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Run 515, 23rd December 2015.
Avon Way Car Park, Portishead, Brendon Road festivities later.
HARES: Woodcut & Faceplant.
WHO: 16 hashers and 3 latecomers, joined by many non-hashers later on.
RUN REPORT: Naturally Woodcut’s manoeuvres around Portishead’s coastal intestines took precedence over any last minute shopping, with the added incentive that it was a self-proclaimed "short" hash with mulled cider and wine to come. From the off we let the FRBs do the additional twists and turns that came to be unnecessary, and once the customary last minute arrival of trio Cinders, Kerb Crawler and Walky Talky caught up we pretended not to see Woodcut’s abode off to the left and instead chose charging downhill over rolling. Junior hare Faceplant seemed well accustomed to a health and safety role, warning of an imminent shiggy pool ahead which only our feet got a taste of - one dastardly trick also beckoned at a checkpoint with the slippery On On well disguised in the midriff of another trail, and yet the scribe and co lived to tell the tale of finding it out. Either telepathy or excellent junior hare memory pointed us towards what we certainly wanted a taste of - an SS with oversized pastilles to distribute and a big decision to make. If you were up for running, you would also have to reckon with knee deep shiggy (at least, that’s what it had been during the afternoon setting) - 8 of us did indeed take to the "Rambo" trail, first of all conquering a few darkened back alleys and then selecting first gear so as to reach the heights of the downs fields. The flour had kept well enough intact to point us through the shiggy monster, by now reduced to a comparatively modest shin height and even of no hazard as long as you had a spring in your step. Quagmires were for from over yet though - in entering another field there was more path erosion to thank for a brown paddling pool with brambles on both sides, just to make sure you took some of the country home with you. Once back on tarmac and rejecting the chance of a quick On In to our cars, though, the extra muddy mile seemed all worthwhile to help work up a thirst. The back-running runners even happened upon hostess Cheers Drive arriving at the On On On ready with the last of the supplies - clearly not a night to get caught in an On In time-warp, then...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Naturally all very tasty and remaining crime free as long as you’re allowed to stand on the Sweet Stop symbol, with mulled wine and cider well complimented by mounds of chocolate goodies under the tree and more curiosity raised about having a running problem to go with your drinking by the non-hashing contingent that may have outnumbered us Bogs. Monday is our next port of call to tickle your fancy, in particular a space to watch if you’re a Bristolian Bog-hound...
Run 514, December 16th 2015.
All Saints Lane, Clevedon, with plenty of parking for those who laid the gauntlet down.
HARES: Dressing Down and Up All Night.
WHO: Approximately 22 hashers, 2 dogs and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Each and every merry hasher turned up in time for the hares’ jingle bell rendezvous and extended briefing, specially prepared for a split of speeds at the On Out. Walkers may well have had to rely on their instincts to avoid some freshly shipped in equine shiggy, while runners crossed the Land Yeo without getting their hair or feet wet prior to happening upon Santa and his slightly little helpers - we suppressed the Scrooge within us enough to shout "Ho Ho" rather than "On On" in the not so vain hope of finding walkers with sweets remaining. To miss this would have been too big a price, even if we emerged close to our imaginary On In friend and braced ourselves for the woody ascent up the Dial Hill. Prior visits and appearances at yonder checkpoint had led each way but for tonight’s choice, spliced soon after with the sweet stop overlooking the twilit Salthouse and the tightly huddled walkers. To work out a safe way down it was literally time to take in some brain food, pick ‘n’ mix style, and soon the zig-zag was suggesting itself as our first port of call back to base. Any assumption that we would come a knocking on nearby Deep Throat’s door failed to flower as instead the runners opted for a zigzag amidst a zigzag, somehow tumbling down past Campbell’s Landing’s latest manifestation and making an effort to miss the clear-as-flour arrows that pointed out past the Community Centre and once again onto Dial Hill’s outskirts. If this was to be a circumnavigation of both the Grandmaster and the hare’s abodes, then it seemed all the more fitting to throw in the possibility of getting trapped in the time warp of earlier markings. These appeared after we had paid our respects to the departed Clevedon Morrisons store, but immediately afterwards the runner/walker conglomeration that had yet to On In turned good samaritan for a scooter whose lowered kerb was blocked by a ka-ka! Sending the victim on their happily hashing way with all Coppertone‘s might, Flour Power resisted the urge to daub a protest on said vehicle in flour, and instead doodled a civilised one in the windscreen grime; by the time it was discovered we were already well on the way to tucking in at the On On On...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Festively fabulous! After the customary down downs for the already well established hares and long returnees we began a mild attempt at gluttony with English-style tapas plus both Omnivorous and Rebore chilli, washed down with luke-lukewarm mulled wine and the strange temptation to literally dive into the fruit cake and Lindor-esque mudpie on offer. I mentioned gauntlets being laid down, well THAT was the one for Woodcut’s equally Christmassy bash next week. Fret ye not, pubs, we will be back before the year is out...
Run 513, 9th December 2015.
The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 20 hashers, 2 visitors and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Another far reaching trek courtesy of the GM began with most of us pretending to have not seen the checkpoints while parking up and so customarily checking every nook and cranny on the way down to the Long Ashton bypass-bypass. Just as well, for 'twas a rarely explored nook down Cedar Close (cul-de-sac for petrol) that pointed us on and then gave us a heavy dose of the old "left, right, left right" until reaching where "petrol!" needed to be screamed a few times. Perhaps sensing what Deep Throat had in store for later, we decided to have no tipple at the neighbouring Little Tipple and opted instead for a GM speciality sweet stop of chocolate coated raisins (0.5 of your 5 a day) and fruit pastilles (likewise). From here DT envisaged runners and walkers spending about a kilometre apart; most commendably the gauntlet was taken up by Limpit who joined the mad hash dash over the railway bridge and out into the semi perils of Ashton Brook. By now we had discovered Limpit's ulterior motive was to hone her swimming abilities in amongst the shiggy baths that greeted every fifth step, thankfully without the over-friendly bovines that often go with them. Without any slips, trips or other blips (but a few obeyed fish hooks) us running folk happened upon a tightly knit staircase back down and underneath the railway, which Irish Spew need I say had no trouble sprinting, but worthy of more caution was the mud pack uphill that next befell us – indeed many had to invent their own handrails not to much to avoid falling as to halt their momentum through the shiggy ahead; however concrete eventually found its way back into our repertoire and guided us alongside the brook to a copied and pasted excerpt from run 479 – Rewind had to be reminded here that on said run he had taken a most unwelcome short cut, however today it would have been a very long cut as the remainder of the sweets were calling our name through All Saints Church graveyard (walkers may well have been reciprocating). Once we were no longer famished (I may well have guzzled a handful or two of the chocolate raisins) we plodded on past the Angel (false hope of a beer stop for Rebore, I'm afraid) and only had a small taste of relatively quiet tarmac before the reality check of a daunting ascent back to the pub's altitude beckoned. Could such defiance against how the earth was shaped be rewarded? Yes, but only if you were prepared to go back downhill for a few metres and then climb a little more. For here beckoned the beer stop (gruelling enough to make Irish Spew spread-eagle himself), or at least the BS flour marking with the hare's home brew mulled wine to spread reasonably fairly among the short glasses – for diplomacy we agreed that this was officially a "Bevvy Stop" and that mulled wine mixed with Grandmaster make for a great combo. A stone's throw from On On On though, we were not, and we ended up reversing through our traditional Miners Rest On Out with many a near trip thrown in (Brigadoon and Ballsport were even playing the lead roles in "follow the leader" at one point), and so a touchdown at ten to 9 specially for the dark and surprisingly far-from-freezing season seemed all the more impressive.
CIRCLE: This came back indoors before we tucked into the spread, including the DT plaudits for a trail without enough sweet stops and the announcement that haring from home is on the cards for the festive period, if not on the stockings and the tree.
ON ON ON: We paid a visit to both ends of the bar, such was our mini-monopoly tonight, and at our final settlement made light work of a heavy load of ham, cheese and egg sarnies plus chippies, dippies and saucies, helped along the way by Rocky Horror in Lytton-Chainey-admin mode plus Zider who got her hash handle at that very location. Roll on the Up All Night, Never Enough and Woodcut parties...
Run 511, 25th November 2015.
The Elmtree, Bishopsworth, Bristol.
WHO: 14 Hashers and two cute little hounds.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down and Dirty.
RUN REPORT: Slightly out of our hashing ground but a good turnout nevertheless. We were first greeted outside the pub by someone who appeared to be a little too full of bon ami, giving him a strong desire to share his joy of life by shaking hands many times over. Eventually shaking him off, we meandered through the streets of Bishopsworth, paying a respectful call to the dearly departed by being very Hushed Hashers through South Bristol Crematorium. Over fields and roads we wandered until we reached a gate with an invitation to enter; around the back of the house to the garage we went to an inconspicuous door. Nothing inconspicuous inside however, we were greeted by the wonderful aromas of Down and Dirty's culinary delights - Corned Beef Hash and Chilli, plenty of it, very yummy and soon woofed down by greedy Hashers and hounds alike, followed by a Down Down before adjourning to the Pub.
ON INN: Sadly hounds were not allowed in, for hygiene reasons apparently. Always respectful of Pub Policy the pooches were returned to their cars. As our tummy were full, it was only for a drink anyway.
Run 509, 11th November 2015.
The Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea.
HARES: DD and Zider I Up Landlord.
WHO: 17 Hashers and 4 Apres Hash Hashers and one perfect little pooch.
RUN REPORT by this week's Scripe, Fondue: DD and Zider's Hashes are always considerately and thoughtfully done taking into account terrain and weather conditions. And so it was that we had a pleasant meander around the highways and byways of downtown Nailsea and it's immediate countryside with no major struggles over lumpy bumpy fields and shiggy. And unless anything monumental happened on the runners route (of which I know nothing) it was quite uneventful but no less enjoyable for being so..
CIRCLE: There was one of these somewhere at some time.
ON IN: Up to our Hares usual standard. Delicious hot food followed by the AGM which for an intermediate period of time was slightly less palatable, but that's another story...
Run 508, 4th November 2015.
The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
HARE: Cinderella.
WHO: 16 hashers and 3 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A fine performance by hare and throng alike to conquer the back end of Ashton Court and its neighbouring golf fairways (plus rough and "out of bounds") and arrive back at base with little over an hour elapsed. The going had not by any means been easy – a few headlights were dodged on the way up Providence Lane, though we were savvy enough to duck into the mini undergrowth before reaching the blind bends and ending up on a frequently visited crossroads, albeit with nobody else around to shout "fore" at this darkened hour. After a little detective work, the walkers and runners found the routes of their kin and so it was a double retracing of leaps and bounds to hash the way on. For feet-on-the-grounds this meant mixing the natural sights of Clarken Coombe with the jiggling head-torch view of the distant runners once again failing miserably to get lost on a non-Rewind trail. A regroup seemed most in order since the B3128 was prepared here to let us cross the only way it knew how for many hundred metres – squeezing through the preceding stile seemed the more challenging feat for some. At this point we joined up with the famed route of Ashton Court's "walk for life" (much enthused by yours truly when 3 miles seemed like a great challenge), though inevitably Cinders had a challenging twist to spice up this cocktail of routes. First the runners were made to feel like they were visiting the distant mansion with a loop, and then wannabe regular Down & Dirty was seriously put through her walking paces on a steep climb to the sweet stop. Luckily Walky Talky was on hand to lure us in the right direction, though the emerging runners behind may also have been able to see the light, and so the route's altitudinal climax was crowned with a generous helping of midget gems oh so filling. Cinderella also warned us of inevitable untamed bicycles in these woods (it was too late in the year to run into his pumpkin coach, after all), and so it was a case of ears pricked for screeching tyres and eyes peeled for shiggy-baths before reaching an early beer stop marking our return to civilisation.
