserving of a medal this fine night. On and ever On (insert smiling emoticon here)...

Run 364, 8 May 2013.
The Burrington Inn, Burrington.
HARES: Eager Beaver (assisted by REWIND)
WHO: 13 hashers.
RUN REPORT (by this week's Scribe, Cinderella): A select group were soon caught up with by Woodcut, back from Germany with two German friends to show them how much fun hashing can be. (However, they decided to stay at the pub instead of hashing so just 50% success with that plan!) A well-laid trail led us to Rowberrow Warren, and then on to the heights of Black Down before descending Back Down to Burrington Coombe, where a cave or two inspired some to consider going even further down down. The Rock of Ages also inspired REWIND to shelter and decompose, following in the footsteps of the Rev Toplady (no that's not a hash name it was the composer of the hymn Rock of Ages).
CIRCLE: A splendid beerstop/circle picnic was laid on al fresco near the pub by Down & Dirty, with a herd of goats looking hungrily down on us from on high. The Grand old Duke of York seemed an appropriate serenade for the Hare tonight, and Walky Talky celebrated 250 hashes.
ON IN: Brigadoon and Ballsport were found patiently waiting for us - sat at the table adjacent to Woodcut's two Freunde, and Walky Talky was presented with a hoody which everyone agreed was a very nice colour that matched her hair band.
Run 363, May 4th 2013.

Roman Road Car Park, Bleadon Hill.
HARE: Brigadoon.
WHO: Brigadoon, Walrus, Call Girl, Eager Beaver, Happy Hooker, Irish Spu, Deep Throat, Swallow and hounds Sparky and Oscar.
RUN REPORT: Owing to two hare cuts and one shower (or two laid up junior setters, for those that don't speak Hash), Brigadoon had commendably set this trail around the ins and outs of Bleadon solo, and just to emphasise the theme of "May the 4th be with you" he had dressed up like the said Star Wars rebel. At the bottom of our first hill we opted to wait for latecomers DT and Swallow, owing to a walkers' trail that was not 100% clear as is Briggy's usual standard, but nonetheless a rendezvous quickly ensued with tearaways Walrus and Irish Spu. The latter simply could not help getting fish hooked, no doubt causing the to and fro Sparky a little confusion, but eventually we all found a way down to rural Christon, complete with several photo-ops. First we found ourselves sandwiched between some Norman architecture plus a dazzling view of Crook Peak (conquered by DT and Swallow the previous week; respect!) and next Brigadoon was thankful that the village pump he posed beneath failed to work, even when given some welly by Call Girl. Thirsty work that, but instead the sustenance that came constituted a sweet stop of toffees and tangies. At this point we were confronted with the alarming truth that we had headed mostly downhill so far, but nonetheless our long haul up one of the South West's longest dead ends was made all the worthwhile by the budding bluebells that surrounded us. Offence had obviously been taken to Brigadoon's artistic merit with flour, since a fish hook for most of us on the way up through the tree shelter had been rubbed out – oh, calamity! Could disorientation have been setting in? Well, quite possibly, were it not for a couple of us recognising that we were on Mendip Challenge territory and thus granted a clear route back to the car park (the biggest clue of all was the promotional flyer tied to a fencepost), and so on we inned without several of our symbols, only too keen to see what culinary delights Briggy had in store.
CIRCLE: A quick tribute to soloist Briggy ("too many hashers!", "not windy enough!" etc) on a crime-free trail. Not making the most of a Saturday, now THERE'S a crime!
ON ON ON: Brigadoon laid on a feast of a picnic as reward for our Saturday loyalty, with salamis, sossies, doritos and even a few healthy options well supplemented by Walrus and Call Girl's home made focaccia. Perhaps most remarkably, the only thing to blow away in the Bleadon gale was Irish Spu's plate. As if we needed a gazebo to enjoy ourselves...
Run362, 1 May 2013.
Backwell Village Club, Backwell.
HARES: REWIND and Happy Hooker.
WHO: About 16 hashers, 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT (written by this week's Scribe, Happy Hooker: Superb May day weather for this dry hash. Morris dancers were absent but the trail was set in morse code SOS for May day. Setting off from the Village Club it was over the A370 and across rock hard dry fields, over the railway line to follow the Avon cycle path. The prospect of cows and bulls with calves in a field had dissolved as they had kindly move to the far end of the field to let the hashers pass. Back under the railway line and to the A370. So close to the start it was tempting to go back to the Village Club but the hashers carried on following the trail across to St.Andrew’s Church. A steep uphill section through woods to the high point of the hash reaching Jubilee Beacon with extensive views and a spectacular sunset. The walkers were taken on a shortcut to avoid further exertion. Back down through the woods with wild garlic and flowers to the beer stop in Uncombe Close, which turned out to be only a stones throw from the end of the hash. Hounds Rufus and Oskar raced each other across the fields and really enjoyed the hash.
CIRCLE: Combined with the beer stop. Walrus was in the circle for being caught peeing on the trail.
ON IN: A sun burnt DT and Swallow came and joined the throng after a days Morris dancing. REWIND had produced with his own fair hand a superb spread of bread, cheeses, egg and pickles.
Run 361, 24 April 2013.
The Golden Lion, Wrington.
Hare: DT.
WHO: About 20 hashers, 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Call Girl: A barmy evening began with the hashers warming up and doing a Father Abrahams close to the public conveniences. A shiggy-free trail led us through the houses and up the hills to glorious views of a distant cloudy Clevedon. Snaps were taken by Walrus, who is after an action shot of hashers in running mode, for advertising purposes. Wood anemone, primroses and solitary bluebells laughed as we puffed past. Walkers and runners splits appeased everyone, whilst a slasher stop combined with sweets relieved all. Climbing hidden tracks through the countryside, hashers sped past a canoodling couple in a coupe, "On on" yelled the FRBs.
CIRCLE: Combined with the beer stop, lots of cider for all. Slasher was named after his outdoor pursuits. DT celebrated 100 hares. And many were welcomed back after weeks away.
ON IN: Down & Dirty came and joined the throng. Platters of sarnies and cherry blossom cake were offered, to send off Limpet and Fondle on a fast plane to China.
Run 360, 17 April 2013.
The Bird In the Hand, Long Ashton.
HARES: Cinders, Kerb Crawler and Walkie Talkie.
WHO: 18 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT (by this week's Scribe, Call Girl): Hashers abandoned their cars around the locale and checked each other and the route out in the light evening. As expected the trail went vertical straight away with walkers and runners splits at several parts for all types of hash speeds and abilities. Plenty of flour left by experienced hares Cinders and co, visible so even the busiest chatter hasher could keep on track. And that takes some doing! A sweety point in the woods with jellied hares to chew, gave all a much needed break. Finding a stand of giant or coastal redwoods, about 162 years old – same as Rebore- Hashers joined arms and gave one specimen a hug. "Arrgh" it said "get off, you tree huggers are nutters".
