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Run 573, December 28th 2016.
Dressing Down and Up All Night’s, Clevedon.
HARES: Make that hosts again!
WHO: 16 hashers turned hunters, plus 1 resident hound.
RUN REPORT: Tonight we were in for as much a mental as physical workout to go some way towards shedding those extra few turkey and brandy butter pounds - at a chilly circle up the hares handed out some instructions to help us find our way without flour - seem un-hashy? Then bog again as it was time to find the answer to many tricky questions about Clevedon’s former railway, sort-of shopping centre names and slogans, history surrounding B&Ms, The Community Centre and the Clock Tower to name but a few, none of which could be done without head torches or a desire to run down dead ends looking for a way out of them. To anyone pretending there were white markings, we strolled down to the former home of Morrisons, “checked out” for about half an hour, then headed uphill and through the dark surroundings of the Community Centre, then Six Ways without paying the absent Deep Throat (or even the zig zag) a visit, prior to taking to the promenade and revelling in delight that 30 years of inflation has still not altered the 20p price of the telescopes by the bandstand. By now the throng had thinned out depending on their own extra-sensory and problem solving skills, though speed on or off of two feet may also have been a factor in who got back before the search party was sent out may have been a factor too. Hope we were going to be warmed not by the fire...
CIRCLE: "Too much flour!" inevitably rang out as we toasted as much a sightseeing tour as a hash, though wannabe tourists may not be as used to the amount og grub that was to make an appearance...
ON ON ON: With a shivering Down & Dirty added to the mix, veggie and omnie curries with a mountain of rice went down a treat, as did the usual lineup for canapes plus a cheeseboard that any hashing ploughman would have been proud of. If quite a year of upheaval, 2016 has also been one of a Bogs 10 year anniversary, a Lytton Cheney scandal or ten, a surveying year for a Pointless Hashers’ Quiz Book and about half a year of debating what to do for the 10 year hash bash. Time to see in new year at the New Inn!
Run 572, December 21st 2016.
Bag Lady & Coppertone’s, though a bit cold and dark for lawn skittles.
HARES: Make that hosts!
WHO: About 18 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Shortest night has long been known to coincide with shortest trail, but for 2016 that was narrowly not to be the case. Once up what little there was of Queens Road to meet Downs Road, it was on and along with blacked out views of the channel, though we did allow for a superbly timed runner/walker split which culminated in FRBs plotting a collision course with Brigadoon who was a-Brigging up the rear. From here it tried to all go downhill - a few slaloms down in the direction of Redcliffe Bay made us hungry for sweet stops that weren’t there, though everyone bar an overly curious Briggy and Rocky applied the brakes in time to avoid a visit to Pebble Beach’s distant cousin and then have to scramble up a steep, shiggy slope as Bogs have done in yester-yester-yesteryear. Hillside Road it was that helped us to locate Nore Road and its specially sheltered zig-zag path - not quite Clevedon’s namesake, but enough twists and turns to get Rebore lamenting a finish after 8:40pm nonetheless. Once back on Hillcrest which incidentally was still a few dozen metres from the hill’s crest, we were tempted though not quite seduced to find a non-flour (or even non-ON IN!!) route back to the hares’, but condiments did prevail over common sense in the end and the natural reward was along, flat finishing straight along Sea View. Time for you Bogs to Bring Your Own Banquet:
CIRCLE: After exchanging cards and a few items of glitter which may have been adorning us during the trail of course - either crimes and stats were there none or perhaps we were just too keen to get stuffed. So a big down down to the hares and indoors for the festivities.
ON ON ON: A great deal of non-Christmassy cakes, including baklavas and carrot awaited our services, as did the much more festive mulled wine, mince pies and Bag Lady’s “name that Christmas Carol” quiz which anyone spending a penny did reasonably well at. Seasons treatings!
Run 571, 14th December 2016.
Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: Approximately 15 houndless hashers, at least doubling in numbers and with hounds materialising later – you all know why...
RUN REPORT: Well here 'twere!!!!! After a buildup of hype stretching back at least 10 weeks it was time to celebrate 10 years of fish-hooking, checkpointing, regrouping, speed splitting, turn-backing, sweet stopping, beer stopping, RA-ing, Lytton Cheney python avoiding, St Davids rock conquering, Annual Somerset Scrumpying, Brigadoon phone and car key hunting, handle christening, locals-flashing (both of the Briggy and LED variety), Annual General P***-Upping, Fondue pavlova and pecan cake gorging, bluebell-photographing, virginity-losing, BBQ-ing, crime-shaming, PCSO-consulting, hashing, splashing and drink the bar dry-ing, all under the guise of supposedly having just a running problem. Ever the paired up eyes for detail, Zider and Double D had assembled a smorgasbord of blobs that resembled a 10 for any birds-eye hashers, along with a reasonable assurance of arriving back for the annual-come-monthly p*** up by 8. A lot to cram in to one of the reasons why we came, then – we opted not to On Out from whence he had arrived, baring in mind that it was “2 and you're on”, and instead crossed “upstream” of the neighbouring Ring O'Bells to set about proving that a familiar neighbourhood to Bogs can still be made to look like a unique trail with every hope of becoming lost and found. After evading a couple of false leads and inevitably spooking a few people who, incredibly, were just out on this unseasonably mild evening for a “walk”, we found enough time in our one-half match to split the speeds up (almost 50:50 it were, too), with the off-the-grounds skipping on the edge of Nailsea School and opting for a subway instead of hash road sense. Just as contributing to the “10 pattern” was another crossover plus spliced checkpoints, along with a surviving Beer Near symbol from months past which may have increased a Rebore-esque desire to seek Tythe Barn and those church bells even earlier. Well, seek 'em we did, almost as much as we could smell the presumably 10-course feast that needed wolfing down by 10 newcomers and all – out of the way departing cars – the group with a temporary eating problem were coming through!