CIRCLE & ON IN: To the tune of cider there were sweet stop sitters two; however Woodcut taking a short cut through, well, the wood seemed quite law-abiding on the grounds of living up to one's handle, and so it remained for the hare to once again become the Grand Old Duke of York and for the majority to be what a bunch. We then emerged onto Longwood Lane (well, it certainly hadn't felt short) and played "now ya see us" with the B3128 again in time for the tumble downhill to the pub. It was a case of "Deep Throat Petrol!" at this point as the grandmaster cut a path through us with his miniature automobile down Providence Lane; obviously the motive was reserving our snacking space while taking a Minor Rest...
ON ON ON: Skittles duty once again called and so a little more had to be shared amongst the appearing Deep Throat, Red Light and Rocky Horror, though still tucked into our customary alcove and enjoying the feel of a traditional pub with little grub. AGPU to imminently follow at the Grove Sports Centre at Nailsea in seven moons – a proposition of a hash to the moon may be a little optimistic.
Run 507, 28th October 2015.
The New Inn, Kewstoke.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 23 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: On a dark and un-stormy night many returnees had been scared into attending so as to swell the numbers, so here’s to the same happening at our imminent AGPU. For this scribe the view of Weston Woods and Brigadoon’s imminent party games was restricted to merely a batman-esque gaze from beneath the eyes of The Scream; however it quickly became clear that runners were quickly off on their own tangent to convince residents that Halloween rituals were occurring along Sand Bay. Walkers merely had to content themselves with spooking traffic before ascending into the trees marked out in ghosts and pumpkins, even if flour still insisted that it too constituted a spooky apparition. After pulling the long returning Down & Dirty up a hill or two with our cheers and admiring the dangling skeleton of somebody who had failed this feat in the past, there imminently appeared another message from the undead runners - "We Waited Fifteen Minutes" said a tree with chalk, and the other woody contingent pointed the way on with their branches - very handy. Those back marking their way through the shiggy and (presumably) corpses also retrieved a big purple spider that Woodbine had been carrying along clearly to ward off evil spirits; after all we were too far away from the church bells by now for them to take effect. The sweet stop atop the next hill did, however, succeed in removing everybody’s mask for the sake of unfairly sharing the Halloween haribo. Dense shiggy we still trod though, more in hope than the reality of locating first the water tower as a beacon that Kewstoke must surely be less than a third of a hash away, and then where civilisation found us on Worlebury Hill Road as long as we were happy to branch off for our customary zip wire beer stop. Missapp duly obliged and nearly went heels over head at the touchdown, however everybody else refused to operate a flying machine under the influence of cider and Cinders songs:
CIRCLE & ON IN: Brigadoon and Ballsport got the first taste of cider presumably tainted with blood for Halloween; otherwise we are astonishingly in danger of becoming crime free and those down downing included 2 virgins plus happy returnees Missapp, Down & Dirty, plus Trailblazer and Stuck In clearly out to make the most of half term. Rain had been peeking through the branches all evening and so now that it began falling with reckless abandon, Briggy set up a free for all taxi back to the pub. When he mentioned he’d be going down Monk’s Hill en route, however, many decided that slippery Monk’s Steps would be safer and thus stuck with waterproof flour for the remainder - history would suggest that we have previously done said steps without a turnback at the bottom, though this time we opted not for the precarious escape ladder opposite and On-Inned with a small dose of tarmac.
ON ON ON: Another fine cauldron or two of chilli plus chippies was served up by the New Inn, though this time we were not the sole commandeers of the bar and gave the locals a taste of the Halloween Hash spirit. Miner’s Rest up next before the AGPU, minors welcome...
Run 506, 21st October 2015.
The Phoenix Bar, Portishead.
HARES: Wine Stain and Houdini.
WHO: 17 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: The fledgling hares were clearly out to impress as one of our classic stomping grounds began proceedings by heading in the direction of the high street - previously the appendix of the sports centre has been our invariable On Out from the Phoenix. More familiar, however, was the sensation of gaining altitude while leaving the runners out on a limb. This limb included rescuing Rocky Horror and Rewind from afar once flour had miraculously appeared, as well as sufficient forethought to put a warning triangle in green chalk just before encountering a downhill ice rink with cobbles. By this stage we could be forgiven for relying on the stars for navigation rather than listening out for distant On Ons, however the very thing for a rendezvous appeared yonder and with a channel viewpoint to boot. Technically it was a sweet stop, though few could dissent the reality of it being an apricot, nut, chocolate fingers and pastilles stop, good enough apparently for 6 of us to sit down with impunity. Fully briefed from previous exertions about the imminent presence of water at least knee deep, we approached the marine lake more or less as the crow would fly, and likewise the open air pool, albeit this time without a splash and dash. Once up next to Seafarer’s memorial stone there were but three ways onward - wait for The Matthew to come to shore then take a leap of faith, go back the way we came via what would have to have been a T80, or make another vain attempt to get lost in East Wood. The latter was such a popular option that the FRBs even tried briefly to pretend there was a fish hook; maybe those un-sprintable stairs on the way out had been a warning in themselves. The pack nonetheless had a chance to catch up after passing the Royal Inn and loitering outside the RNLI boathouse - a good chance to finish the multicoloured pastilles and healthy options then plus to split speeds along the marina - the runners route I would not recommend if you had already drank up de cider, what with the unfenced marina alongside plus you may have ended up a little lonely since walkers and runners were destined to have different On Ins via the high street and a bridge over untroubled water respectively. 3 minutes to 9 for touchdown - reckoned to be perfect timing in light of how quickly it takes us to change into our Wednesday best for our hosts.
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Rebore and Down & Dirty joined the pub proceedings to laud happy returns to Limpit who certainly hashed none the worse for wear, plus Flour Power who was about as rusty as stainless steel throughout. We’ve certainly been a lot closer to the moon on previous hashes, but nonetheless still felt enough of The Bends to sing "Grand Old Duke of York" to the hares. After all, there was an excellent shipped in spread of sarnies, wedges, chipolatas and flapjacks that had be wolfed down down down down down down down down....
Run 505, 14th October 2015.
The George Inn, Abbots Leigh.
WHO: 12 hashers, 1 hound and 2 pub-sitters.
RUN REPORT: Leigh Woods remained high on our agenda now that darkness has 2015's hashes firmly in its grasp – no need to stick to the lamp-post districts quite yet. We headed quickly up Manor Road into all manner of no real problems, smoothly enough even for Double D to grab onto our tail and not be counted as a latecomer. With plenty of "petrol!" screeches to account for already we were grateful to dive into the greenbelt that is the Gordano Round and slalom down a few steps to the outskirts of Abbots Pool which appeared to have been drunk dry (there was even a white van man presumably out to make sure none of our precious flour had been tampered with or banksied). A familiar crossroads (for those using their feet, anyway) pointed back up the Grand Old Duke of York's favourite way, and indeed it looked like 10000 horses had just cut a fresh swathe through for us, given the amount of smelly shiggy we had to avoid courtesy of hopscotch. We were probably too far away from Rome for all trails to be leading there, and yet long and straight was the defining characteristic as we emerged onto and over the deceptively quiet Beggar Bush Lane. If dodging headlights felt like a risk quite above what we were accustomed to (it was a REWIND trail, you know), spare a thought for the innocent Bristolian bikers happy slaloming through Ashton Court's own greenbelt only to be confronted by free range, headtorch bearing Bog beasts who can easily traipse to where two wheels cannot. Luckily collisions and wars of words there came none, for the hashers' attentions were diverted by smaller prey – first of the sweet variety and then of the mushroom stop that the hare had prophesied. What this fun guy's fungi lacked in magic it made up for in reassembling the scattergun troops, who once again made the last minute turn back from the suspension bridge taxiway and instead sent the runners off on a home run briefly before hastening through more vegetation and shiggy to the right (an eternally green traffic light had seemingly turned into our temporary fan base). Once out on a little more open pasture some jiggling head torches came trudging up from not too far off (those who had been expecting a repeat of the mooning Brigadoon from run 195 would at least have to wait till we returned to the pub). In years gone by a zip wire and swing has been found roaming around this On In, but apparently our growing up has reduced the demand sufficiently to warrant its removal; what better motivation then to wolf down the Stollen at the beer stop, which had indeed stolen a lot of our flour as though it didn't have enough icing sugar to bathe in. A few hash-hushed down downs for the hare with houses nearby and, by George, there was the pub still standing!
ON ON ON: Brigadoon and Ballsport were as trustworthy as ever with the pub and the chips, ham and egg sarnies ready to go the same way as the Stollen. Everyone was seen comfortably still standing after a REWIND trek; pigs can be smuggled into an aeroplane, after all...
Run 504, 30th September 2015.
Starting from Leigh Woods, on-on to The Rudgleigh.
HARE: Rocky.
WHO: 1 hare, 11 hashers and 1 hound.
Next to the entrance to Leigh Woods we were asked to park
For a long hash round woods and streets in the dark
After a quick briefing to the small pack we started with a runners and walkers split
The runners were sent down Nightingale Valley, but at to bottom a T sent us back to the top of it
Once back at the top in hot pursuit of the walkers though the woods the runners went being careful where we put our feet
After a nice view of the Suspension and a little trip from Inch Worm, at some wooden sofas the walkers we did meet
It was then across a busy road and round the outside of Ashton Court stopping mid way for a sweetie stop
There was quite a bit of down and a few splits, and round by Cumberland Basin out Rocky did pop
We then made our way along the Portway and up the steep and long zig zag path
At the top Brigadoon said "what no transport waiting for us here, you must be 'aving a laugh"
It was then over the Suspension Bridge, admiring the view and going at a more casual pace
To a quick beer stop quite close to the start, where Rocky had managed to get a parking space
It was then into our cars and off to the on inn down the road
The Rudgleigh did us proud and provided food by the shed load
We chatted with our guest (who is briefly in the area) from Copenhagen/Manchester H3), Vigorous Screw Ball
As we were leaving the pub defeated by the food, "someone (Brigadoon) has left their boots" the landlady did call Next weeks hash will be at the Market Inn, Yatton, I can confirm
A shorter hash (I did almost 6 miles) I have requested from Inch Worm.