CIRCLE: Combined with the beer stop to sing to the hares, virgin Chris, hat wearers, short-cutters and to celebrate 25 hashes for Cinders, now proud owner of new shirt.
ON IN: Refurbished pub, very pleasant, food very clever and well presented, Hashers tucked in, snouts in the trough and demolished the lot.
Run 358, April 6th 2013.
The White Hart, Weston-in-Gordano.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 14 hashers and 3 hounds, including 2 virgins!
RUN REPORT: Spring may well have sprung! On a bright if not always warm afternoon a fine Saturday turnout greeted this grandmaster trail, replete with hilly terrain and sustenance stoppages for FRBs and stragglers alike. After hoki-coki-ing in what seemed our own car park, we proceeded on and out across the B3124 towards an imminent split of speeds – the walkers kept to the open fields while the runners braved a barbed wire hurdle on the outskirts of Seven Acre Wood (a pretty accurate name, having had a cursory glance at Google Maps myself). No trousers were left behind and nor were the quickly catching up walkers. Caution was duly taken with a road crossing and disregarded on a heavy ascent through neighbouring West Wood – at this point a combination of exertion and the sun having many gaps to poke through resulted in several hashers shedding layers. A good time then first for a regroup on the up and then for DT to issue a rallying cry to the FRBs, who had missed the sweet stop rubbed out by the philistine that is Joe Public. Rather than exchange body blows, we preferred to pass around yummy fruit pastilles and gums, wrapped in bonbon paper just to add a taste of wonder. If our grandmaster's works of flour art are vulnerable to sabotage, there was one similar creation that most certainly was not – carvings of butterflies dotted here and there around the woods as we fought our way through the many checkpoints and falses that were springing up. Swallow and Down & Dirty even managed to play FRB for a good minute or two; time then for a bit of cutting down to size as we emerged at a familiar rendezvous point looking out towards The Downs. Cutting down the runners, that is – for at this point they went out on a limb with missing flour and chose their own way through the hedge, relying ultimately on the marching procession of the walkers for navigation. High Down Junior School, literally surrounded by lovely views, was then circumnavigated and different walker and runner routes were detected and followed en route to an early beer stop. Good health here too – carrot and celery sticks did their customary antioxidant "explode in the mouth" trick, complimented further by apple slices, grapefruit juice and pear cider. Kids from the neighbourhood had had the audacity to claim the nearby zip wire as their own, so on we begrudgingly trudged with views of a sun-swathed Somerset as the consolation. In a ploughed field around the corner the runners did three sides of a rectangle (as opposed to the near-customary 2 sides of a triangle) but still kept up enough pace to reach an overdue fish hook for 4 first. The main road was then briefly visited again before some more scaling occurred, this time to some old ruins – apparently for sale if you believe signs not made of flour. Viewpoint of the day though had to go to the one encapsulating the quarry just off of Valley Road, so good that a fish hook has been placed for 3 FRBs to get a second look in. By now we had soaked up 2 hours of Saturday sunshine, leaving Rebore so high octane that he missed our picnic circle up on the way back down to the pub. With a feast of Brie, Cheddar, baguette and cucumbers to down-down of wolf down, we also arranged a hillside circle:
CIRCLE: Rebore got the worst punishment of all for the crime of absence – no drink – while Down and Dirty and Fondue had been partners in crime when ignoring a fish hook – a little reminder that obeying those was how I got my handle. Front page news though of our first virgins in a good while – Twice Nightly (Bogs virgin anyway) and Alan who, as is customary, made each other come. Hope you both enjoyed this deceptively long trek (you even did two fish hooks on your debuts; RESPECT!) and look forward to seeing you again. An easy enough tumble down the hillside to the White Hart followed, though naturally DT was still able to tantalise with a couple more checkpoints. Thank you too, my sun!
ON ON ON: No pub grub here but almost double figure temperatures to sit out in the empty garden with and down further drinks. Won't be long now until we're hashing in a heatwave...
Run 356, March 27th 2013,
The Crown Inn, Churchill.
HARES: Tumbling Ted and Harenet.
WHO: 17 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: A delightful woodland trail around the Warrens of Dolebury and beyond, all the more remarkable when you consider it was started with neither the hares nor the GM present. Once the hares had assured us of an imminent rendezvous by phone, though, the pack were soon up and running towards the deceptively quiet A38, crossing quickly and heading promptly down a blind alley to say an hour's farewell to street lighting. After several checkpoints there beckoned a runner/walker split in amongst the foliage - for the runners this meant the daunting task of scaling the heights (and scouts' benches if you were Walrus and REWIND) of a trail marked by a sign with a falling stick man. Scared? Never! Out of control? Always - in fact so much so that the felled tree just prior to meeting up with the ascending walkers made for a very useful crash mat (in this case the sort that you limbo under). Now that we were all back together, the hares decided to show themselves, reminding us too that they had commendably set this trail from a 5:30pm start, owing to the "w" word. In fact, meeting and congratulating the hares early seemed the only reason to regroup, since another speed split came straight after, pre-empted by Walrus's marching. Runners continued their navigation along a very shiggy trail (the trail even pointed around one particular quagmire), and after a 90 degree turn the walkers' head torches were spotted on yonder hill (it probably would have been harder to see them in daylight). This time we suspected an ulterior motive for a bringing together - a delightful one, in fact, comprising a sweety stop with mini eggs and fruit pastilles in abundance. Once well fed, the runners plot a course through the trees and long stretches towards the battlements of Dolebury Warren - so intrigued were they that they had lost any trace of the walkers until their homing beacons appeared on another hill behind us. By this point the pack had a runaway leader in the form of Walrus, who decided to up the ante for himself by pretending that he had seen a turnback. The site for this "sight" was actually at the bottom of a wretched Brechin's staircase, made passable only by runners thanks to flour. Any ungrateful walker may count their lucky stars though not to have followed this route to its conclusion, for while trotting along a seemingly innocuous piece of tarmac the FRBs suddenly splashed into a water trap, courtesy of the burst banks of a nearby stream. The Walrus tried to swim through but resorted to splashing, the Eager Beaver tried to build a dam but resorted to wading, but nonetheless all found a way through with dignity intact. There remained only another hill across the A38 to scale plus a tumble back down for On In, with the FRBs and BRBs separated by a good 10 minutes thanks to a merciful lack of beer stop and fish hooks. As will be seen, though, On On On was well worth working up an appetite for:
CIRCLE: Um...if one of these was performed it was after I had departed for skittles duty, though I would assume down downs went the way of the aforementioned running sitters and the returning Cowslip and Skid Mark, brace enough to face the woods in the dark. A big hand too to the hares, surely, for balancing work and haring. ON ON ON: One my first visit I have to say The Crown is a REAL pub, what with the open fire on a still very chilly March and the cosiness that comes from not having enough room to swing a hasher in the air. Also, of course, the welcoming of outside food in the form of baguettes, salad, chutney and a tasty trio of goats' cheese, Cheddar and Brie. On On for all, for next week we may jut bask in some daylight...