CIRCLE: Once indoors and silently salivating, we paid tribute to quarter-milennial hasher Coppertone and donned our 10th anniversary t-shirts made up compulsory hash material (not shiggy...yet!) - too plenty joiners at this point to NOT mention – Briggy, Ballsport, Down & Dirty all skittled out, Fair Weather, Wine Stain marking the occasion, Nothrax, DT, Red Light, Up all Night and Dressing Down were all here to drown out the seeming all night skittles in the next bar, courtesy first of meals fit for hashing kings – whether starter plus main you were into (or indeed, into you) there were seconds both protein and rice to ladel up before choosing between fruit salad, something white from Fondue, something else that tends to go quite well with brandy butter, and even the cheese board which (hold the presses) cost the same as other desserts and was left to be devoured by all in turn afterwards. Call that entertainment?
ON IN: And plenty more where it came from – historical debates threatened to flair up regarding Bag Lady and Eager's “10” themed quiz, Up all Night did a belly dance that made us flop, DT chose his congratulatory and commemorative words as wisely as ever, and oh the effort made by Happy Hooker, Rebore, Rocky and Briggy – while Coppertone read out a script unscripted, we were treated to another dose of Briggy full moon (first encountered around about run 195 in Leigh Woods) plus every pun under the sun (even if not quite timed as well as tonight's run which had touched down at 8:03pm), and those still ready to linger past 11 helped Eager finish the last throes of his non-hash quizzing (I think it's safe enough to let that cat out of the bag now – just wait for the finished article in January). On On with a BYOB (Bring Your Own Baubles) feel at Bag Lady and Coppertone's next week. Here's to many of us racing around Nailsea with mobility scooters, fracking-powered walking sticks, zimmer-micro-scooter hybrids, or perhaps just the way we all are now in 10 glorious years' time...
Run 570, 7th December 2016.
The Old Barn, Wraxall.
HARE: Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 15 hashers.
RUN REPORT: Kerb Crawler set out as a Live Hare, just 30 minutes before the pack, and spent half of the time laying the trail wondering where the pack would catch up with her. Meanwhile the pack spent half the time wondering where the trail went. A clever usage of specially chosen fallen leaves that appear white when a torch shines on them, coupled with maximum (but entirely accidental) use of very fresh looking two week old flour left over from REWIND’s hash, all succeeded in delaying us from finding the correct route. Halfway round and the pack started to dwindle as, firstly the walkers decided "we know where the pub is and we’re going back there now" and then Rebore and DT checked down a road, never to return. So the final "Famous Five go hashing" pack were left to find the remainder of the route, whilst the Hare was waiting back at the pub, on the comfy chairs outside in the mild night air, for about an hour before the last five got back.
CIRCLE: was omitted, because eating Bend Over’s delicious pasta bolognaise whilst sheltering from the rain took precedence, and Rocky, Fondue and Kerb Crawler engaged everyone by taking money from them for numerous reasons.
ON ON ON: to the BOGS 10-year anniversary at the Grove, Nailsea. You should have booked a place by now!
Run 569, 30th November 2016.
The Lamplighters, Shirehampton.
HARE: Cinderella, aided by Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 11 hashers (and their winter woollies) and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: A select, well wrapped up, group followed the flour as we hunted around over white frosted grass in sub-zero temperatures, and we soon started to warm up. Our numbers grew as Inside Out, and then Double D and Zider I, caught up before entering the old woodlands of Penpole Park, where Screw Loose and Lasse won the "who can go the wrong direction at a checkpoint most often" competition. A fairly rapid descent through the village of Shirehampton brought us back to the pub in good time to seek warmth and drink before food arrived.
CIRCLE: took place in the warmth of the Lamplighters upstairs, where Travelog was welcomed back as a returnee, reminding us that he was on BOGS Hash No 1 all those 10 years ago. Duracell declined his downing cider awarded for heading the wrong way near the start and finding the in trail a little too early, so Rocky had to substitute in, mainly because he followed Duracell for that extra mile.
ON ON ON: More than ample supplies of sandwiches, crisps, then chips and sausage rolls meant that this is a pub to return to again in greater numbers.
Run 568, 23rd November 2016.
The Ring O’Bells, Nailsea.
WHO: 16 hashers, 3 hounds (unusual ratio!) and 5 visitors.