Run 501, 16th September 2015.
The Lamplighters, Bristol.
HARES: Walky Talky, Cinders & Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 18 hashers, 1 hound and two visitors.
RUN REPORT: A real gem of a route and venue was unearthed right off all the bog routes, thankfully with head torches out in force in light of all the vegetative pits we would be diving into. This was not quite the terrain for the On Out – instead a nice little amble alongside the River Avon lit the touch paper, with the runners making several attempts to veer back to the Portway which they had driven in on before following the walkers under an old oak tree and onto more of the same tarmac. After a few twists and turns and failing to break a railway bridge with a limit of 26 tonnes, poor Brigadoon began to complain of man flu on the way up past the neighbouring allotments, sufficiently that once a few stairs had been stomped rather than tumbled down en route to a regroup, he and Ballsport took the convalescent short cut back to the start, complete with no sweet or view stop! The latter was indeed what the runners had already taken in before diving back under the trees briefly and then using a puffin rather than a zebra to cross the Portway vaguely in the direction of Blaise Castle – with most flour on the straight and narrow we still somehow managed to briefly lose Irish Spew and Sparky among the back streets, trusting in their in-built homing pigeon as we ventured onto the well concealed footpaths of Shirehampton Park Golf Club. It may have been too dark to shout "fore", but even without a beacon to light his way we still saw one back runner and his dog catching up at blistering pace, just in time to swap lush greens for gravel and scramble our way uphill to the sweet stop. Overlooking both the Avon Gorge and our regroup from earlier, midget gems quenched more thirst than hunger as an impetus to catch up with the walkers who may have already joined Brigadoon by this stage. Many would have suspected the use of a foot bridge in returning to the pub, but we had already relied enough on our own mettle tonight and so had no problems in showing the few cars out who was boss, especially when armed and dangerous with flour. A quick On In under the railway on the aptly christened Station Road, once again touching down at 9 o'clock despite feeling like an age away when reaching half 8 at the earlier viewpoint. Head torches off, oil lamps on indoors...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Brigadoon certainly looked no worse the wear (ASS flu is much more draining than man flu, after all) and chipped in along with Django and 500cc to finish off the ham and mustard, cheese and tuna sarnie spread on offer. At one point it looked like pork tenderloin was going to make for an even more luxurious spread, but to our dismay it was actually being taken upstairs through our mid-floor party to a happy non-hash couple upstairs. Consolation thus constituted toasts to virgin Julie, a colleague of Double D, plus an overdue commemoration of 25 hares for Coppertone and Irish Spew's ability to solve his own ability to get lost. 500cc also announced plans for a curry fest later in the month; I reckon 10 hashes before then should work up enough of a hunger...
Run 500, 9th September 2015.