Run 355, March 20th 2013.
The Ring O'Bells, Nailsea.
HARE: Walrus, though Call Girl did a lot of recce-ing.
WHO: 19 hashers, 2 hounds and 3 latecomers.
RUN REPORT: Walrus feared gravely for the markings on this classic shiggy trail, having laid them the night before today's tropical downpours, however the warmup held few such fears as we substituted latecomer DT's hoki-coki for a swift flamenco from the hares. Once up and walking, it was Tithe Barn (533 years young) that pointed the way onwards through several urban checkpoints, some better washed away than others but all still sufficiently showing for latecomers DT, Kerb Crawler and Cinders to catch up before the first runner/walker split. It was here that the walkers plodded along to a regroup above the Ten Feet Rhyne, only to be shocked at the distant sight of ten runners' head torches seemingly moving at walking pace! Insults were rightly exchanged there and then before a hastier pace was then set across the shiggy but bovine-free fields that beckoned. Once we were alongside the Rhyne again with its banks at bursting point, the hares kindly declared sweety stop time and supplied us each with one of our five a day – chocolate foam bananas, to be precise. And what a necessary refuelling it was, too, provided you were a runner that trusted a hare. For now was the time for Walrus to lead a platoon of runners at least a fifteenth of a mile into a turnback – not quite in the class of Brigadoon and the Monks Steps, but worthy of mention all the same. It was no coincidence, then, that we shortly emerged onto the very site of Brigadoon's legendary T24 from run 190, seemingly and reassuringly long gone. Nonetheless we were soon to encounter among the most omnipotent of our hashing foes. First of all, just as we began to feel the comforting flicker of the nearby Blue Flame, a checkpoint took us off of West End Lane and onto a shiggy uphill slant with many a pitfall that FRBs and BRBs alike did well to avoid. Bovine leadings on the way up were the warning, but thundering hooves, unmistakable snorts and dozens of glowing eyes were the very harsh reality! Luckily our number included superhero Rebore, dressed specially in red and out to save our bacon from the beef. Once he had herded cows one way and hashers the other over the safety of a stile, he even had the confidence to engage the leader of the herd in civil conversation (or possibly just a staring contest). All this was done on a public footpath, of course, but imminently it became a public shiggy path replete with the more welcoming noise of the distant Great Western Main Line – even if it was a long way off, it was nonetheless a sign that civilisation lay just around another few corners. In fact it was civilisation plus a beer stop and a circle; read on:
CIRCLE: Firstly for the beer stop there was a plentiful supply of cider, apple juice and red grapes, the convalescent's favourite. Down downs went the way of Tumbling Ted, Rocky Horror and Never Enough for leading the first group of runners astray, plus at least 8 for scaring the cows, who just like spiders are a lot more afraid of you than you are of them. Mention must also be made of archer Flour Power's return to action tonight – talk about being thrown in at the deep end.
ON IN: Once fed and humiliated, there remained enough time for the runners to experience shiggy and shrubbery in abundance, while the walkers chose a more serene warm down to the pub, with the church bells once again striking 9 as we did so. Oh, how do these clockwork hares do it?
ON ON ON: £30 worth of minestrone with white rolls and butter felt more like £80 worth, both for quality and quantity (I kind of helped myself to 4 servings). That still wasn't good enough for Call Girl and Walrus's high standards, though, who again treated us to their chocolate truffles afterwards. Presumably the Easter Bunny is metamorphosing early into a hare this year? Watch this space.
Run 354, March 13th 2013.
Campbell's Landing, Clevedon.
HARES: Happy Hooker & REWIND.
WHO: 21 hashers, 2 hounds, 1 very late and 1 recruit; read on -
RUN REPORT: Once again the Bogs succeeded in scaring off Old Man Winter - for this action-packed trail the temperatures and attendance stayed well above zero. Runners warmed up by running down to the beach and up again, and then it was On Out past the Royal Oak (former venue of choice for tonight, just to rub it in) and then up towards our very own Clevedonian zigzag via the steeper approach on Marine Hill. Down was the direction once again, with a couple of checkpoints added for good measure, prior to us emerging on a dormant Hill Road and quickly sensing the On On in the direction of the absent DT's abode. Rather than force him to be once again a great host, we instead changed course, with yonder park circumnavigated by runners and traversed by walkers prior to a regroup to count the head torches. Dial Hill looked ready and waiting to welcome us warmly once again, but instead we continued towards another of our viewpoint preferences after hacking a way through the eerie grounds of the Community Centre - like run 316 last year we posed above Clevedon's urban cliff for a sweet stop, but unlike that warm, sunny day we found that "Dumping Hashers in this Area no longer Carries a £100 fine". Well, none of us would have needed dumping after this sweet-fest, anyway. Jelly Babies and assorted chewies were every bit as satisfying as the many Chinese takeaways I have had from the Round Window below and opposite us at the time. Down we then went, sending the walkers around Fearnville Estate and the runners straight into....Down & Dirty! Setting off from home to play skittles of course, rather than FRB-ing. The REAL FRBs were actually out to taste fish hook, all 6 of them, in fact, and next up a mid-road checkpoint sent us along the hasher-friendly riverbank, what with all its fresh gravel. Even this was not enough to prevent confusion among yet more illusionist front runners, promptly called back by Happy Hooker from a bridge crossing to instead set foot across Strode Field without floodlights. "On On" was regularly shouted, though we may well have mistaken flour blobs for penalty spots from junior football. We were all pretty confident, though, that the letters "BS" do not feature on the layout of a football pitch, and so instead we braced ourselves for what felt like a deceptively early beer stop. Fair Weather and her Oscar-winning hound duly stepped out from their cosy abode and rolled out everything but the red carpet for us, including cider, apple juice, pineapple, oranges and flapjacks. At this point we welcomed/kidnapped Fair Weather for the rest of the trail on to Campbell's Landing, since the weather was indeed still fair. Walrus also completed a rare (for him) game of catchup at this point, deeming it necessary to follow up our trek around Clevedon Pill with a quick cliffhanger sprint to the top of Poet's Walk, with the walkers meeting up halfway. After this regroup it was time for a game for a game of sardines/battery hens as we all huddled into the not-so-new watchtower on the descent to the sea front. One Happy Hooker Hare photo later and we were onto a very long home straight with still plenty to talk about - all but 3 chose to short cut around the man-made stump at the bottom (thus saving themselves 5 seconds apiece) and then REWIND found that he has as much power over the ocean as King Canute. It had duly swept in and made his sub-trail along the side of the marine lake unusable, and so that way was marked "MN" for Maybe Not and we all had to suffer the ignominy of following a trail marked as false. To top a night of fantasy and stories to behold, the On In along the promenade was lit up by a Cheshire Cat grin from the moon. To quote the feisty feline - "some go this way, some go that way..."