RUN REPORT: The front pages were held for the purpose or sanity prevailing on this REWIND trail, in which even seasoned hound Mudlark saw fit to teach her 4 legged rookie pals to wrap up warm against some very harsh, albeit dry, elements. At On Out it took little flour convincing to make us follow Houdini and REWIND’s lead and check out the grounds of our upcoming 10th Anniversary shindig, miraculously locating a long path out to somewhere low on flour but high on molehills - thankfully a combination of the two ensnared the FRBs before too many of us could get lost and our usually devious hare got the chance to prove that “T” stood not for turnback but for tree stop, as well as a few dotted reminders from the trail itself that without a checkpoint, “it’s one blob and you’re on!”. Or, for a lot of the beckoning suburban segment of the trail, many arrows were to make light work, especially with suspicions of tampering being whispered as we trundled along Trendlewood Way and ran some hoops around the croquet club. If anybody felt we were too old for that, it may explain why a zip wire was ignored by all en route to a brief woodland traipse, or perhaps we all assumed that Briggy would arrive for the trail after all and do the zipping for us. The woods quickly spewed us out (including a virgin hound who decided not to sink into a real bog after all) next to Millennium Park - Google Maps confirms that this idyllic perfect circle was probably plotted a generation ago using an enormous compass. Talking of which, the navigational variety probably would have helped point us North-West-West towards a viewpoint and mint imperial stop next to The Royal Oak; “the statuesque poser was probably sheltering from airborne shiggy” were REWIND’s words of wisdom here - not that we were concerned at a period when all but hashers go into hibernation. Nope - it was back along the High Street and past the converted Coates House cafe (last seen wearing scaffolding) plus the equally bogs-friendly Glassmaker in search of both unity and beer stop - a blank fish hook was taken as an indication to run back for the beer bag courier rather than merely to be reeled in, but reel us all in the trail most certainly did; something at REWIND’s abode had been Stollen!
CIRCLE: Stollen with chocolate chips plus chocolate hearts, beverages and fruit rings, to be precise. We tried a free for all in one garden corner but then saw sense and did a free for all on the driveway - after singing “where has all the flour gone?” and welcoming the returning Double D and Zider, we also pounced on Inchworm for use of mid-trail technology, plus Eager, Fondue, Double D, Limpit and Zider for NOT wearing hats in the circle? Oh, some will just never learn to bow to peer pressure...
ON ON ON: Thanks to a slightly early arrival, we touched down neither via Tithe Barn nor with the Holy Trinity church bells. Plenty to warm us all up, though - first we had the additions of Down and Dirty, Brigadoon, Ballsport, Fast Forward and Mr Zider to huddle up with, and then we had the Bogs specialty of this house - piping hot green soup aplenty with the mini baguettes absorbing as much of that as a scribe absorbs idle gossip. With anniversary do admin now well underway, here’s to head torches making another great comeback at the Lamplighters next trek.
Run 567, 16th November 2016.
The Swan, Rowberrow.
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 566, 9th November 2016.
Newton House, Hill Road, Clevedon. HARES: DT and Walky Talky.

Run 565, 2nd November 2016.
The Salthouse, Clevedon.
HARES: Happy Hooker with a dash of Rewind.
WHO: 18 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A plummet in temperature if anything bought out more Bogs enthusiasm, though having a very tried, tested and well trusted stomping ground around the Salthouse surely helped as well. The promenade enticed a few FRBs who nonetheless turned back towards the pub assuming that it was not yet time for On In, though Happy Hooker was already sufficiently motivated to call a short cut back up towards Poet's Walk and to send runners first on a voyage to the Wayne's Hill “fingers” and then back onto the outskirts, isolated enough to survive being kicked out or washed away by wannabe Farmer Giles. By the time we re-established sea level it was time to stop for a fine mix of sweets – jelly babies had stayed warm in their cot as had Haribo super mix, however it took about 50 chews to get through each of the frozen Maynard Sports mix – all part of a plan of course to exercise every muscle this cold night. After continuing along Clevedon Pill and without any of those almost exotic birds in sight, those with a built in compass were a little disconcerted to see the runners being sent past the golf course – we were rest assured by the hares though that they were merely looking for a turnback and that, at the pace we were setting, there would be still enough time to fit in a committee meeting later if needs be. Despite knowing most tricks in the Rewind book, a few of the pack were still surprised to be called back from gravel and sent along the riverbank, giving the off ground contingent time to close the gap and pinpoint the way back across Marshalls field where any present shiggy was solidified and a time warp threatened to strike as we arrived back at the foot of Poet's Walk. Tempting though it was to raid the neighbouring allotment for goodies, we instead followed a hastily squirted arrow through to a beer stop complete with picnic bench which many chose their own route to. For Rocky Horror, who had been let off the lead, it had been a time to FRB his way down through St Andrew's graveyard, while Brigadoon and Ballsport (commendably here from the former's work rush) had called early On In and a slightly anxious wait entailed before 5 final head torches were seen cutting through the undergrowth, sought out by Rewind's rescue mission.
CIRCLE: Good health here – with plenty of apple, orange and pear plus the traditional thirst quenchers, all that was missing was the bells of St Clements – since it was not yet 9 o'clock and we were next to St Andrews anyway. Crimes included a few short cutters plus a toast to Bend Over for, ahem...hastily repairing Poppy's portable toilet and keeping the trail as we found it. Trying hard not to hold that thought, On In was as prompt as it was deciduous and with an 8:50 touchdown we were left christening this trail as appropriately autumnal in length. Time to get cosy:
ON ON ON: A very welcome appearance from Fair Weather for appetisers, followed by a main course of thick chips plus tuna, egg and ham sarnies aplenty. Down & Dirty also appeared from skittles and traded places with Eager, while preparations continued for our 10th anniversary hash dash and bash without a splash. How time flies when you're setting a different trail for 520 consecutive weeks...
Run 564, 26th October 2016.