WHERE: Next to The Windmill Inn, Nore Road, Portishead.
HARES: Coppertone and Baglady.

Run 498, 5th September 2015.
Castle Carey Caravan Site, some location along the A371.
HARES: Take your pick from Brigadoon, Ballsport, Rocky Horror and Walrus.
WHO: 45 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Many of us felt the mercury level was far too low in our tents overnight, and so a big hearty breakfast from the culinary master went down almost half as much of a treat as the half marathon in store. Previously on the ASS it has been a case of hashing and then commuting back to your loyal campsite, but this time we reversed the order of transport, and by coach, to hash boot! Quickly arriving at Tesco in Shepton Mallet to put the hash hammer down, Duracell very kindly opted to take Deep Throat's hoki coki warmup/local entertainment as the chance to dash in to buy and dish out some ice creams, for the weather was still smiling a big sunny grin. It seemed quite apt to On Out past the tourist information centre given the sightseeing possibilities we had spied on the way here – one being Shepton Mallet HMP whose outskirts we traipsed rather than scaled on the aptly named Gaol Lane. News had by now reached us that Rebore was playing either Catchup or Where's Wally, and so the inclusion of a runners' loop on the dauntingly uphill approach to the EAST Mendip Way seemed most appropriate. Were we about to devise another Mercury Mendip Challenge on another point of the compass? Well, we certainly would have had a great mascot – out briefly on the road again, something resembling a giant Bambi looked on with hilarity as the runners charged on the wrong way – it must have been the aromas emanating from Shepton Mallet Cider Mill, of course. Once back on EMW, we found the overhead Charlton Viaduct only too happy to pose for a few dozen photos, now that Rebore was safely on a lead too and that single file soon seemed the only plausible option. For surrounding us after cropfields three were some offended relatives of last night's triffids, particularly hungry for small fry Ben and Stuck In and even perhaps foreshadowing of the handle that would soon literally befall the former. We did indeed all manage to hack a way through the East Mendip Forest so as to say goodbye to civilisation for a good few hours – by now that tourist information centre felt that much further away. NOT, however, as far away as anything resembling shelter did as the weekend decided to treat us to the only luke-cold shower it had to offer – we were on as open an expanse of a field as there could be, and the brief dash for a small stripped tree or two served only to make junior Ben trip and plant his face on the thankfully shiggy-free ground twice in the time it takes to blow a hash horn. It was just at this point that we felt a strange sense of pub-lessness in comparison to other asses, and so the impeccably planned East Mendip Way simply had to lead us out to Chelynch's The Poacher's Pocket for refuelling, as well as a photo stop that the back stragglers dared to miss out on. Upon resuming our running problem, we barely had time for a hop, trip and jump before everyone had to make a decision of whether or not to put their lives in the hands of the hares' judgement – the runners' loop heading up through some adolescent trees looked innocent enough, even if they quickly grew in height and led out onto the appendix of a quarry. The ulterior motive of this dastardly deviation soon became all too clear though. By way of fate we had actually put in some practice for this next obstacle on the previous Wednesday's hash-bash, but those towering crops were merely Churchill's Shard against Doulting's Empire States, with untrimmed brambles to throw into the cooking pot too. Many of these runners-come-rambos were guilt-free in stepping into the second row of crops just to stay upright, claustrophobia even threatening to set in for some, but all pressed on firm in the belief that flour on this detour could not possibly have been erased, even by rain. Emerged we indeed did with little sense of direction, time or even what an arrow on the road meant, so it was just as well that the day's major sustenance stop was swift though not immediate incoming. After spotting another Tithe Barn and coming to the reasonable conclusion that we had not yet reached Nailsea, the crossing of a railway bridge coincided with the sounds of merriment around a couple of corners ahead, perhaps pessimistically thinking that the walkers had already finished the job. None of the sort! Apparently the luncheonette crew of Down & Dirty, Jeanette (for now still Mrs Woodcut) and Tabia had only just managed to rendezvous in time to set up a very Briggy spread of Toxic/Exotic juice, ham rolls, pasta la vista, scotch eggs (or in my case, scotch), chipolatas, crisps, crackers in case your cheese felt lonely and with sausages playing a major roll too. With that all disappearing quicker than flour in a blizzard, the runners/indigestion route pointed onwards with the warning that we were in for the long haul before the next pub stop. For some this turned out to be the loneliest of things they could ever do with their ASS – the first few fields were easy enough to negotiate, but after heading swiftly down and along another tarmac and duck pond sighting, the FRBs were called back by the toying Brigadoon and branched off into the trees past their bovine guardians. Some middle runners at this point noticed that the back runners were still beyond the back horizon, and therefore a gentleman's agreement was reached with Rebore, Brigadoon and Eager Beaver standing beacon lengths apart to bridge the gap for the still high on stamina Deep Throat, Swallow, Up All Night, Dressing Down and yappy Woodbine. Once flour and chalk had been re-established , the latter six were then left to their own devices (hey, that beer wasn't going to drink itself), but Woodbine ended up having more animal kingdom rivalries than we had accounted for. First it was some junior alpacas with necks that would make a giraffe jealous, and then some horses who had clearly had enough of hash throngs for one afternoon – a dog walkers' alternative route was thus quickly established around them. So far behind had we felt that a long way round to the Bell pub stop in Evercreech was inadvertently chosen. The ever forward thinking Brigadoon may of course have thought of this, since after a few drinks and games the way onwards was from where the BRBs had just long cutted, with arrows mysteriously appearing in the interim. Trailblazer at this point made the brave yet obviously correct decision to decline being chauffeured to the next pit stop – reality I am sure tasted just as sweet as the slaloming through cows and electric fence hurdles that soon headed our way over the hill. The pack also wasted no time in splitting again, to the extent that this now felt like a runners' union protest march against fish hooks. T'would have been hard going to find the back of the pack over the treacherous stairs and fence limbos en route, I suppose, though Jeanette certainly showed the necessary fish hook spirit in coming up from the next pub to only just avert a collision with the back runners. Back in the company of the A371 and with the East Mendip Way ancient history, we settled down for a Natterjack bevvy or 45 as quickly as hashingly possible before finally admitting that camp song cravings were now beginning to return. Well, if you wanted to take petrol back to the tent in the ASS tradition you had to first take the cross country and shiggy route to Ditcheat – even a little corner cutting cropped up here and there with the promise of the day's last orders. As if today wasn't celebration enough, we appeared to gatecrash a wedding party at the charming red-bricked Manor House before drivers arrived in their droves – heck, if you're going to voice of any lawful impediment, do it in style.
ON ON ON: All misdemeanours and christenings would be revealed at Sunday's circle; for now it was time to gorge on firsts and seconds of chilli followed by Rocky Road, Madeira cake and chocolate tiffin, mainly as an excuse to drink the DIY cider bar dry. Without even a sniff of rain anywhere near, some retired to the on site Brook House Inn to watch a pub team make England look like, well, England, plus to play skittles with pins almost a tenth as high as those crops. Rocky Horror put in anything but a horrific show with his guitar, too, and Brigadoon settled down to sleep naturally with dreams about how he could possibly make the next ASS even better...

Run 496, 2nd September 2015.
The Churchill Inn, Churchill.
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 495, 26th August 2015.

The Parish Pump, North Worle Shopping Centre, Weston Super Mare.
HARE: Fondue.