CIRCLE: Once again indoors (and why not when visiting a pub that always provides us with top-notch nosh?), the short-cutting at the bottom of Poet's Walk was deemed too numerous, and therefore NOT short-cutting was lauded as a crime instead, with Cinderella, Rocky Horror and Eager Beaver the practitioners. Walrus also received a late-latecomers' down down, but Brigadoon once again soaked up the plaudits, reaching 50 hares last week as ever-reliably informed by Walky Talky.
ON ON ON: Swallow (possibly having heard our chanting earlier) and Down & Dirty chipped in for the very same plus sausages, chicken wings and salad. Just a reminder- next week's location in Nailsea rings a bell...
Run 353, 10th March 2013 - "Get Lost".

Briggy's bar, Brigadoon's Garden, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Skid Mark.
WHO: 7 hounds & 2 dogs.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Walky Talky: It started off with Briggy worrying that it would only be Miss-app and Cowslip following the trail, but slowly a few more hashers showed their faces including Hannah (who was not put off by Wednesday's hash). Not too long after we set off Briggy realised that he left the sweets at home and he sent his co-hare to get them, she managed to catch us up at the first re-group. We then went up through the cemetery and had our first sweety stop at the top entrance, which seemed to cause some commotion with the cars, so we carried on up towards the woods before we could be blamed for anything. After a bit of time in the woods (following red dots on the trees) we came across our second sweety stop, but Briggy looked a bit worried as there was no sign of the runners and they should have been waiting for us. Just as Briggy was about to call them, they appeared and Miss-app blamed Rocky for "getting them lost". We then continued in the woods and came across a stone version of Rocky (see photo), as we were admiring it Rocky and Miss-app came running down to meet us and stop and look. We left the woods and went towards 'El Dorado' as the locals call it according to Fondue (see photo). The trail was just meant to be a bit of step aerobics; going up, round and down again, but something went amiss and after Walky Talky, Miss-app and Rocky came back down there was no-one following. After a short wait Skid Mark went up to look for Fondue, Limpet, Cowslip and Hannah, and came down a different way saying there was no sign, then after failed phone calls Briggy, Miss-app and Skid Mark went round various routes a few times, each time coming back to Rocky and Walky Talky saying they saw no-one but each other. We came to the conclusion that either aliens abducted them or they "lost the trail" and were making their own way back under Cowslips guidance, the latter was correct and we all eventually managed to get back safely to Briggy's. Where we to gathered at Briggy's bar and were then presented with the finger food that Ginny had cooked while we were out.
For those of you that missed out, Briggy's bar is in a marquee (that looks very much like the Ass Hash marquee) with a picnic bench, comfy chairs and a bar made from an old canoe. There are also lots of light hanging up and on the bar and behind the bar are beer mats, an array of glasses and even a fridge.
Run 352, 6th March 2013.
The Bristol House, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: The tried and trusted Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 15 hashers (including 2 virgins), 3 hounds and 1 latecomer.
RUN REPORT: Respectable enough numbers for a town sporadically boycotted by Bogs, no doubt helped by it being a little warmer than of late. After a quick warmup the FRBs foolishly thought we were going to bypass Ashcombe Park for the On Out - instead a turnback proved otherwise and within the black gates we negotiated blobs on trees plus a brief 1 in 1 ascent, prior to making sure all were alive and kicking back on the main road. We grew weary of waiting for latecomer Walky Talky to miraculously appear, so instead we engaged full throttle for the ascent into Ashcombe Wood we had all come to expect and respect. Not that our experience made it hazard-free, of course. There were several tricky turns and shiggies to hurdle, plus a protruding branch that could have had somebody's head torch out! Comic relief at the peak came from Fondue, who regaled us of when a sweet shop stood close by and distributed goodies in triangular bags. Well, we were near our own sweet sh-top, and a warning triangle would have been pretty apt too. The first omen came when we innocently gorged on Starbursts and other suckers, right above the intimidating Monks Steps from run 286; second nobody seemed to notice that Briggy was not moving as fast down the ravine as we were, and finally there was the writing on the wall...er...ground. A turnback at the very bottom on Monk's Hill, to be precise. Thankfully, Irish Spew with his long life batteries had built up a slight lead at the head of the pack and so we did not all need to reach the bottom and turn round, but nonetheless we all headed back to the top smelling the blood of a hare or two. Briggy did his best to avoid detection by splitting the walkers and runners, but the latter remained hot on his trail. For what could they forgive? Well, how about a descent down a cliffside path apparently campaigned for re-opening by his goodly self? The very thing, along with an order-restoring regroup by Worlebury Gol f Club. A smattering of runners even felt charmed enough to take on another cliff-hanger shortly afterwards while the walkers trudged thrice through the same shiggy (that's what you get for missing a regroup!). As they posed around the encircled R, they thought they heard King Kong rampaging through the trees to their right, but actually it was merely the fast `uns pulling a fast `un. For their detour through the trees and cliffs had been a pretty scary one, judging by the whites of their faces. Many of us felt like alcohol after that, even more so after kissing a few gates and continuing past the nearby Windsor Castle, and it duly appeared back down on Milton Road - as usual cider was in plenty supply as was freshly squeezed orange juice (I think that made it 5 and a half a day for me then). An indoor circle beckoned too as the Bristol House was frantically calling our name - it had gone 9.
CIRCLE: Warm welcomes to virgins Hannah from Devon and Fanny Crack Doc (okay, so the latter was merely a Bogs virgin!), both of whom made each other come. Fanny Crack Doc also learned that virgins can commit the crime of standing on checkpoints, particularly when jointly encouraged by Eager Beaver who really should know better. Backchat, Briggy and Bag Lady had also sat down to admire the view of the channel, thirsty work that it was. Not thirsty enough for Brigadoon to down down his entire pint - instead he commendably got about two thirds of the way. Maybe he was saving room for something special...