The New Inn, Kewstoke.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.

Run 563, 19th October 2016.
Morrisons car park, Weston, followed by Fondue’s abode.
HARES: Fondue and Houdini.
WHO: 18 hashers and 2 + 1 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Morrisons emporium itself would have made for a great hash route, what with the endless crossroads, sweet and beer stops, but we opted instead for the great outdoors after rendezvousing while our jaws dropped at the Costa Coffee. On Out drew genuine words of encouragement from the adolescent crowd and also quickly sent runners (including wannabe Duracell bunny Fondue) on a limb around the local pond. Twice these off-the-grounds thought the trail lost and twice they prematurely felt they had caught the walkers, but still there was no sign as arrows reappeared - even Down & Dirty had decided that fast and unsteady wins the race to Fondue’s food tonight, and so it was to prove. Before the walkers were found by the railway footbridge after what must have been the most exothermal 10 minutes of their lives, runners had taken care without triangles by a couple of open track crossings (Rocky venturing over one and drawing a horn from a train that was, at most.....a mile away from him at the time) and also found that the footbridge was something of a skidpan. With no faceplant crimes to report nonetheless, it was on on as a contented group through a small excerpt of the Locking Castle labyrinth and onto Moor Lane, which certainly feels as long as a runway on your own two feet - even more so when you stop for nuts of the plain, dry roasted and chocolate coated variety and clean the palate with a bunch of burst-in-the-mouth red grapes, followed swiftly by leading a charge of the headlight brigade straight into a fish hook for 8 which (hold the presses)...8 people actually obeyed! By the time we had decided that no buses were due along this long, thin stretch but which still had bus stops, the beer stop complete with circle found that it was in for some interesting company - enclosed:
CIRCLE: Just as we were getting a compass out to draw a perfect circle of hashers some shifty looking folk wheeled some upgraded mopeds past us and (as the crow flies) towards the A38. We only decided they were shifty later on after reasoning that vehicles are for driving, not pushing. Hopefully this is all scribe gossip, but any Westonian out for witness statements will need to complete a Bogs run in a Rebore devil costume first. Quite something to stomach while finishing off the sweet stop remnants, cider and cordial and complimenting Houdini for not leading the walkers into a rogue arrow earlier. All bar possibly one managed to find Fondue’s house in the catacombs of Locking Castle, no doubt containing a banquet hall.
ON ON ON: One helluva dinner/supper party for Fondue to throw on top of using all that flour, but throw it she certainly did. I somehow evaded the temptation to dive into the customary pavlova BEFORE a fair share of the chicken and veggie chilli (the latter dematerialised despite Rebore not being on hand to demolish it), while resident hound Mudlark made up for her trail absence by bouncing around everyone’s shoes in turn. A somewhat fearful-for-hash-commitments Briggy nonetheless announced Halloween On Ons for next week at the New Inn, Kewstoke. It may turn out to be a skeleton in our cupboard...
Run 562, October 12th 2016.
The Crown Inn, Churchill.
HARES: Ben Dover.

Run 561, October 5th 2016.
The Star Inn, Tickenham.

Run 560, September 28th 2016.
The Anchor, Ham Green, Pill.
HARES: Rebore and Limpit.
WHO: 15 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: With numbers thinning but not yet thin on the ground, warnings were heeded at On Out about two A369 crossings and with above average fish hook numbers now that head torches were compulsory. After trying and narrowly failing to mistake On In flour for On Out flour, the already FRBs were reeled in a couple of times along Pill Road, but even this did not suffice to tame some of them – Limpit's rallying cry of On Back to repeat FRBs did not bring them back from the walkers' route, and so instead walkers carried on alongside the busy crossing and ended up sandwiched between genuine and rebellious runners. By this time the trail had turned as green as was possible in the dark, carefully skirting Haberfield Park Farm since the farmer is of the “Ger Orf Moi Land!” ilk. No less a concern may be voiced about Happerton Farm once we had seemingly followed the FRBs up through the trees with sonar; however we did get the reassurance from the hares that any stares from a lonely house at the impending sweet stop were out of curiosity rather than territoriality. Wine gums, midget gems and liquorice allsorts (don't tell the absent Cinderella, oh...) replenished sufficient joules to see us downhill and towards our second A369 crossing next to the friendlier Markham Farm – dicing with death like a hare caught in the headlights was thankfully not on the cards, though speed splitting briefly was and thus only the lolloping Eager and Walky Talky got to whisper to some horses this evening. Promptly regrouped, we remembered it was time for our Pill dose and chose straight on at several crossroads, naturally so that we could fly like a crow down to the harbour, under the viaduct and back up again whichever way your feet chose – that's the long and short of it. Walkers stuck to tarmac en route to our most scenic of beer stops, while for runners shiggy continued to make a vain attempt at an Indian Summer appearance. No shoes or hounds were unaccounted for once Limpit cracked open some extra BS goodies (though Poppy kept trying to gallop back to the pub before Down Downs; needs to learn from stalwart Mudlark!), and fruit and nuts without the milk chocolate coating definitely made for a good toast to our touchdown destined for 9 on the dot.
CIRCLE: Rocky gained impunity for a short cut on the last runners' route, 4 other runners on a walker's trail were not so lucky, and without the RA the down down singing was sufficiently incomprehensible to sound like a “Bogs Got Talent” show. Nonetheless sense of direction still prevailed across the green with more trip wires than ham and On In with the same stile scaling from earlier. Time to drop anchor...