Run 494, 19th August 2015.
Failand Inn, Failand.
HARE: Irish Spew.
WHO: 23 houndless hashers plus 2 latecomers.
RUN REPORT: A far exceeding adequate run in amongst our home turf came forth at very short notice after abandoning the Nova Scotia for the sake of football fans' parking (I guess they have a running problem too, so we'll relent). It turned out to be a case of overestimating the runners' catching up abilities too, but not straight away – first there was a crossroads to consternate over, heading up through Failand Lodge Farm and through the ever heightening grass before galloping onto Horse Race Lane. It was here that sad albeit controlled goodbyes were said to the walkers for the rest of the trail, even if we were as of yet unsuspecting. Those who opted to lift both feet off the shiggy hacked their way through a couple of overgrown fields (the watching horses as curious as ever) and ended up on Oxhouse Lane for less than a stone's throw before branching back towards said Lane and discovering a possibly un-bogged trail through the thicket. More than a few ups and downs transpired until we sprang out onto the tried and trusted Gordano Round, just in time for a very heart-warming question from Joe Bloggs out running - "are you hashing? I've seen your blobs!" How our fame has spread, not to mention our pack for the night – immediately afterwards the arrows both for Rs and Ws pointed through the woods at the back end of Castacrete, filling us with misplaced hope that the walkers could yet be encountered in daylight. The Gordano Round conveniently cuts a swathe through a crop field on the approach to Tyntesfield, as long as you're happy to canter across one of the B3128's many long straights. That we did, and by now the runners themselves had a bunch of back markers so it was just as well that Cinderella was bedecked in orange rather than khaki to show the way on to a sweet stop that nearly ducked out of sight of the trail. While Irish shared out the remainder of the allsorts, jelly babies and haribo he revealed that the walkers had waited around for quarter of an hour before heading in a markedly uphill On In direction – lactic acid may just have had its say, after all. Plenty of steps and puddles remained in our path, not to mention Summer's first head torch turn on as the deciduous beings around us continued to swallow the sunlight whole. However, once we emerged from the subterranean sector we quickly recognised our surroundings and scaled one last mound for the finishing straight – one head torch and a fluorescent Cinders proved most welcome when hashing against traffic, touching down at 5 to 9 and in time to avoid a moderate downpour.
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Hello – fancy seeing you walkers back here, all squeezed in among the locals and with Double D and Zider having caught up before us runners! A couple of side tables and one very long one were all we needed, plus a generous helping of chips, baguettes, butter and ciabattas to accompany that drinking problem we pretend to have. After many a DIY down down we left our plates clean and (POSTSCRIPT) – on on to next week's Parish Pump, quite possibly with a head torch or ten...
Run 493, 12th August 2015.

WHERE: The Old Inn, Clevedon.
HARE: Happy Hooker.

Run 489, 22nd July 2015.
11 Ashley Road, Clevedon.
HARE: Birthday boy Walrus.
HOSTESS: Call Girl.
WHO: 15 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: With adults breaking up for school holidays there would be more grub to be shared among a little less hashers, and so the promise of a near two-mile detour for runners at the debrief seemed most welcome to work up that hunger. Right at the On Out there was some deep excavation to negotiate before following the Land Yeo in the direction which didn't lead to On In. Alas, the tranquil riverbank contained a few non-hashers who must have happened upon our exploits by now but were seemingly put off by the prospect of a sprint start to the Strode Centre (only indoors may they break a sweat), therefore the virgin count was back down to zero from last week's super six. Once we had established that there was to be no runners' loop in and back out of Strode, a consensus quickly pointed along one of our classic rural pursuits in the direction of secluded Kingston Seymour, visited more often by spokes and handlebars than by engines. And walkers, as it turned out – for they were sent idling along the near-edge of the Blind Yeo and its far from blind bends, in the hope that the running contingent would not leave them regrouped long enough to seize up solid. Oh, so nearly come true did this prophecy. For those completing the ultimate home run around the perimeter of the golf course, there were 2 fish hooks for 2 (at the latter Eager and Inchworm unconvincingly pretended not to have seen kerb Crawler amiably making up lost ground in the distance), and then once ensconced on the coast again there was an unexpected loop which must have made them feel the walkers had already arrived home and mostly well. It turned out they had found a good compromise by huddling and still muscle-flexing just beneath Poet's Walk, eventually deciding that 1 out of 5 tardy runners' arrival was sufficient to restart their engines and dive into the thicket. This emerged traditionally next to St Andrews' cemetery and led fluently to a viewpoint for the watch-tapping walkers overlooking the overhauled marine lake – by now the Rambo route through the middle of it may not be quite so claustrophobic. Much more disorienting was the destiny to then head back up towards the five fingers of Wayne's Hill, particularly as the runners' rat pack had by now finally closed the gap and that shiggy had somehow converged in great numbers on the concrete path. Our own strength however came in experience rather than numbers, and we promptly located the fresh-looking On In next to a bridge over untroubled water onto Marshall's Field, realising by now that early retirement had befell/blessed Brigadoon and Ballsport. Anybody else up for some ASS battery recharging?
CIRCLE AND ON ON ON: Happy indoor returns for Walrus with a song that tried to incorporate the "and you smell like one too" lyrics over the main chorus, still no group with a singing problem here. Nor any culinary ones – for veggies and omnivores falafel went a treat with the seasoned baguettes on show, as did spicy sausage, multicoloured wines and a special ginger iced cake spelling out birthday boy's handle. On on for Bridge Inn curry night next week; enjoying the Kingston Seymour trail is an optional extra...
Run 488, 15th July 2015.

The Kings Arms, Easton in Gordano.
HARE: Wine Stain.
WHO: Approx 30 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Virgin hare Wine Stain showed up with 6 virgins for the moral support needed when chased by a baying pack of Bog hounds, even if straight from the off the runners were thrown off the scent around the motorway services while the walkers braved a dash across the A369 and up into the very tall grass bordering the Gordano Round. If a hurdle over some stiles which were in the process of being digested by some triffids was not enough to restore parity, then an early snack stop after the runners' prompt return from down below certainly was. Good health, too – unsalted peanuts and some fruity puddings in a pot went down a treat, particularly when sweet and beer stop spreads were still on the cards. By now we already felt like this was the Gordano come Amazonian Round, and so a quick trot along some tarmac seemed quite welcome for the sake of checking that our footwear remained in its rightful place. After all, without it the ascending and descending runners may have taken some bovine shiggy home with them, but more importantly would not have had the rare luxury of beating the walkers to the sweet stop complete with a view stretching out as far as the docks could offer. Rather peskily, the cosmopolitan confectionery collection served mostly to fatten us up for a ravenous mob of horseflies, and so the hash flash contingent kindly agreed to a trimmed down set of 3 photos before we were eaten alive. Waiting out at the next checkpoint was still done quickly enough to avoid the attention of any ka-kas, as was another A369 dash once we had negotiated some cattle more acquainted with bipedals than the norm. Speeds had also been split again by now, and seemingly into 3. There was the wary walkers who whispered a few words of authority to the horses in neighbouring fields, then there was the runners who emerged from upstream, followed quickly after by the virgin walkers who had almost been left to stew in their own juices prior to the beer stop approach. This constituted first a regroup symbol so that Wine Stain could lay out the red carpet specially, and then a march up to his castle turned restaurant. What else could possibly be in store?
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Well, if you hadn't worked up the hunger of all hungers you could make do with the remaining sucky puddings and peanuts. If, however, you had as much of an over-eating problem as a running one then you could also down the dipped doritos, shovel in the sausage rolls, hoover up the ham rolls and salivate over the many salads still standing. Truly a spread that smacked of Star on the Rhody quality and quantity, and in even more luscious surroundings with down downs on what felt like a bowling green. The very helpful and definitely enthusiastic virgins who all had each other to thank for participation were Matthew, Harriet, Leanne, Julia, Donna and Rachel, plus Mrs Wine Stain Anne who interestingly did not become "Cider Spill" while down-downing. A special mention too to Alice who has been Bogs-inspired to recently complete 196 10k runs (I'm pretty sure that means 10 kilometres rather than a grand total of 1.96 million runs). After this latest al fresco delight we had a quick on in for the Kings Arms whose bar we had not yet drunk dry, but there's still plenty of the outdoor season to come.
Run 487, 8th July 2015.
Newton House, Clevedon.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 20 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Already an excellent turnout of both hashers and food had been assured for the GM’s front lawn shindig before we warmed up with Mr Hoki-Coki just off-road (DT shovelling up a fresh shipment of equine shiggy specially for his roses, oh those green fingers!). The customary overlook of the bowling green beckoned but this time without a rapid ascent up Park Road for our efforts. On the cards instead was a runners’ loop along the aptly named Woods Path - by the time the Light Brigade ambushed the walkers the hare appeared most perturbed at the direction we had taken - apparently a much better Rambo route through the trees had been missed, despite being marked courtesy of turnback. So perturbed was he, in fact, that runners were then given the long down and up treatment in reaching the semi-crest of Dial Hill via the ripple (at one checkpoint Wine Stain, perhaps not yet au fait with our best laid Clevedonian plans, came close to going back to school). This ultimately meant waiting around at the sweet stop to decide whether the walkers had rarely been surpassed or whether runners were "merely" abandoned. A quick consult of the designated hare list would have provided a simple answer to that, and with a generous provision of yogurt coated raisins and chocolate ginger, DT once again showed that he was no humbug. Tempting as they had been, nobody had prematurely checked out the R and W from whence we had not came, and so On On your own way it was until we respectfully lightened our pace past St Mary’s Church (Brigadoon and Ballsport even appeared to have done some FRB checking at one point - Briggy does have previous for this on Dial Hill, after all) and on to a suspiciously early garden beer stop at an acquaintance of the hare (naturally those who paid attention could tell you more). After downing cider and juice from multicoloured bottles and reducing the still recuperating Up All Night to sitting on the grass, Deep Throat then warned of a long runners’ route to On In with where racing downhill would result in use of the ducking stool rather than merely a down down, so on we rushed with enthusiasm over caution. Challenge number one turned out to be locating the loop - just as we were about to be ensnared on a previous excerpt of the trail a hidden footpath pointed us running folk up in the direction of Walton Castle - it also quickly confirmed our suspicions as to what this Rambo downhill was. A frequent uphill guest to Bogs in seasons (and typhoons) gone by, this time a steady foot or 20 were put downhill through plenty of Triffids and Venus Bogtraps so as to reach the coastal footpath, where a little bird literally idling in the middle of the trail told us left was the correct way to home. No amount of foresight though could warn of the fish hook for 4 seemingly fortunate souls (nor indeed REWIND doing a Kate Winslet impression at one of the viewpoints). It would appear though that on touchdown we had not been delayed long enough to be beaten to the whole picnic on offer by walkers; clearly an example to set on this year’s ASS...
CIRCLE: Happy running returns to Call Girl and Woodcut, plus happy partying returns to Fair Weather and Backchat plus Up All Night rising to the down down occasion, albeit from the adjacent BBQ where he had already staked a chef’s place.
ON ON ON: Worra lorra food! With so many grilled goods to get through it was a wonder the daylight outlasted the barbecue, thought perhaps the dessert menu plus our hosts’ scrummy conchiglie salad helped to speed up the savoury consumption. Fondue came equipped with the pavlova that she keeps on a lead, Dressing Down and Up All Night provided some brownie cake every bit as rich as the sunset and chocolate also made an appearance atop some granola cake and Call Girl’s fairy cakes. Party animal mode will continue into next week with Wine Stain’s haring debut at Pill and Woodcut’s house party the following Sunday. On On and Huff Puff!
Run 486, July 1st 2015.
The Queen’s Arms, Chew Magna.
HARES: Cinders, Walky Talky and The Fat Controller.
WHO: Approximately 30 hashers with 2 hounds at loggerheads.
RUN REPORT: Tucked away from Chew Magna which is tucked away in itself, this Bogs/K&A hybrid began without a warmup in what remained of the heatwave before literally crashing into its first obstacle - from whence many of the throng had parked up there was a church gate which the FRBs did everything in their power to push open before instead adopting to pull - thankfully the flour markings were a lot easier to understand. Proof was in the starter that headed past Chew Court Farm and into the tall, upwardly sloping grass, and once alongside the river Chew a freshly laid speed split appeared, though mostly applied only to the symbol savvy Bogs that were present since most K&As were by now in full running swing. It was but a couple of home runs of separation before regrouping under the trees, and then once back briefly on tarmac the temptation to shortcut over a gate simply proved too strong for the back runners, none of whom were destined to retire given the views they had on offer. A bigger test of patience came when this tarmac pointed ominously uphill and into a checkpoint seemingly looking for "14 blobs and you’re on" - indeed those still hacking a way through the undergrowth opted for a longer cut around this monolith (at least as the crow flies). However, if flour and flour alone will only do, then there was an inevitable victory roll down to a little confusion prior to locating the beer stop. At one point a checkpoint appeared to state 20 blobs and you’re on, but it turned out this 20 was referring to miles per hash/hour. Without a beer near to increase the surprise value and the surge of the neighbouring weir, the much anticipated al fresco beer stop unpacked itself in the form of hashers’ juice (cider), lemonade and the savouries of sausage rolls, scotch eggs, chipolatas, crisps and even some penguins and striking it rich with gold bars. Most of this had thankfully gone before a dogfight erupted with Woodbine still tied to the table, though only his manners and a few drinks went flying. Promptly packed up, On In took us to just before 9pm so just the right mix of BogsMT and KAMT hours, then.
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Apparently this was to be one last hurrah for the Queen’s Arms before packing up her white gloves to wave elsewhere, so we literally drank the bar dry and commandeered the last of the Glitter Berry J2O available while out in the spacious garden. Here we drank to the hares for going above and beyond while not at work and then REWIND came forward as the cause of the On Out backlog.
Run 484, 17th June 2015.