ON ON ON: Well, we have had feasts from here before, but this REALLY was special! Pasta made a very encouraging On On On debut, along with ample sandwiches, sausages, pork pies, scotch eggs and chips, plus bowl after bowl of sauces that made me think I was at yet another Hungry Horse. Coppertone had kept the pub warm, deserted and freshly decorated for us (okay, maybe not that last one) and Brigadoon rallied the troops for his latest Saturday bring `n' share extravaganza. Bogs, I dare you to beat tonight's culinary classic.
Run 351, 27th February 2013.
The Market Inn, Yatton.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 20 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Huddled outside the Market Inn we made it look just as busy as its name, but after Missapp nearly had a parking mishap we sensibly heeded DT's advice and crossed the road to limber up with Father Abraham. Straightaway the speeds split up - runners heading towards Kenn Moor and the Hand Stadium but abruptly branching off to rejoin the walkers thanks to a T4. Quickly we strolled past a deserted Yatton RFC against traffic but thankfully with a pavement, running headlong into another turnback in the process (clearly our grandmaster hare was out to revive them). Us bogs could never tire of those suburban checkpoint mazes, and another beckoned right now - after several twists, turns and ticked off drivers we emerged opposite a warehouse not of the Carphone sort - instead it preceded a fish hook for 4 and a hastening along a tunnel of trees. The branches reached out for our mere flesh and blood like barbed talons, failing only thanks to our heightened sense of d anger that comes from scaling the heights of North Somerset . Surely a reward beckoned for safely negotiating the triffids' lair? Yes, indeed - a sweet stop with wine gums, rhubarb n' custards and even yoghurt-coated raisins for those whom hashing alone is not healthy enough. The well trodden path we were occupying then somehow turned into a road, then a neighbourhood, and then reassuringly into a T5 at the brow of a hill just in case anybody felt like being an FRB. Back amongst the street lights, we heard the same noise of rumbling tracks that we had on-outed with - for here beckoned the railway bridge which is pretty hard to avoid when setting a hash in Yatton. We did, however, forsake our much loved Strawberry Line just over the bridge for this trail, preferring instead another catacomb of suburban streets (Grace Lane in particular was negotiated with anything but grace). Mudlark must have found it a little boring for a four-legged hasher, though, since she upped the ante by playing "Trip Up" with the back runners, incidentally while the hare was busy fishing for 5 FRBs. After reaching St Mary's Church we bickered briefly about which way the hare had bolted, only to find DT to our right having not bolted at all - on and across the High Street it was then, with our beer stop sensors now beginning to turn on in abundance. It duly appeared and had a lovely fruity feel, packed with oranges, apples, pears, cider and the ever-welcome mulled wine (yes, even on Midsummer's Day it would go down a treat). Good old DT - we even found the time to do the circle here prior to an On In with a fish hook, viz:
CIRCLE: Down downs prior to On In were whispered rather than sung due to the close proximity of residents - Backchat, Rebore and Limpet clearly decided this trail had been too free of crimes and thus started giggling and talking in the circle, for shame. That wasn't quite it for their free drinks either, for now was the time to toast 151 runs for Limpet and Rebore, pointing an accusing finger at statistician Walky Talky for neglecting to mention their rounder number. Had those two stooped any lower, they'd have been doing the limbo.
ON ON ON: A superb variety of sandwiches from the cosy Yatton Inn - tuna, egg and sausage in abundance plus plenty of chips - they were so easy to Swallow that the namesake hasher turned up too, in time for a surprise extra late of chips later. Must remember to cash those in, for next week is another culinary king of ours - the Bristol House in Weston. On On!
Run 350, 20th February 2013.
The Phoenix, Portishead.
HARE: Inch Worm and Back Chat.
WHO: 20 or so hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT by this week's Scribe, Call Girl: Classic hash set by old timers Inch worm and Back chat, who'd braved the cold the night before, swept up all traces of shiggy and left chalk marks and the odd bit of flour. Cinders and Kerb Crawler caught up at Battery Point, but most of the town, beach, lake grounds (where a skate park would look good) woods and new part were traversed. Walkers were spoilt for short cuts, to enable them to enjoy their preferred length. Runners could choose something longer, escorted by the maestro, Inch worm; all got back bang on time for 9pm.
CIRCLE: "Long-Time-No-See"ers were down-downed; Flour Power, who'd missed the last bus back from New Zealand and has only just surfaced, Scratchings and Don, busy with other projects.
ON IN: Fabulous food, provided by the hares; goat's cheese, bread, chutney, cucumber, tomato, demolished in minutes. No pudding though.
Run 349, 13th February 2013.
The George, Farleigh Backwell.
HARE: Duracell, out on parole.
WHO: 21 hashers plus 1 hound.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Call Girl: In a cool 20mph breeze, hashers set off, FRBs getting lost immediately. Shouting against the howling wind and traffic they managed to find their way to the start and followed the walkers up Backwell Hill. Plenty of shiggy even at high altitudes, Irish Spu as ever out in front, across fields up to the sweety stop where hashers ate love hearts by the packet, on theme for the following day's love fest. Brigadoon was heard offering Harenet 3 dates for the price of 2, but she was having none of it. Descending at top speed, hashers could soon see the on-in but it was not to be, as the hare had sneaked in an extra-long loop round the houses and back via the railway. Whoopee! Dipping into the Backwell Pool car park for a beer stop, hashers freshened up with luscious fruit and cider. The On In now in sight, Brigadoon was seen bolting for the pub.
CIRCLE: Returnees - Never Enough with new eyes and Skidmark and Cowslip out on day release, were welcomed back with a down down.
ON IN: Great food at the George, generous platters of sandwiches and thin chips, lots of red sauce. All in all a great hash, for those who like that sort of thing.
Run 348, 6th February 2013.
The Ship Inn, Uphill.
HARE: Miss App.
WHO: 14 hashers, 1 hound and 3 rather-latecomers.