ON ON ON: Brigadoon and Ballsport appeared in the cosy bar to help us demolish a well above par spread of chips plus brown and white sarnies , and even my declining eye for detail was not going to miss Rebore's Hash-Flashed effort to snaffle 95% of the sarnies in his own little alcove. Skittles duty called me away before a democratic sandwich share could be guaranteed - that's bread and butter for this time of year.
Run 559, 21st September 2016.
The Plough Inn, Wrington.
HARE: Eager Beaver.

Run 558, 14th September 2016.
Briggy's Bar, Marconi Close, Weston-super-Mare.
HOST/HARE: Brigadoon.
WHO: 16 hashers, 1 hound and 3 hostesses.
RUN REPORT: The Weston curse threatened to strike as loud as recent lightning, but the culinary lure ended up filling Briggy's garden more than sufficiently for On Out (where runners were again forewarned that any cases of lost and not found would be purely down to them). Many hit the ground running the way which they had drove in and then scooted in the direction of Briggy's local The Boro' Arms (this time without a basketball-bouncing Cowslip), but runners were reined in by markings across the sleeping Locking Road and then made a reasonable attempt to lose the trail around Summerlands Road. Winter may not be hurrying round the corner, but dark hashes certainly are and so a return to Locking Road in amongst those with torches was most welcome, and just in time to hop, trip and bump our way over Hutton Moor Road and towards its namesake leisure centre. Here a smiley face checkpoint perhaps wanted us to take up more leisure pursuits within, but instead we kicked its face in and crossed the metaphorical moat into Locking Castle, daring to somehow return from where every junction looks the same. Well, after being cheered on by a few adolescents and being misled by a checkpoint where there was only one way, we were all equally happy to find an exit via an underpass on the Somerset Cycle Path (albeit one not as tranquil looking as the Strawberry Line), and filed an 11th-hour flight plan towards the Landing Light, with many of the pack in scattered fragments by now. A rebelled fish hook for 8 on the “runway” towards a Haribo sweet stop may have accounted for this, but by now a few not-quite frantic phone calls had been made to BRBs and so Briggy began to mull over a trail trimming if needs be, with 8:30 now well and truly beyond us and Rebore having the most vociferous concerns. The decision was made early enough to evade a previous pond view point but not soon enough to retrieve those who had galloped off from the sweet stop (including Wine Stain who we had earlier written off as a “hobbler” for this evening). A time warp threatened to consume us as a not-so-smiley face reappeared on our way back over the railway (ah, the perils of hash-improv), but On In turned out not even to be needed in flour form what with our eating problem that needed to be fulfilled, even if for the now stray runners it was a case of turning up a few minutes later and laden with a few carefully chosen expletives. To the bar!
CIRCLE: Fish hook rebellions were not going to go unpunished in the residence of our former hare meister, and thankfully nor was another glass raising for Koko to be overlooked close to 4 years on from her last hash. In more ways than one, she would have loved for us to get stuck in...
ON ON ON: Pavlova was every bit as conspicuous in its absence as Fondue, but under Briggy's tent it was hard to choose a Channel 4 bakeoff entrant to follow the drumsticks, pizza, Down & Dirty pasta salad (okay, she wasn't an ingredient) and chocolate straws that disappeared much quicker than flour. A big hello too to hostesses Skid Mark, Cowslip and Ginny, and to the pentagonal hidey hut which kept a few until gone 10:30. Makes one keen to Plough a path through Wrington...
Run 556, 4th September 2016.
Southwick Country Park, Southwick.
HARES: Gazza & Public Enemy, I kind of think!!!
WHO: Approx. 20 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: A watered/cidered down throng made the quick petrol hop to Southwick for the traditional Sunday ASS farewell, having got their money’s worth by pitching down in some morning sunshine, and were still very keen to work off a fraction of those calories. The hares foretold one speed split and a few more opportunities than that to get lost, so to the well beaten track we stuck at On Out, almost immediately thankful for this due to intuition rather than turnbacks leading us left into the trees. Multiple crossroads took us out and into the park’s green-belted interior, where Lambrook Stream was crossed though it did not appear to be babbling and immediately afterwards the FRBs happened upon the BRBs having either cut a swathe through or called on assistance from above. However we had bunched up, there was time straightaway for on-runners to get their wires crossed with a later turnback - the hares helpfully bellowed them back trail-ward through the vegetation and even afforded Down & Dirty the luxury of leading the pack for a few seconds - all down to a quarter of a century plus of hares, naturally. Once we were back skirting suburbia, the runners disappeared in earnest, taking in a DIY turnback and a primary school warming up for the yearly onslaught before finding themselves doubling back to find On In in tarmac form. Walkers had indeed reassembled, all ready to the tune of one final toast.
CIRCLE: Down downs to another fine near finale and to Brigadoon working his ASS off. All that remained was to gain a few more cafe calories:
ON ON ON: The cafe (apparently non-existent on Google Maps) had already provided Mgnum fuel for us earlier and now served up first a covered patio for the rain’s return and a sausage roll-free spread again tailor made for veggies and omnies, all to the tune of calorific milkshakes on the menu. All in all, another great annual making an ASS of ourselves.
Run 555, 3rd September 2016.