WHERE: The Bowl Inn, Lower Almondsbury.
HARE: Rocky and Alice.
WHO: 22 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: With Roman straightforwardness we ventured afar to kidnap a few of the Bristol greyhounds for an evening and take in the sights of a well planned trail with an industrial revolution look, even if hashing pre-dates that. Quickly after an on out with no need for warming up the pack split into walkers and near-runners on a dirt track stretching halfway to the horizon but also doubling back on itself through the tall grass – just as the quickly established back markers thought a rogue hare may be waiting to jump out at them from the reeds, the front-running duo ran head first into their exclusive fish hook instead. This meant they had to tackle some very rickety stiles twice each (some helped them out by leaning on them, others were encouraged to crawl through gaps in the neighbouring barbed wire), rather than getting the chance to wait at the road-side regroup. Once gathered here (and remarkably without On On called prematurely for once) the obvious Rambo route through the thickest of thickets was quickly decided on (Catbrain Wood, to be precise en route to a sweet stop atop an embankment with views reaching the Severn Bridges and the neighbouring Ibstock Brickworks. Wine gums, tangy pastilles and sherbets quickly found our bellies (no liquorice allsorts specially to please Cinderella) and with Tumbling Ted and Harenet making a welcome return, it seemed quite apt that TT nearly stood on the SS symbol before we shouted OO. Despite our best efforts nobody fell over even as the runners soon sprinted over a railway bridge and tried to turn a crossroads into a checkpoint – surviving flour up ahead had other ideas. No, the real acid test was to come up in Pegwell Wood where the runners, after a hefty uphill, were well pegged back by missing a flour blob and yet still only left the walkers idling for a few minutes at a regroup a mere On In's distance from the M5. No such symbol for us yet, of course – instead it was full steam ahead for the runners and into a scandal of their own making! Not even tinfoil ties to shrubs to mark the trail it seemed could prevent them from inventing a short cut to the beer stop, i.e. turn left rather than straight on and then pretend that an arrow for the walkers is for you. Well, for a couple of them the retribution occurred long before any down down – with the wannabe army out testing their map reading skills at the beer stop the said symbol had been hidden and so the drinks plus white and red grapes had to be shared out among fewer palates – bliss.
CIRCLE: Apart from Rocky's revelations about the fresh runner misdemeanours (oh, what a bunch!) there was also the renaming of Peejay the hound as Woodbine after recently needing to be dragged around a trail, plus the christening of Bogs virgins Frosty and 3 & 4 pence. One direction which was easy for most, nay all to follow was next left and a tumble downhill to St Mary's Church and then the pub (Brigadoon even thought he was going to take the chequered flag before Eager Beaver and his running cronies stole his thunder). Worth being bowled over for?
ON ON ON: Thumbs by all means up for a virgin pub – room enough to swing a hound on a lead while enjoying the bowls of cheesy chips and well buttered bread on show, and probably helping the locals to understand those eerie flour markings that may well appear here again soon. Here's to there already being less daylight next week at the Criterion...

Run 483, 10th June 2015.

"Rollin', rollin', rollin'...

The Rudgleigh Inn, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARE: Inchworm and Coppertone.
WHO: 18 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Having grown accustomed to quarter-marathons up at Sidcot last week, fate and a little of Mother Nature intervened to stretch the length of this sunny evening outing. After assuring us that the only interesting thing about the trail was the trail itself, Inchworm sounded the rallying call across the busy A369 and then through the tall grass and a tumble downhill into Hails Wood. Quickly we felt well established on the tried and mostly trusted Gordano Round trail, hacking through the thicket and unhesitatingly obeying a runner’s route through a stream rather than over it. Had we known what would befall our off-the-ground contingent, postcards may just have been left behind. Indeed, nothing appeared amiss as daylight came back into view on the back end of Coombe Lane and soon after the front running returnee Alice was seen scaling the approach to Budding’s Wood in the distance, without even taking in the sun-soaked view which stretched out into the Severn. Slightly higher amiss came in the form of a thick covering of vegetation for back running runners, and once through the wood in preparation for departing the Gordano Round, the sight of traditional greyhound Clem no longer following the pack too closely raised alarms. If the prospect of the FRBs being slowed by territorial cattle was on the cards, the opposite was the reality - first Rocky Horror made the valiant effort to go back from whence he came and check on Clem, and then Eager Beaver’s bovinophobia meant he quickly followed. No Clem in sight, these two semi-dropouts instead navigated via the back roads to eventually perceive some distant On Ons, naturally having already instigated the haribo-laden sweet stop. After such a dramatic case of dea ex machina the prospect of worrying a more docile species, namely sheep, on the approach to the next woods certainly appealed, especially as they ended up leading the way to the regrouping walkers who by now we’d almost forgotten were involved! Under the trees we opted to press on rather than put out some missing posters for Clem, perhaps suspecting that he had joined up with Up All Night, Dressing Down and Harvey the Hound to set a miniature trail of their own. Oh, to miss such an action-packed finale - first there was a slalom through the trees in a vain attempt to arrive back for 9, and then the back markers found themselves being as good as herded through the next field by its equine occupants (Coppertone was on hand with his cane - don’t ask), to the extent that it seemed quite odd that the young and gunning bullocks in the next field merely gave us the evil eye or two. More of that was likely to come from the resident Farmer Giles, apparently of the "Get Orf Moi Public Footpath!" variety, but with our passing stirring up no further incident it seemed apt enough to crack open/unzip the beer bag, with Brigadoon stepping in most competently as RA:
CIRCLE: Another toast to getting a life with beer - 200 runs for Coppertone and 50 for Alice, with the dropouts no doubt conducting a "what a bunch" chorus in their absence. On In beckoned with more tall grass but also with the news that all dropouts were back at the Rudgleigh safe and sound - now, had the food been untouched?
ON ON ON: Maybe it should have been touched early - in one of our frequented and favourites backrooms we struggled to dispose of all the ham, cheese and egg sarnies on offer, especially when surrounded by chips ands with marathon numbers a little down. A long course to be plotted to The Bowl Inn at Almondsbury down the M5 next week, no doubt appealing greatly because of all the un-bogged scenery. Here’s to that high turnout...

Run 482, 3rd May 2015.
The Star Inn, Star, Winscombe.
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 481, 27th May 2015.
The George Inn, Farleigh Road, Backwell.
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 480, 20th May 2015.

The Star Inn, Tickenham .
WHO: 21 hashers, 2 hounds and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: REWIND going solo actually spelled sufficiently little trouble this evening to keep the numbers respectably up, 'cos that's exactly where they were going. After being reliably informed by REWIND that we were celebrating the 705th anniversary of left and right shoes being invented, we customarily began from the Star with a careful negotiation of traffic, but by now few were expecting our tried and tested trek towards Towerhouse Wood to be in the offing. Instead, a T4 shooed us across the neighbouring fields (bovine shiggy minefield, inevitably) and into the more prophetically named Summerhouse Wood, once we had decided that a checkpoint could not possibly be down before 8:30, of course. At this point it was hard to know where one wood started and where another one swallowed it up, but suffice to say we were well in need of the Fast Forward symbol that REWIND had demonstrated at the start – when one Bog starts rolling back down the steep incline, push them back up, and eventually you'll end up on the Millionaire's Row that is Cadbury Camp Lane. A long case of the straight and wide it were to be, even if a fish hook was ignored and a short cut for walkers negotiated. For at the site of the latter there stood the Cadbury Camp battlements with views stretching as far out as Glastonbury Tor – if we were facing the right way, of course. Instead we took in first a photo stop and then a reasonably early beer stop down in the neighbouring trench, where oranges, juice and cider tasted just as good at high altitude.
CIRCLE & ON IN: Just when we thought we might sing "hares on a mountain" to REWIND for net setting a devious trail, we opted instead for "Grand Old Duke of York", even though as of yet we had not been marched down again. A down down too for returnees Dressing Down and Up All Night, plus Wine Stain for refusing to check out the downhill earlier – you're still technically a rookie if you cannot freely get your hands dirty. For REAL rookies there came upon Bogs virgins Dave, Houdini and junior Django who simply had a hash craving to satisfy, perhaps many times over? Watch this big space.
With a lot of ground and, potentially, crimes still to cover, speeds split at this point and dived downhill back into Tickenham. Some walkers suspected that runners had already completed the On In, but with REWIND still at the helm this seemed pretty easy to dismiss. However, a lengthy On In was forsaken by some in favour of the direct way back to base – those that did take in the whole trail got a taste of the trickling Land Yeo as well as a confirmation that runners were still huffing and puffing behind them. A late emergence on Tickenham Hill confirmed the usefulness of an arrow that some saw while driving to the Star earlier, though the athletes among our ranks may just have been able to complete the trail twice in daylight. Don't ever change, REWIND!
ON ON ON: Like old times we commandeered the lounge and made light work of beef, ham and cheese sarnies along with a few trays of wedge/chip hybrids, while saying hello to the visiting Missapp and Down and Dirty, as well as Tyntesfield run elite Call Girl and Walrus. ASSes already seem well in gear!
Run 479, 13th May 2015.