RUN REPORT: For a mostly Uphill trail a hoki-coki warmup was certainly called for, performed rather out of sync by hashers wrapped up against the elements that weren't quite white. After continuing the warmup with an amble away from the pub, the stakes were quickly raised as the runners were sent off on a long loop past Weston General Hospital (thankfully none of us needed to visit it in earnest) and up, up, up along the A370 in the direction of the walkers with a point to prove. Continuing in the direction of Bleadon we oh so dramatically branched off along a toll road (still free if you were using 2 or 4 feet) just in time for a regroup, now that we were in amongst the final throes of the West Mendip Way . Missapp, out to raise the bar on her debut as a hare, warned us here of plenty of shiggy and plenty less markings as we bravely prepared to plod onwards. Inspiration enough for Brigadoon to turn Knight in Shining Armour and haul Ballsport over one of the cesspits that followed - shortly after though there beheld a mound of shiggy hay that you'd need an elephant to get over, so instead that was skirted as the sheep to our right bleated encouragement. After taking a little less than eternity to reach a T junction regroup, the BRBs were wary enough to spot three head torches in the distance and made a fair enough assumption as to their owners; therefore time was prioritised as we headed uphill onto Walborough Greenery (very apt name even in the dark). Sure enough, Kerb Crawler, Cinders and Walky Talky caught us up just in time for an even bigger ascent up towards Uphill Church - this time our British Gas watchtower from run 285 was shut up shop, so instead we gorged on the sweet stop treats of Surfs Up and fizzy Haribo on the hilltop. We then tumbled down from whence we came and sent the runners off around the nature reserve on the approach to the marina. Mudlark here had the ingenious idea of wading her paws through a puddle to mark th e way for back runners Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty; otherwise it may have just been an emergency retirement to the yonder pub for those unfortunate souls. Indeed the way on through near-marshland was well marked and took us onto Uphill Sands for a while, admiring the constellations with little or no consternation. After Cinderella had rescued the BRBs the beer stop then beckoned - therein we refuelled with Cider, fruit juice, muffins and sharon fruit (I'd never even heard of the latter, shame on me!) before taking to a suburban On In. Perhaps inappropriately, a trail devoid of mishaps.
CIRCLE: Remembrance of things past - DT and Walrus down downed for their Pembrokeshire hare exertions, plus a cake indoors to symbolise happy returns for Rebore last week and Walky Talky imminently. As everyone lambasted about the trail - "Too Much Uphill!"
ON ON ON: In our usual corner of the Ship Inn's cargo hold, ham cheese and tuna sandwiches were served up in abundance, along with plenty of chips plus outside fortune cookies to see in the REAL new year on Sunday. A quick return next week beckons for George II at Backwell.
Run 347a, Saturday 2nd Feb 2013.
The Plough and Harrow, Hammersmith finishing up at Earls Court.
RUN REPORT: Trail conditions were a little crowded having to jostle with approximately 9,000,000 other people. Participants had to catch the No 190 red double decker bus to get back and a good day was had by all. It is rumoured that simultaneously Run 347b took place in South Wales and Bogs Run 347c in Tkn-th-Pss, Tawain and we are waiting to hear if Markus hared another Bogs Run (347d?) in Xanten, a charming German town with lots of hashing potential, only 792 km down the M4.
Run 347b, 2nd February 2013.
Youth Hostel, Whitesands, St David's, Pembrokeshire.
HARES: Walrus and Deep Throat.
WHO: 18 hashers well worth the mention - Deep Throat, Swallow, Walrus, Call Girl, Inchworm, Backchat, Fondue, Dungeon Dragons, Eager Beaver, Down Dirty, Walky Talky, Brigadoon, Ballsport, Up Yours, Rebore, Limpet, Missapp and Rocky Horror, and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: For the second year running the Bogs paid a rousing visit to the Western Welsh coast, boasting more than double the numbers as would undoubtedly have been the wish of last year's co-organiser Smacker. On our first night we warmed up for a scaling of a mini-mountain by devouring a mountain of bring n' share grub and booze, though none seemed too worse for wear as we lined up with a fake warmup the following morning (Walrus having risen even earlier to lay his portion of the trail). Indeed Pembrokeshire's finest sunrise greeted us as we on-upped through some semi-shiggy towards a rock very Gibraltan in appearance.
The fellowship quickly broke in half at the first fork, with no particular warning of a lonely time to come if you were a runner - first there was Inchworm quickly disappearing into the distance, then there was Missapp shortcutting several times so as to take in the wondrous sights, and then there was a co-hare who pretended not to know where he was going. It took trial by shiggy, gorse bush and a little flour to see the runners back on the trail of the walkers, whose slightly more sedate route onward was marked by the on ly other building in sight - Upper Porth Mawr Farm.
After gallivanting through the car park at Whitesands we were now sure to be on Deep Throat's portion of the trail (he appeared along with Swallow just to confirm it), and inevitably it kept with the scenic theme of a semi-cliffhanger footpath to the tune of the crashing waves below. With Down Dirty and Eager bringing up the rear by quite some margin a regroup seemed the sensible option, even if it provoked Rebore into sitting down and some neighbouring buffalo to give us the evil eye.
The first in a pattern of fish hooks then appeared for what was meant to be a threesome - Missapp and Rocky Horror obeyed it while Inchworm sat and waited, while the former quickly spotted the pattern when another one for 2 appeared just round a couple more corners. It was all worth it, to see Brigadoon quite honourably take point for the next fish hook for 1 - he huffed and puffed to the back of the pack and back like a good `un.
What a revelation then awaited us! The viewpoint consisting of a decomposing sheep may have been what persuaded half or so of the pack to take in their own coastal trail, one which nonetheless greeted the new FRBs later on, but for now the regular trail took us upstream/hill into another fish hook for 6 and some well-earned easygoing gravel underfoot. Even more well earned was the sweet stop on the horizon, with the survivors taking more than their share of Cadbury Celebrations. They also resisted the urge to hotwire a conveniently placed quadbike, preferring to trust their experienced limbs for the by-now wearying saunter around another relative of Ayers Rock. Down and Dirty thought for one miraculous moment that she was going to do a fish hook, then she woke up and promptly did the next one, with Rocky Horror standing all of 5 yards back down the trail just to rub it in.
Reward was plentiful - specially constructed sausage and bacon baguettes using th e remnants of our hearty breakfast. Food for thought, too - after flowing with a stream past Clegyr Boia Farmhouse, the leading pack were treated to Brigadoon's King Louie-like party piece. This particular rope swing was a sturdy sort, looking none the worse for wear after Brigadoon, Rocky Horror and Walky Talky had all tested it out to the limits of their enthusiasm. And nor did we appear overly shiggied despite continuing the trail up into St David's via the day's muddiest patch.
A little but not a lot of shoe bashing took place as we approached the pub stops for lunch - at first I wondered why the Farmers Arms had a picture depicting a goat and a scythe, but it turned out that we were on Goat Street so no need to be sheepish.
After sampling a taste of the Six Nations (but sadly no Glitter Berry J2O), the pub crawl continued to the neighbouring pub The Bishops - given my short stay I can only vouch for the excellent quality of their service, atmosphere and the taste of their chocolate orange muffins. Assurances came my way later on that the other half of the pack did appear later on, but for now Deep Throat described the way back to the hostel with his usual laser precision. Not fast enough though for me to make it back first - that honour fell to the evening's chef Brigadoon who, thanks to petrol, overtook me just before the finishing line. You win some, HE loses none...
CIRCLE: None that I was aware of; all that downing and downing for sitting and skiving will have to wait for Missapp's eagerly awaited virgin hare experience.
ON ON ON: Worn and a little weary as we arrived back in our droves, Brigadoon inevitably served us up a real treat. "What did the chicken say to the sheep's stomach?" "If you stuff yourself inside me, then I'm game!"