Stowford Manor campsite, now complete with Bogs marquee makeover.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 35 hashers, 3 hounds and 2 dinner ladies.
RUN REPORT: All calm and peaceful on the hash-rise as we tucked into another of Briggy and Ballsport’s brill breakfasts - Nick, son of Limpit had led a cock a doodle do charge to be first come, first serve and got a pre-trek christening of Golden Wonder, such was his podium finish. After GM DT had led the hoki-cokis and Down & Dirty and Dragon Lady had pinpointed their luncheon stop for us, it was On and Out to play tricks on the memory. Barely across the first road and we tried to convince ourselves that the luminous paper markings (less popular with Farmer Giles than flour) pointed us further uphill than our On Out from last time - a temptation quickly set in to take the hilltop fields at walking pace as per our mission briefing in and out of tents, but no bovine reason to do so existed and the hare with a great ASS even managed to follow some runners into a turnback - that meant our return to tarmac lasted even shorter than a sweet stop, and once a couple of horizons spliced with checkpoints had been negotiated, we began to fear for our trio of hounds in the grassy and bumpy terrain followed a New Inn for whom it was too early to welcome hashers, particularly Woodbine who kept his loyal owners on a lead near the near. Nonetheless a head and paw count was deemed unnecessary once out past Leigh Green Farm and a few more pastures green, albeit with the clouds overhead now starting to appear more a precipitative threat than a cheap form of sunblock. Skipping on the edge of Barrow Farm Country Park, then, this protected species of its own found that the navigational River Avon’s fame had spread this far and kept us on track for the first pub stop. From within Bradford-on-Avon’s indoor and outdoor Canal Tavern there came the swish of many hash ciders, a quickly demolished sundae for a quick-to-hunger scribe and the pitter patter of many a million raindrops. Walkers in this case opted to make the most of their shelter equipped with alcohol while the runners decided to follow more in the Avon’s direction of source - for an Eager scribe that sundae initiated an early brain freeze whereby flour was lost even if preceding chalk arrows had not been; there was probably a more rational solution than speeding back towards the Canal Tavern and along the river bank to catch up with Brigadoon, but then he was there for some company. This walkers’ stroll promptly followed the same canal on which the Tsitsikamma barge had appeared four years previous, though seemingly no such luck here - a higher prerogative was to catch up with pace-setting back markers DT and Red Light, lest another bar had already been sucked dry. The Cross Guns bordering the Avoncliff Aqueduct it was to be then, complete with many a melt in the mouth Magnum and some rounded up FRBs. Time was sufficient to bask in the views of rain making some effort to clear, to say nothing of the outside benches and idyllic setting all to ourselves, and yet this time we seemed keener to get back going on the trail up, over and beyond the aqueduct. For walkers there was still doubtless plenty of adventure, but for runners there was double that in the form of calories burned - while waltzing through what felt like treetops we happened upon the crawl, stoop and skirt obstacle from our last Farleigh foray, no less hazardous when approached from above, next an ascent to a dirt track with concealed arrows and another tried and probably tested uphill to a memory beacon - the Winsley Memorial, though the Regroup symbol from 4 years ago appeared to have been washed away in the interim. All that skipping on the edge of misadventure had indeed made the time between two pub stops fly - open doors were discovered at the nearby Seven Stars, though without Briggy’s organisation we may have prematurely hash-flashed our way on to the watch-tapping dinner ladies down below. This time ice cream had no part to play in the pub refreshment, and the dinner bell went even with quite a few downhill tumbles to complete first. Nonetheless many a riverbank photo-op granted themselves when we happened upon Down & Dirty and Dragon Lady’s spread under the most convenient of trees, keeping a great spread first cool and then dry. Sausage rolls wee in such quantity that we may have dreams about being chased by them, turkey and ham slices filled many a roll, along with ample to list cheeses, pickled onions and gherkins to name but a few hash finger foods. Several passing barges wanted in on the act, including one which was a seemingly sailor-themed stag do, but the weather never doth a thing for them and nor for us - while ambling on alongside the canal the heavens now opened in Earnest mark II and gave us a thoroughly bogged down soaking. Not that our spirits or nostalgia were dampened - while waiting in vain for weather fronts not to meet, the Tsitsikamma barge did indeed reappear shortly before the estate from our previous lengthy On Out. Few drenched hybrid hashers could doubt though what the real homing beacon was to be this time around - coupled with the steeple near our campsite there was also the unmistakeable drone of the neighbouring speedway, which we picked up 75 minutes after being informed that the campsite was 45 minutes away. En route we intuitively followed the downhill torrent a la Litton Cheney, and also went through a field with an invisible bull, and lo and behold the touchdown back with tents came with less than half an hour of that rain remaining; Woodcut’s helpful parking in front of the marquee for security was just as intact as at sunrise - had nothing else had its parade rained on?
CIRCLE: This was mostly to Briggy and Ballsport for getting their ASS in gear for the sixth year running, though credit also for virgins who graced the same ASS, caterers who chose a good shelter and to runners who remembered what to do in the event of a turnback. Keeping the plaudits up all evening though was not going to help demolish that food mountain:
ON ON ON: The tried, trusted and actually a whole lot more were on the menu - veggie and omnie spag bol bought out the gluttony certainly in me (enough to follow up two servings with spaghetti by itself, all in the name of palate clearing), complimented by Fondue’s egg white, caster sugar and raspberry concoction, Rocky Road, Madeira cakes and a cider and Pimms tidal wave. A moving melody or few by guitarist Rocky Horror soothed any digestive misgivings, and many concurred that wooden chairs for a fire next hash night would go down a treat. Early-ish nights thus beckoned for an early beck and call...