The Angel, Long Ashton.
HARES: Kerb Crawler & Walky Talky.
WHO: Quite a smörgåsbord – 19 hashers (several Bristolian), 1 hound and 2 pub visitors.
RUN REPORT: This makeshift Bogs-Bristol hybrid began with a sprint further afield than your average greyhound, but thankfully there were universally recognised checkpoints ready to send us back kind of from whence we came. Out in the lush greenery Cinderella showed a family connection in finding the hares' back route through the tall grass – that was the long and short of it. The plentiful cattle in the neighbouring fields looked well used to our shenanigans as not to charge – that was left to REWIND once he took the bait of a shortcut past the cemetery. In fact we briefly thought the whole trail was to resemble a short cut as the cycle way we ambled onto arced eerily back in the direction of the Angel, but then who would be that willing to miss out on a sweet stop specially shipped in from the hares' travels to Croatia? Especially when the multi-flavoured treats were shaped like trophies, complete with photo stop for our cabinets back home. Heads duly counted we sped on toward the Cumberland Basin, a sector clearly tailor made to trap REWIND in a time warp - "runner goes under, runner sees earlier arrow, runner goes under, runner sees earlier arrow, runner goes under, runner gets put out of their misery by back markers". At this point we attempted to turn Greville Smythe Park into a hedge maze without hedges, and certainly seemed also to take the opportunity for some free hash advertising to the sunbathers, scouts and football crazies who were also out in full force. Once our mass of bodies had come back together as one it was time not only to admire Bristol Banksy's murals but also for Cinderella to test the echo underneath the carriageway. Also reverberating was the trail as runners crossed a long-sought railway bridge and were caught by the walkers just in time for a wide expanse of a beer stop on Ashton Park sports field – again a great place to bring Bogs and Bristol together:
CIRCLE: Welcome Bogs returns to Waynetta, Wrong Way, Nadia, Tumbling Ted and Harenet (we were in close enough proximity to the latter two's cosy new Bath home), but to quote a seemingly promiscuous-for-tonight's Fondue - "she's my boyfriend's girlfriend!"; Threesome In A Bed song it had to be for her, then. For On In, it seemed that offences after down downs are in order, otherwise the racing along the track that took place would have required handcuffs and a few fisticuffs too. We also took in the refurbished Ashton Inn during a still warm On In (even if bus timetables still list it as The Dovecote). Even the most ambitious limbs ignored the On Out arrows from earlier, we had an Angel to thank!
ON ON ON: Quality over quantity was the order with the sandwiches, wolfed down quickly while sharing the twilit patio with the locals plus the faraway-fetched Brigadoon and Ballsport. Time to follow an Angel to the Star…
Run 478, 6th May 2015.

Limpit and Fondue make a new hash marking. This is
to handicap foreigners - like those that come from
Bris'ol, Cardiff or even further (ear e or 'ere 'ee is
in old North Somerset dialect).

WHERE: The Anchor Inn, Bridgewater Road, Bleadon.
HARES: Limpit and Fondue.

Run 477, 29th April 2015.

The New Inn, Kewstoke, Weston Super Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: Approximately 14 houndless hashers.
RUN REPORT: Busy 21st century schedules were no excuse for half of the watered down throng hiking all the way out to Kewstoke (virgin pub too, if I'm not mistaken), without dressing up for Brigadoon's Mexican themed run! Just as well the hares had ensured a role for everyone with shot glass stops, then – you had to burn off a calorie or two first, though. First there beheld a stream-side runners' loop courtesy of a materialising arrow, with an electric fence just in case proceedings were not already highly charged. This also meant a pacy jog along the aptly named Beach Road, both for the sake of reaching that first tequila stop and to minimise the amount of sand to wash out of our hair later. After glasses had been shot and stowed away from designated drivers we then faced the dizzying heights of Weston Woods via a much steeper approach – first a BMX track was negotiated and then Brigadoon reminded us of the necessity of a "hairpin bend" approach through the trees. It certainly yielded democratic results – the evergreen Coppertone was once again seen leading the pack at one point, and should walkers have felt hard done by then they could count on the quickly constructed runners' loop near the top – back from whence the pack had came, as it were. Well, despite the danger of being trapped in that timewarp, no runners appeared particularly grumpy once we arrived at the sweet stop and conducted a popular Mexican wave to share out many a Manyard Body Part – not that ours need replacing just yet. On On out of the woods presented us with a splendid panoramic of Sand Bay, complete with no cameras! It seemed, then, that we would have to rely on photographic memory to pick up on the hash crime that occurred just round the bend. How apt too that it was at Monk's Steps where runners knew that either the walkers would get a helicopter ride down to join them (believe me, I wouldn't put that past stalwarts Briggy and Ballsport), or they would be using a Stannah to play catchup once a turnback at the bottom had become a sight for sore eyes. In the end technology had no part to play in the wanderers' return – they even managed to catch the walkers' up by Worlebury golf club and thus run into the fish hook for 3 in the nick of time. Now that daylight appears to have joined us exclusively for a few months the hares deemed it fit to open up the mobile bar with apparently 3 miles of the trail left (odd how one's perception of distance falters when sober). Apple juice and cider on the menu plus the remainder of those sweeties – a lot of that when a little way.
CIRCLE & ON IN: Thankfully we declared impunity for wearing sombreros in the circle, but not for that Monk's Steps misdemeanour constituting Missapp daring to take a little sit down, along with a little short-cutting here and there. Double D actually served the due process of down-downing out of the new shoe she had been bounding along in (a quick upturn of a spotless sole proved our point), though she did at least share the last laugh. For after bouncing down through the golf course with the hares making a sneaky return courtesy of petrol, a firmer footwear proved quite useful in negotiating possibly the same 1 in 1 descent from run 365, though many denied this on the grounds of all Bog descents looking the same, especially when spliced with a devilish fish hook. Once we touched down on the former Kewstoke toll road the On In presented itself in long, flat and surprisingly traffic calming form. Hola, Inn Nuevo!
ON ON ON: Chilli out, veggies and omnivores! Two full to the brim cauldrons of the Mexican delicacy plus spicy sauce and fluffy rice worked much better after a hash than it would just before; most certainly a menu worth inventing another Mexican night for. Keeping with the virgin pub theme, next week we shall past the Ship at Uphill to drop The Anchor at Bleadon.
Run 475, 15th April 2015.
The Downs School, Bristol, later the Rudgleigh at Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Inchworm, Coppertone and Bag Lady.
WHO: 16 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: None were left feeling blue on this spring-come-summer evening even though the Hyacinthoides non-Scripta made only a fleeting appearance on our annual visit to their wood. Flour was also surprisingly sparse as we ventured out the luxury scenery of the Downs School towards our photoshoot – this time there was no painful tumble taken by Walrus, due solely to absence. Latecomer Cinderella was only too keen to make up for his slight tardiness by steaming back up to the pack and snapping one of the thirsty bluebells (with a camera, not with his feet), and for good measure he called back Irish Spew and Alice who were in the midst of exploring a ravine that never would have led back to the branched-off walkers. For the second time in as many fortnights it seemed we had greatly underestimated the swashbuckling Rebore, who turned up quite drastically at a regroup tailor-made for runners claiming to be just that. Well, it meant more catching up to be done with the REAL walkers who may have been tired of cogitating at the sweet stop, so kudos where it is due. Liquorice Allsorts here were as welcome as ever (interestingly there was no blue Bertie Bassett), and once On Up had taken over the itinerary we came to an ever so slightly familiar uphill which runners still harbour hopes of going up without coming down again. Maybe not tonight, but then who could resist traipsing through the distant cousins of Giant Redwoods to get a taste of Haribo and a cashew-nut and pumpkin seed conglomeration? On On and Yum Yum, we skirted the perimeter of Noah's Ark Zoo Farm but with 40 days of floods looking distinctly unlikely, given that we were still bathed in a poppy-red sunset well after 8pm. Perhaps having overestimated their limbs, Coppertone and Fondue opted for a surreptitious short-cut for the On In, leaving the pack to chuckle at Rocky Horror briefly resembling a scarecrow and to manoeuvre through a few freshly felled trees (or perhaps Ents from Lord of the Rings?) and form a simple one-sided shape:
CIRCLE: To the menu of orange juice and cider the hares were reminded of the need for plenty more flour especially if haring in a location whose populace greedily devour it, otherwise Fondue may struggle to add significantly to her fantasy world of 200 hashes, as of this evening! Make that 199 more for encouraging virgin Just John from Easton-in-Gordano (who has at least seen hash symbols in the past), and Bogs will continue to grow quarter on quarter.
ON ON ON: After a quick drive in unison to the Rudgleigh we conquered the main lounge and quickly polished off the feast of chips plus tuna, egg and ham sarnies. With this gorgeous weather not letting up quite as fast as it usually does on these shores, eating out on the patio may not be more than a handful of hashes away...
Run 474, April 8th 2015.
The The Rising Sun, Backwell .
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 473, April 1st 2015.
The Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 14 hashers and no leads, but one visitor.
RUN REPORT: The international hashing association had ruled that we had to complete tonight's run on our hands and knees while wearing tutus, all in the spirit of raising Spring attendances through a jovial approach. Okay, perhaps too late in the day to pull such a fast one, but none would be fooled into steaming down THAT shiggy trail opposite Engine Lane without some semblance of a hare present. Once it dawned that this was the correct way on, a fish hook for 4 served to keep the throng intact, as did a regroup among the felled bracken with plenty of daylight still to soak things up. A special surprise awaited the runners on their first major loophole of the evening – after briefly taking in tarmac (inevitably with whinnied encouragement from the neighbouring equines) they headed through the trees and found an "AF" to the left alongside a pool and regular blobs ahead. One suggestion to test the depth using Inchworm did not go down well, so instead we relied on a chance collision with the hares up ahead who confirmed our suspicions that it was an April Fool symbol. If that were to really work, it may have to be later in the trail when it is dark (and also may have to wait till the year 2020 for when Bogs next hash on April Fools), but nonetheless we were still grateful to be back as one hunting pack for a few minutes. Then beckoned two routes around Backwell Lake – if the shiggy quagmire at the kissing gate entrance was a little daunting, then the runners were in for a taste of the high life as their by now "traditional" long cut had been given the makeover of a fresh layer of tarmac, every bit as neatly rolled out as your average red carpet. With power comes responsibility, namely the dare 'n' do of crossing the road to be met with a concrete semi-tightrope over a ditch, followed by a long-stretching field with no bovines, merely their leavings. By now the back-walkers were a little feared for and thus the way was kept lit as we sought the compromise of an early (all right, then – earlier than planned) sweet stop just as civilisation re-entered our view. Indeed, the sound of haribo minions being opened plus another fish hook quickly helped us regain the usual suspects who were there to make the most of the scenery as well as the exercise. The homing pigeon in all of us needed little encouragement to turn back to the West, even if it meant getting as lost as one can get in a 10 acre wood and then insisting on the longest way for on on shortly afterwards. By now we felt possibly in a little excess of hashing merriment and thus were keen for the hares to show us their latest beer stop abode – when it appeared there came the shock horror of finding the Rewind had already retired to the bar. Well, no fresh pineapple or down downs for him then.
CIRCLE & ON IN: Hats in the circle were given special exemption given the post-9pm conditions, and thus congratulations once again to the hares for turning Nailsea into such a labyrinth in less than 2 hours. It was indeed just a quick hop, skip and stumble back to the Grove, with most of us glad to have worked up such a hunger.
ON ON ON: A very encouraging catering debut from the Grove of baguettes, cheeseboard and plentiful chilli to suit the carnivorous and herbivorous among our contingent. Fast Forward also made a most welcome appearance, as did the first sign ups for 2015's ass hash. Oh, how time flies when you think 5 months ahead...
Run 471, 18th March 2015.
The Phoenix Bar, Portishead.
HARE: Inchworm.
WHO: 15 hashers, 2 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: With a lengthy split of walkers and runners on the cards, it was no surprise to learn that this run had taken soloist Inchworm 2 days to set (not nights in between? After all, you are a bog). On Out took us back past where many of our vehicles would head later, but still with marks sufficiently hidden away to warrant surprise. The runners made a quick though respectful loop around the Church of St Peter before events took an uphill turn to Rippleside (no doubt named in honour of one of our favourite Clevedonian Bogs escalators). A mysteriously wearied pack of runners (excepting Alice with his renewable energy, of course) meant that the walkers ended up doing some route checking en route to the sweet stop looking out across the channel – after sharing these out none too evenly we briefly paid a trip to nostalgia land, recognising the site of Woodcut's Trailblazing BBQ run 313 – some of those calories are still firmly attached. One immediately had the option to run several more of these off, provided you were happy with a motley running crew of 6 and a tidy load of shiggy. The runners even managed to resist the temptation of the zip wire in Merlin park (fine, the trail was magic enough), and shortly afterwards resorted to cutting their own path through Weston Big Wood. At this point the absence of pre-pub beer stop seemed quite apt as walkers (wherever they had trudged) may have seized up while waiting for the runners to come crashing down into Weston Wood Road, delighting in finding the remaining checkpoints already kicked out. Given the walkers' commitment tonight, the only remaining surprise was that none of them had gone through and marked the last remaining runners' route for On In. Oh, for somebody who knows how to bend rules...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Inchworm may have been joking about his pledge to retire from haring if tonight's was not up to scratch, but we heaped the plaudits and down downs on him anyway just to make sure. Fondue would have forgotten her own head torch if it wasn't screwed onto her top, but it made her think she'd forgotten it anyway and so a down down was the only option. Backchat was also on hand to help demolish the cheese, chutney, salad and baguette hamper, though tonight we were relegated from the already occupied conservatory that we have made our home. On on for the Grandmaster's first post-eclipse hash next week...
Run 468, 25th February 2015.