All the more so for our feast in what looked like t he hostel's common room (Down and Dirty's premonitions about a rogue rodent from the previous night came not to be, perhaps Brigadoon's cooking was too exemplary for vermin's taste).
Afterwards came a repeat of last year's pending birthday celebrations for Rebore - if the number of cake candles was to be believed then he has now reached the grand age of 25 - he certainly hashes to about that standard.
Oh, and our sweet tooth wasn't done yet either - there was also apple crumble and custard as a prelude to more board games and Rocky Horror's anything-but-horrific guitar melodies.
A rain check was to be taken on doing a second run in the morning - read on from scribe number 2...
The Welsh Wales Walk, Sunday 3rd February 2013.
Youth Hostel, Whitesands, St David's, Pembrokeshire.
WHO: Everyone, then less.
WALK REPORT written by Callgirl: Sunday morning arrived at the usual time and hashers woke up, groaned, rolled out of their bunks or someone else’s and started circling the kitchen, hunting down the kettle and sitting about in their happies.
After several porridge refusniks had been allowed safe passage, Fondle slopped in in her slippers and fried the eggs to complete the full English breakfast prepped by DD and Walrus. Plenty of pig piled high on plates cooked to perfection for the carnivorous crowd, but Eager detected missing beans and demanded a recount.
Brig, Ball Sport, Eager and Down and Dirty, packed up and shipped out early, due back in England for other appointments, whilst the rest of the gang, shuffled about and donned boots and coats. Unfortunately, satellite problems with the B&B cottage down the road prevented comms with DT and Swallow. Parties set off, one round the headland and back to the promontory and one to the beach and straight onto the hump. Walkie Talkie adding serious glam with her hi vis trousers. Back Chat, still frail and in need of TLC, Rebore, Limpet, Fondle, Up Yours, Inch Worm and Walkie Talkie peeled off back to the Hostel and set off for the Motherland. Walrus, DD, Call-girl, Miss-App and Rocky set off once more on their unquenchable quest for further shiggy, finally completing a 7 mile walk in the dry and mild February air. DD’s dogs played Maypole with everyone’s legs, Miss-App and Walrus fondly contemplated their previous day’s marathon hash and Rocky excitedly contemplated his forthcoming Hashing CD, with covers of:
  • I’m Hashing in the Rain
  • Let’s go to the Hash, and the weird and wonderful possibility of collaborating with a Nolan or two on
  • I’m in the Mood for Hashing
By nightfall hashers were back on English soil, safely tucked up with dry socks. Roll on Wednesday when we can get covered in shiggy all over again on Miss App’s inaugural haring.
Run 346, 30th January 2013.
The Miners Rest, Long Ashton.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 13 hashers, and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Cinders: A select group set off from the Miners Rest, on a mud laden hash that Bag Lady thought should be named after that popular novel, "50 Shades of Shiggy" (although in the dark they all looked grey to me!) As the book and tonight's hash also both included an element of masochism, this seemed an appropriate choice.
Despite the frequent cries of "watch out its sliiiiippery" every few yards, everyone proved that we are not unbalanced individuals, with no-one taking a closer look at the 50 shades.
Hash virgin Sally joined us for this route through the woods, fields and shiggy of Long Ashton, while Brigadoon decided to stay behind to look after the pub - so that Dungeon Dragon and Down Dirty would have someone to talk to when they turned up.
CIRCLE: The circle welcomed Sally, berated DT's choice of terrain, and Fondue tried to argue that she hadn't got her shoes muddy (but only because she was wearing wellies).
ON IN: warming real fires, plates of sandwiches, chips, sausages and pizza soon made us forget the trials of the previous 90 minutes.
Run 345, 23rd January 2013.
The Failand Inn, Failand.
HARES: Walrus and Call Girl.
WHO: 16 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: In the aftermath of a whimsical whitewash of Britain's countryside, 16 brave bogs nonetheless put on a stoic performance against the formidable elements. DT warmed (or at least limbered) us up with the penguin song and a mini snowball fight in the car park, before the hares assured us of markings in sawdust rather than the stuff used to make cakes. We were literally thrown in at the deep end – after treading cautiously up the main road (with traffic, to boot) we headed left and into the fields approaching Tyntesfield, and they had clearly not yet been discovered by the sledgers so prominent on Points West this week. Initially the trail was much easier to see for all the snow, however sharp eyes were needed to spot a walkers' arrow lurking beneath the trees. Duly spotted by the diligent Call Girl while the runners wandered around in a loop, Mudlark was sensed at this point to be having more than a few teething troubles – she appeared to have grown another leg made out of snow! Head ruled heart for once, and so in an echo of Mudlark's debut on run 207 the Snowdog and the Snowwomen (Fondue and the ever reliable Limpet) retired to the pub. Just in time to miss out on a sweet stop under more tree cover too – unlike the near traditional Haribo which gets wolfed down before one can even chew, here the goodies were rhubarb & custard sucky sweets whose flavours lingered through the woodland that beckoned. The talk of snow angels here turned Rebore into a snow devil armed with said balls, but all his ammo was quickly used up by the time a fish hook for 6 appeared. After a brisk canter up through slushy rather than snowy terrain, we emerged onto Horse Race Lane and cantered along it for about half a furlong - the finishing post resembled an arrow to the right drawn in snow by the FRBs. Back onto the great white barrier field it was then, and steadily uphill to some more shiggy as a couple of horses showed off their much more wintry-accustomed hides to us. A tad more shiggy later and we were wandering through the fields of Failand Lodge Farm and emerging tantalisingly close to the pub – too close ultimately for Brigadoon, Ballsport, Happy Hooker and Rebore to resist. Bizarrely, the remainder of us crossed some white fields and onto Green Lane (colour mix up!) but nonetheless our navigational nous did not suffer. Walky Talky's was the last early-ish retirement and the On In took us around the housing estate of Failand, miraculously missing all of the dead ends and none of the surviving snowmen. To those who stayed the distance 9pm was the finishing time so congratulations to the hares; weather conditions were well suited to a Walrus, after all.
CIRCLE: Indoors seemed a sensible enough circle destination for this hash that was all-white, I suppose. Fondue drank to Mudlark's early retirement but still had the courtesy to tip the last drops on her head, while plaudits also must go to Sparky the hound that completed the whole trail. While perhaps not as experienced a bog as Mudlark, he did have the advantage on being a foot further off the snowy ground.
ON ON ON: Dungeon Dragons joined us for a well earned spread of baguettes, butter and chips, plus some scrumptious chocolate truffles from the hares. Tonight had very much been a case of Failand-Hare-Well.
Run 344, 16th January 2013.