Stroll 1/Run 554, 2nd September 2016.
Stowford Manor campsite, still recovering from our last quadrennial stopover.
HARE: Rocky Horror, no longer helping the police with their enquiries or looking for pythons.
WHO: Approximately 35 hybrid hashers and 3 hounds.
STROLL REPORT: After successfully pitching our tent-themed business proposals, along with trying our hand at giant bar skittles and velcro darts, we circled up promptly at 7:15 only to learn of a hare hindered by wire all around his pristine trail-to-be. Not to be snared, we set off on a very prompt limb in search of many more calories than this this stroll (surrounded by an eerie mix of the blare of a neighbouring speedway and the clicking of crickets) could possibly burn. An extra effort was made by a few FRBs circling the campsite in search of a different neighbouring pub, but reality quickly dictated a quick On Out through the tall grass and onto tarmac leading up and around to the Hungerford Arms. Blessings were counted that “petrol!” only needed to be screamed a few times and that Brigadoon’s phone made it to the pub in one journey this time; one visit was also doubtless all that we would need to drink the bar dry...
CIRCLE: Any geometric shapes that we did form would have been at least dodecahedric in the scramble to follow up the bar with the feast that was laid on - see detached:
ON ON ON: Feast your eyes! A small part of the kitchen sink must have gone in preparing this mound of brown and white sarnies, so many sossies that I was only able to scoff 5 of them, pork pies that a Melton Mowbray resident would approve of, samosas, bhajis, more sausages in roll form and chips thin but plenty. Carrying all that back to the campsite in several different ASS throngs seemed a small compensating chore - more daunting as we did our zips up after checking our “check your balls” flyers for tomorrow was the aftermath of America’s latest hurricane - here’s to surviving the not-so-starry night
Run 553, August 30th 2016.
The Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARE: Bumbag.

Run 552, August 24th 2016.
George Inn, Abbots Leigh, metamorphosing into the Rudgleigh later.
HARE: Wine Stain.
WHO: 18 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: More good health on a wine and flour-stained attempt to stay out too long without head torches - with a mad as march hare scribe hot on their tails the throng headed on, out and up Sandy Lane with plenty of flour for back marking but nothing to line beaches or fill buckets with. Checkpoints to the left and right fooled but few, even when on and up onto the appendices of the Gordano Round was on the cards - not even the fine standard of back marking was compromise en route to several more uphills through many a deciduous, all of which threatened to swallow our rapidly deteriorating sunlight whole. No time like the very soon then for starting sweet stop 0.5, complete with nuts, raisins (unsalted, of course) plus jelly babies resembling fruit - a devilish scheme no doubt to make them count towards your 5 a day. Those wishing to impersonate Brigadoon were told of markings here for the On In later plus another short cut down below - well, for runners this meant taking on a ford without an engine, herding some horses albeit with the help of a few hundred volts, and then (most Bog-like of all) navigating using the resonating “On On” from Rebore on the walkers’ trail. Regrouping technically took place after we had all regrouped, but nonetheless offered a chance to go nuts for the remainder of those raisins and sweets while admiring a view stretching out towards Severn Beach - it really was that clear. At a location where ravenous insects or territorial bovines have been previous hazards, this time we merely located a riding crop which Bag Lady felt best suited to Fondue, who in turn felt best suited to Eager Beaver, clearly not geeing himself up enough. Well, not enough to catch Alice and his rabbit holes in the act of FRB-ing, anyway. More likely stumbling blocks were presented first in a rendezvous with Manor Road - narrowly avoiding a timewarp for the second week running, and then a dash alongside Abbots Pool followed by some on and upping into a Beer Near symbol. A minor pity then that half a stone’s throw away the hare fished the beer bag out of the foliage and found that many of the pack had sped on, possibly lured by the Rudgleigh’s promise of grub being up by 9pm. Well, that’s at least one beer bag’s carbon footprint saved courtesy of Bogs, anyway. On On with petrol then and without even a moon to light the way - it would have to be 5 minutes of head torches on the front of one’s vehicle...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Brigadoon was in the midst of his annual, commendable feat of preparing his ASS, but nonetheless turned up with Ballsport and Down & Dirty (Old Legover had already been welcomed to their private patio) to help see off ham, tuna, egg and piccalilli sandwiches (white and brown) plus three bowls of chips in our traditional Rudgleigh chambre derriere. As well as happy returns for Old Legover and congratulations for another trail which any German physicist would be proud of, there was also the announcement that this year’s ASS warmup would be at the Old Inn, Congresbury - Strawberry Line Stroll, anyone?
Run 551, 17th August 2016.
The Salthouse, Clevedon.
HARE: Rewind.
WHO: 22 hashers, 1 hound and 1 very welcome visitor!