The Criterion, Weston Super Mare.
HARE: Miss App.
WHO: An elite group of 10 hashers plus a few amphibious extras.
RUN REPORT: An excellent hash with a myriad of checkpoints and the odd circular loop which succeeded in inverting the pack, so that the first became last and the last became first a number of times. Everyone, walkers as well, was involved in checking out, and of course no one believed the hare when she kept insisting that only 1 blob meant you were on trail, so we kept looking in all directions until the traditional three were called. A visit through Grove Park, soon lead to a cry of "don’t step on the frog", soon followed by " there’s another one", and "look out - they’re all over the place", so we followed the green frog code and daintily stepped around the green creatures as they eyed up the slugs eating the flour trail.
CIRCLE: Following a relatively fast paced hash we were back at the Criterion by 8:45, and joined by Eager Beaver in time for the circle. And the Criterion’s offer of 3 different halves for the price of a pint was too good an opportunity to miss for the down downs, so we thanked the hare and found good cause to use up the rest of the beer, whilst eating tasty soup and sandwiches, and being serenaded by Rocky playing on one of the pub’s guitars.
ON ON ON: Next week is the Angel at Long Ashton. No pub car park so park somewhere on the main road leading through Long Ashton.
Run 467, 18th February 2015,
The Ring O’Bells, Nailsea.
WHO: A mighty respectable 22 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Dry and starry it may have been, but that was not enough to keep us away from the shiggy REWIND inevitably had on offer tonight. Right at the off there was some long and short cutting across and back from The Grove Sports field, albeit as a mere trifle for what quickly followed. Those who had driven here across the moors pretended not to have seen a couple of checkpoints and instead blindly followed a premature On On down a darkened quagmire of a trail (admittedly one we have traipsed at least 5 times before) but 5 minutes without flour turned out sufficient to turn us all round and seek out the hare and his back-marking partners in crime. What do you know, an arrow down Engine Lane had appeared out of nowhere, partnered by a namesake down a narrow footpath where Fondue and Double D were found huddled against the lack of elements. Strength in numbers still seemed the wisest choice, even if by now we had already seemingly shed the Brigadoon Brigade, and so we stuck to the tried and mostly tested approach track to the nearby rugby club, where Six Nations recruitment under the floodlights was clearly in progress. At yonder regroup an arrow was spotted pointing towards us, suggesting a back-markers’ approach from elsewhere, but no such bad luck. Instead we meandered down safe in the knowledge that there would be no T24 from run 190 (who could forget?!), in fact something much more pleasant than that - a Banksy-esque daub of a watchful blackbird, even emphasised as part of a viewpoint so none but a tasty FRB would miss it. By now we began to fear a little for the sanity if not safety of a few missing walkers, especially since a further delay beckoned on Nailsea’s outskirts. All to plenty avail, though - Brigadoon and his semi-party were found at the front of the trail heading onwards and Rewind even decided to announce a short cut around all the shiggy on offer; I think we all knew who was going to accept. Admirably, not Coppertone as the long cut waded in and out of a bovine field and, via a hare’s rallying cry, into a major high jump - Cinders and Eager took to balancing the makeshift footstep into the neighbouring stream (no-one appeared to take any big splash) and then somebody turned Walter Raleigh with a plank over the stream; most used the stones instead. Once the pack had reassembled the other side of another sports field, everyone appeared to still have all their limbs attached but worryingly short of beer - quite uncanny...
CIRCLE: Many exertions to drink to once we reached the gaff of REWIND and Fast Forward, with the beer bag paused ready for action. A mound of banana chunks soon gave us a much appreciated potassium shot while cider and apple juice comprised the more vital down downs. Floyd was the villain of the piece, calling on on down that flour-devoid shiggy trail, and several hats needed shedding in time to avoid an early drink. On In took us quickly past Tithe Barn and once again with the bells tolling for 9pm - all that consternation over routes earlier suddenly seemed all worthwhile.
ON ON ON: Enough hearty tomato soup and rolls to replace the calories which we had smouldered, with the cosy pub keeping many behind until after 10. On on to the Crtierion next week, another new venue for the Bogs to drink the bar dry.
Run 466, 11th February 2015,
The Crown, Churchill,
HARE: Irish Spew.
WHO: 15 houndless hashers.
RUN REPORT: Without the choreographing Deep Throat we opted for a quick hop, skip and On Out, with the words of wisdom that any stray symbols from a fortnight prior were to be ignored and treated with the same contempt as fish hook skippers. Thick bracken dominated the early stages next to a previously electrified fence (our fame has spread sufficiently for our safety to be regarded highly), and then we tumbled down with stalwart Coppertone in the lead thanks to runners choosing the less obvious routes. The A38 was considered dangerous enough for 2 warning triangles at the bottom; once that had been negotiated we headed up a pretty familiar hill, but this time there was no reprieve of an immediate downhill. No, t’was up, up and away into the arteriolar tunnels of Dolebury Warren, and the FRBs were either remarkably fortunate in always choosing the right way at checkpoints, or local dog walkers had cottoned on to our route, or maybe they just knew Irish’s hare tendencies too well. After a seemingly limitless slalom through trees and surprisingly little shiggy, a fish hook for 6 appeared painfully halfway down (or up!) a hill, and by this point the gradient between back walkers and FRBs was deemed large enough for only seasoned road runners to seek the back of the pack - any mere huffers and puffers would obviously have ended up looking like Wily Coyote. Particularly since the imminent yet overdue sweet stop saw Briggy, Ballsport and Drop ‘Em drop in from another direction. Even if this patisserie had too many entrances, it did at least have an extensive menu - while Liquorice Allsorts and Jelly Babies were passed out none too evenly, yours truly has partial to 95% of the yummy scrummy Rowntree’s Randoms. Plodding on with what remained of our bearings, we avoided a couple of lingering precipices and emerged at the crossroads at the far end of Burrington Combe - could we really be heading uphill again? Inevitably yes, since homing pigeon Coppertone had again taken up the lead, quite literally. Anybody wearying by this stage of nearly 9pm was pleased to behold the flat, grassy expanse on the approach to Dolebury Warren’s fort (a firm Bogs favourite), and after taking in the twinkling county-wide views at the rocky regroup they even had the reward of a long/short route mark to choose their lengthy On In. Back at ground level, Irish stood like a homing beacon opposite the On In along Skinners Lane - judging by the split pack a real flashing beacon may have run out of power...
CIRCLE: Done without a rushed off his dainty feet scribe there were birthday down downs for Walky Talky, Ballsport for helping to remove Briggy’s presumably shiggy-infested galoshes and REWIND for seeing an actual hare on the way round (don’t worry, it’s still a month until they "go mad"). Irish got no special down down as we were all too busy fish-hooking.
ON ON ON: In a Crown presumably every bit as cosy and grub-less as our last visit, Walky Talky’s birthday cake inevitably went down a treat and Irish was congratulated on making a trail not long enough to make us Spew.
Run 465, February 4th 2015.
Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARES: Walrus and Happy Hooker.
WHO: Approximately 17 houndless hashers.
RUN REPORT: Huddled outside the Old Inn we paid tribute to Father Abraham (as did a few non-hashers who have a drinking rather than running problem) and then set about discussing the wondrous sight of the Moon Halo on the Monday just passed – before anecdotes could be fully exchanged though the fellowship was split and the runners sent on a daring circumnavigation first of the Littlewall Rhyne (a.k.a. a stream) and then a pretty lengthy though cyclist-free stretch of the Strawberry Line. While thundering and fish hooking back in the direction of the walkers a ride was hitched by latecomers Zider and Double D who had wandered from walker to runner route inadvertently (Ramblers' route, perhaps?) - good job then that arrows began to dominate proceedings as we sped on and over the bridge at the back end of the Ship & Castle. What was to follow was a non-malicious hasher's sense of deja vu – non-malicious in that we went for a suburban stroll with several fish hooks and shouts of ka-ka, as well as a regroup in a wind tunnel, but wound up retracing our runner steps via a footpath that even Deep Throat confessed to never having seen before – had there been a malicious hare the same trick would no doubt have been executed courtesy of a T30+. By now we felt due some shiggy decoration and duly obliged with a hash 'n' mud splash alongside the raging rapids (possibly a little too cold and vigorous for Brigadoon to jump in this time), inciting an amiable obedience of fish hooks from the front-walking Coppertone. More remarkable still it seemed there was no inner child to be satisfied tonight as we trotted past uninterested in one of our frequented zip wires. For Brigadoon and Ballsport it wasn't even the beer stop that had distracted them, just the cosy and excellently old-school pub lodgings. Still, for the rest of the throng there turned out to be more than a little to toast:
CIRCLE: in an oblong gathering where Walky Talky declared a royal pardon for wearing hats in the circle (that was everyone off the fish hook, then), the beer and grape juice were quickly swilled to her specially formatted tune of hashing in circles and at different speeds (linking lyrics to song titles is not this scribe's forte), plus the speed swapping Double D and Zider got their sustenance comeuppance. Time to join those pub-sitters.
ON ON ON: Plenty of multicolour sandwiches to gorge on, arguably the pick of the bunch being Coronation Chicken on brown bread. Thanks to me stopping the presses for two days, next week's trail can now be confirmed as the Crown Inn at Churchill. Just when you thought pubs couldn't get cosier...
Run 464, Wednesday 28th January.
The Star at Star near Winscombe.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down and Dirty.
WHO: 16 Hashers and one cute little Hound.
RUN REPORT: Some of us were advised that this Hash would be nowhere near as shiggyfied as last week's Hash. Maybe not, had the ground been frozen. It wasn't, and we were ankle-deep in glutinous goo for almost its entirety. Still, a Hash isn't a Hash without shiggy! Eager excelled himself and managed to find every 'up' in the area. DD and Cider did a Fish Hook around a runners only route, naughty little Hashers. Walrus said he must be going slow 'cause he was behind Fondue - how did he reach that conclusion? As we upped and downed, criss-crossing the A38, we eventually passed TT and Hairnet's house. Rocky knocked on the door asking TT for pity to be taken on a poor cold shiggy encrusted Hasher, sadly none was given as Hairnet was not quite so immaculate as usual - bet she was still more immaculate than the rest of us! Then down to a 'Everyone's gone on on cause it's too ----- cold, Beer Stop' and back to the pub. Another excellent Hash from Eager and Down and Dirty as one has come to expect. ON INN: Grand Old Duke of York was sung, with feeling, to the Hares. DD and Cider were given a Down Down for their misdemeanour. Cider disposed of her almost full glass seemingly without gulping once. Big plates of sarnies disappeared in a trice.
Run 463, 21st January 2015.
The Jubilee Inn, Flax Bourton.
HARES: Rocky Horror and Alice.
WHO: 21 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Never had that beer stop sustenance felt like such a quench. Huddled beneath a gnarled tree but a stone’s hurl from the long-sought finishing post, there were 46 legs each wondering if it was their turn next to soak up the night’s shiggy marathon. At On Out a mere 105 minutes earlier there had been an immediate split of speeds (indeed one I had seen when driving into Bristol earlier but kept schtum about), preceded by the hares warning of a precipice hybrid immediately after a runners’ tunnel. Cows had also made their presence felt while laying the trail earlier, but in the dark they must have been lying down to predict the rain that came later - all runners reached the tunnel under the A370 having merely gained 2 pounds in shiggy and kept at a snail pace by those who refused to boldly sprint through. When these back running er...runners managed to catch their faster brethren there was another home run to be had around more shiggy, albeit with a lot more corner cutting and a very tall stile to frosby flop over (testimony to the difficulty is that Rewind looked perplexed by it for nearly 5 seconds). It was at this very brown, traffic-dodging stage that we really started to miss the walking fraternity (no doubt engaging in the Horrors of a Rocky Wonderland themselves), so to take to tarmac after another mud-slide was almost as welcoming as the surrounding spires of Barrow Court and the stationary head torches up ahead. Even more remarkably, there remained enough novelty pastilles, Starbursts and leftover tangies from the Nova Scotia run to go round - all in good health intentions. Presumably good intentions too in immediately being called on the wrong way, even if any trail would be disguised in this moonless quagmire and with flour running a little low. At this point touch down at our well-nigh allotted time was deemed unlikely unless we each rolled down the lone trail through Breach Hill Wood, while also ignoring a viewpoint that looked every bit as good at night as day (plenty of distant twinkling suburban streets and constellations). There was actually a regroup immediately after the VP (even hounds off a leash obey those) and so the warning was reiterated of slippery rocks on the way back down - oh, sorry for not mentioning the surviving fish hook, Irish Spew. Once we had wearily appeared back in Flax Bourton the option was offered to take a short cut back to the pub, at the cost of missing the beer stop. Yes, the hares really did give us the option of not congratulating them on effectively running a half marathon, and were it not for Rocky Horror teaching 5 of them how to read symbols they might just have accepted. The beer stop for all thus was reached via a footpath apparently designed by Flax Bourton’s youngsters - well, we have some juvenile footpath markings of our own.
CIRCLE: I guess you already heard the sustenance part, so on to the announcements - far too short and not shiggy enough inevitably rang out, while Irish Spew had engaged in some long cutting and Eager Beaver and Bag Lady had recently completed 200 Bogs hashes apiece. It may be a little too late for them to get a life.
ON ON ON: After dashing back across a shiggy-less field we retired to drink the Jubilee bar dry for this was food-free festivity. Cinders declared this the longest trail of the year - challenge or statement? Time will tell...
Run 462, 14th January 2015.
The Nova Scotia, Bristol.
HARES: Kerb Crawler & new trigenarian Walky Talky.
WHO: 17 soggy hashers and a Sparky hound.
RUN REPORT: Tonight turned into a quick whirlwind around the Cumberland basin mazes (no mean feat considering nearby Failand had been blanketed in snow overnight), still with a very respectable turnout in the gale. Just to emphasise its presence, at On Out the weather caused consternation with a wheelie bin foolishly left in us hashers' path, followed immediately by many a checkpoint encircling the convenient lamp-posts, as was the theme. Runners briefly looped in the direction of the SS Great Britain before coming to their senses and heading back into the wind, dodging through several litter minefields again courtesy of the isobars. A few more crossroads separated us from a sheltered sweet stop outside Greville Smythe Park, downing quickly the novelty dormice and tangy alternatives on offer. Crimes have been downgraded recently, but that was still no excuse for the FRBs to shortcut at yonder checkpoint – censure constituted a dark and shiggy route back to civilisation as well as checkpoint-checking duty next to the Cumberland traffic, no doubt looking on in bewilderment. Once we located the flight plan back in the direction of the CREATE Centre, we were surprised to see no repeat of the "Stuffed Spooky Owl Stop" from run 208 – perhaps because Rewind wasn't haring this time. Once back underneath the Basin with its graffiti most radical, our built-in clocks sensed more than just an On In as we bridged the gape between the park and the pub – a circumnavigation of the CREATE Centre and the dock, to be precise. Again it seemed a small mercy as the rain greeted an early On In for the second week running – time to go Super-Nova...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Squeezed into a nautical-themed back room we christened this trail as too dry and too long, before welcoming Bogs virgin Prophelastic who had been made to come by the convenience of proximity – an excellent platform with which to recruit everyone from Flax Bourton to the Jubilee Inn next week. More realistic optimism came when a big tray of chips, sausages and buttie bread came out and was finished almost before it was set down. Keep those calories coming!
Run 461, 7th January 2015.
The Bristol House, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 14 hashers, all of whom had 2 legs.
RUN REPORT: We began 2015's bogging with the welcome return of a Father Abraham warmup, not that any of those evergreen limbs needed it. After ambling along routes not quite so familiar in the dark, the runners completed a home run complete with a fish hook for few prior to a regroup back in the direction of the pub (by no means the last time Briggy was going to tease us tonight). Dodging what little traffic had ventured hither, we climbed a steep stairwell long enough to confuse Cinders into thinking we were heading out to sea – well, there were two FRBs who had taken the fish hook bait at the top, after all. Nonetheless, once we had split open the jelly babies and tangy haribo for the sweet stop, we certainly felt further inland than when we had begun – up popped the Windsor Castle from run 222 just to confirm it, though the On In on the zebra crossing appears to have been washed away now. We took the crow-flying direction towards Ashcombe Park and entered it squarely in the direction of the pub, though many had their suspicions as it was still only 8:20 at this point. Well, before leading us back uphill there was at lest some fun and games – unsurprisingly the rope swing on offer withstood Bag Lady's weight, ASTONISHINGLY it only creaked under Eager Beaver's; all present and correct needed a beer stop after that scare...
CIRCLE: Drink up de cider and pineapple juice, especially if you were the two swing-sitters (Bag Lady also wearing a hat – double jeopardy!) or Alice who had ignored the stair-top fish hook, or the handleless Gemma sheltering from the rain which was starting to assert its authority. Even if by now we could hear the barman's bell, we were still sent the long way On In around Bethany Gospel Hall and Pennine Gardens, up and down steps without slips for good measure. Into the Bristol in Weston:
ON ON ON: Splendid and plentiful nosh has greeted our presence here in the past, and tonight was no exception as we struggled to account for all the chutneys, mustard, ciabattas, salami, quiche, baguettes, grapes and olives on offer – our hosts had even gone to the trouble of labelling the six cheeses on offer, though Nick Park's top creations would possibly have bemoaned the lack of Wensleydale. On On and don't have nightmares!

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