The Walnut Tree, Weston Super Mare.
HARE: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
WHO: 18 hashers possibly and 1 hash hound.
RUN REPORT: by this week's Scribe, Csll Girl: The final part of Eager Beaver’s epic trilogy began in a deserted car park at the west end of Weston S Mare. Many perils lay ahead for the valiant hashers. Harenet protected her coiffure with a rare white fox, others buttoned up for a zero degree hash. As always, a well-laid trail with plenty of flour, led hashers out through the estate along the fields, only soft shiggy slowing them down. Runners arrived at the base of a vertical cliff and huffed and puffed to the top, Limpet arrived red faced only seconds later. Onward and upwards the trail coursed golf ranges and fields with death trap burrows ready to swallow smaller hashers. Mishap complained of a cold bum, Rebore complained that no one did the fishhook properly, what’s new? A final runners and walkers split with a regroup at the beer stop, where we sang to the hares. Down downs over, it was down all the way to the on in.
ON IN: Another pub where Down &l Dirty knew the publican personally, which happily resulted in stunning wedges, sausages galore and several platters of succulent sandwiches. Best wishes were sent to Ballsport, missing in action, poorly, sick and too ill to eat pudding. A quick mismanagement meeting decided something:
Notes on Mismanagement Meeting held at The Walnut Tree, Weston-super-Mare on 16th January 2013.
Present: GM and a fair splattering (sic.-Ed) of other hashers.

1.1 Dungeon Dragons is the focal point for this.
1.2 Wolfie has suggested that it may be possible to link this list to the website.
1.3 People will be asked to opt out of being on the list if they so wish.
1.4 Woodcut seems to have been inadvertently dropped off the current distribution list – this was not intentional and he will be reinstated immediately. ACTION: WALRUS
1.5 Walrus, as Hare Raiser, has been compiling a list and said he will liaise with DD to see what progress can be made and will aim to report back in about 3 weeks. ACTION: WALRUS & DD
2.1 Suggestions for possible haberdashery are: car stickers, sew-on badges (suitable to be sewn onto own clothing items), pin-on badges (because Down & Dirty can’t be bothered to sew hers on), peaked hats (so that Call Girl can stay cool in this hot weather we’ve been having). Bag Lady will get prices for these and report back in about 3 weeks. ACTION: BAG LADY
2.2 Monsoon in Clevedon has the BOGS Hash logo which can be embroidered (not printed) onto any item of your own clothing.
2.3 Brigadoon will check with his supplier to see if he can still get the Ass Hash logo printed onto hoodies and, if so, at what cost. He will aim to report back in about 3 weeks. ACTION: BRIGADOON
3.1 In the past BOGS has hired out the Portishead open air pool to use after a hash. Discussions ensued as to where a similar event could be held again. Suggestions included Portishead open air pool, Clevedon Marine Lake.
3.2 A suitable date for this was considered to be towards the end of summer.
3.3 The Hare Raisers will try and plan for this in the Run List. ACTION: WALRUS & BRIGADOON
4.1 Call Girl wanted to know if a ski-ing hash in Austria could be arranged. While lots of hashers were interested in the idea, no-one came forward with any suggestions as to how this could be achieved.
4.2 Cinderella mentioned that Snowy from Fontainebleau (south of Paris) will be living there until April and has extended a welcome to other hashers to visit. Cinderella will contact him regarding a visit and let us know what he finds out. ACTION: CINDERELLA
5.1 This was proposed at the AGPU by Dungeon Dragon to be run during the summer months. The Hare Raisers will liaise with DD to fix a date for this event. ACTION: WALRUS & BRIGADOON
6.1 The 400th BOGS Hash will probably fall around November time. The Committee will consider how this event will be marked at a meeting later in the year.
7.1 Word has reached the royal ears that Tumbling Ted and Ballsport are both suffering from poorlyitus. We send our best wishes for a quick recovery.
8.1 Could hares please let the Hare raisers know the location of their hash as soon as they possibly can?
9.1 Rocky Horror asked about setting a hash near the Aztec West roundabout as he’d found a great pub – there was a generally positive response to this.

Run 343, 9th January 2013.
The George, Backwell.
HARE: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
WHO: 22 hashers or thereabouts and 3 hash hounds.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Call Girl: Protected by woolly hats and gloves against the frosty night ahead, hashers reluctantly warmed their puny limbs up and sped out past the angry mob on four wheels angrily cursing the red lights. Down & Dirty gleefully returned to guard the pub until we’d been there and back again. Into the nearest field with only the lonely hill of Tickenham in the distance, hashers tip toed around the stumpy brassicas, sticking or sinking into the shiggy, until finding a dry path to use as a guide across the void. Within a few checkpoints, the hash were on the new Nailsea Bike Path, where REWIND our top botanist this week, spotted some early flowering daffodils by the roadside; now probably artfully arranged in one of Fast Forward’s crystal vases . Fast flowing water raced along- side the trail and trains screamed through the night as we looped the bottom end of Nailsea and cruised past Backwell Lake. Down and Dirty re- appeared as if by magic bearing gifts of cakes from Greece and Melon from Melonland Mishap turning blue from cold and not the proximity of Orcs, set the hash off again towards to the on in, muttering something about the need for amaretto tainted liquid.
CIRCLE: No circle, late back, so straight in for sustenance.
ON INN: Lovely, generous platters of sandwiches and lashing of crisps. Hashers gorged till full and then some. Briggs wants a couple more peeps, preferably males to fill his slot for the February St David’s weekend. Please contact him, it'll cost a mere £30 and include most things.
Run 342, 2nd January 2013.

The Woolpack St Georges.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
WHO: 24 hashers, and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT written by this week's Scribe, Call Girl: Starting at the dawn of the New Year, in the Wilderland of Worle, hashers set of on an Unexpected Journey looking for the first of many rings to check it out. Eager and Down & Dirty had warned of the dangers ahead, false trails, turn backs and fish hooks, for those foolhardy enough to wander too far. Rebore kept his trousers on for this run, worried perhaps by the possibility of dragons snapping at his precious. Dwarves, Trailblazer, Cowlip and Skidmark ran alongside, and in and out, protecting hashers from hidden enemies and their armies. All through the night, well for an hour or so, hashers trailed through middle Worle and round there abouts until the Beer Stop was sighted. Rocky Roads, fruit, cider and juice- hashers soon forgot they’d over eaten for the past fortnight and tucked in. Refreshed and recharged walkers took a short walk and runners a long loop, returning to the pub for second nosh ups.
CIRCLE: No RA and it was raining, so a very short song to the hares inside. More next week, in part 2 of Eager’s trilogy.
ON IN: Lovely big pub, plenty of hot chips and sandwiches.

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