RUN REPORT: With a Bag Lady and Coppertone BBQ to work off it seemed a good time for a trail as tried, tested and trusted as can be when Rewind is taking charge. Instructions not to park in the council car park had been well heeded, along with defiance of weather forecasts and checkpoints pointing up Waynes Hill at the On Out. Instead we stuck to the roadside and merely played hashy games next to a sign demanding No Ball Games, oddly repelling away from Poet's Walk on a trail promising viewpoints and instead crossing Marshalls Field which seemed to have more flowers than flour. Nonetheless we did not quite need trial and error to find the way on and into a universal fish hook neighboured by the source of the Blind Yeo. The gravel track was nowhere near glamorous or pitfall-ridden enough, and so along the fishermen-worn path by fairly deep water we traipsed – they had taken the fish hooks away briefly, it seemed – for another checkpoint up far ahead pointed us further afield along Lower Strode Road, though still too early in the year for blackberry snaffling. A few brave FRBs really wanted to believe we were going to brave first Colehouse Lane, then the very tall grass over the stream by Marylands Farm, but in the end the near ritual of turning back out towards Kingston Pill came only too soon. Firstly because of the chance to tease FRBs into inventing their own loop, and then to see an approaching battleship on the horizon – I.e. the colour of the vast, sweeping in cloud. Fearing for our own level of hydration every bit as much as the flour, semi-homeward bound it was then with a swift dash of frontal fish hook (Limpet still felt the need to hop, sit and jump at gate points) and a visit to hole 9 of the golf course for runners (one of my siblings once bought a flag back home from here when drunk instead of a traffic cone – nudge, nudge). Once back in the vicinity of Marshalls Field there was danger of the runners steaming in the rain and the walkers getting trapped in a time warp, since they had opted to short cut with impunity and ignore the earlier mark – oh, no, wait – they'd all been washed away by now. Left to their own devices, the runners nonetheless conquered Poet's Walk via the St Andrews Church entrance and felt as though they had had sufficient splash and dash for one evening and with darkness not far off. On and Indoor it were to be.
CIRCLE: A very pleasant surprise greeted BRBs as Never Enough turned up in the car park, still looking every bit the hasher and also keen to toast another “Rewind trail” once indoors and with some suspiciously un-Olympic-like sport on the big screen. Fish hook rebels inevitably got to down some down downs rather than bait, and Wine Stain announced another George Inn/Rudgleigh mash-hashup for next week. Keep those top recruits coming.
ON ON ON: Along with that grub! Before we could even contemplate demolishing Call Girl and Houdinis' dual birthday cake there was the small matter of three trays of chips and thick egg, cheese and ham sandwiches, each as brown as the last one was white. On and home, truly stuffed!
Run 550, Saturday 13th August 2016.
Merlin Park, Portishead.
HARES: Bag Lady and Coppertone.
Run 549, 10th August 2016. WHERE: The Sawyers' Arms, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: About 22 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: The customary car park squeeze at the Sawyers preceded a forewarning from the returning hares of but one runner/walker split, and yet one where the former would go above and beyond their call of Bogs duty. For starters though there was traffic and the familiar stomping grounds out the back of the Old Barn to contend with – for the second week running any cows present knew better than to take us on directly. Instead they may have been the beings that sufficiently wiped out a fish hook for 3 to resemble a regroup, with the upside that we then got to show traffic on the B3130 who was in charge – namely the horses in a field atop Ham Lane who herded us to the side and initiated a final decision about runners and walkers. Zider boldly invited 13 runners up Stoney Step, down alongside Stoney Step and then back up alongside alongside Stoney Step before emerging on a footpath frequently seen from the top of Tickenham Hill but rarely imagined as less than an hour from any hash pub. Well, with such serendipity we were on Cloud Cuckoo Lane and then Cadbury Camp Lane shortly after, stopping to take in the Eastern and Western views of one of the secluded abodes just in time to realise how quickly the light was fading, what with all those overhead evergreens. Fortunately we had echo-location on our side as well – the walkers' sweet stop chatter from far below preserved us some precious calories and also awakened the sense of direction both for view points and civilisation. By the time the headlight-lacking brigade charged past Jacklands Fishing Lakes 8:45pm was looming, as was the chance to reminisce, via buzzing pylons above, some of the scenery from Rewind's trivia trail from exactly a quarter century of hashes previous. By now we once again suspected Briggy of his infamous short cut back to commandeer the bar, but still we took in the sights of the high street, not just for the promise of BS but also to wet appetites by peering into the former Bottelinos, still splendid food therein I'm sure.
CIRCLE: Plaudits aplenty at a beer stop where the co-hare's folks got to see how bonkers we are. Chocolate brownies and oranges were wolfed down not quickly enough to cause indigestion, fish hook rebels got caught and tossed into the middle, whereas Fondue was ceremoniously invited in both for 250 runs and for her superb recent exploits as backup scribe. So much admin to pour through that we forgot to welcome back Walrus and Call Girl, who had huffed and puffed like they'd never been away. Time to gatecrash that pub quiz as politely as possible...
ON ON ON: Much easier to locate the pub again than a way out of the car park for early departures, which in turn was easier than squeezing in amongst the quiz and grub – Brigadoon, Ballsport, Down & Dirty plus Fast Forward made the spacious back garden most welcome and curiously insect free, though not free from plates of chips, sarnies, sausage rolls, PROPER pickled onions and beetroot – the latter no doubt to paint our palates red. Next week we are all dutifully called up to heat Clevedon's marine lake with a hash and splash – Salthouse patrons take note...
Run 548, 3rd August 2016.

The Sidcot Arms, Winscombe.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
WHO: 20 Hashers inc two new plus two hounds.
RUN REPORT: A hash up to Eager's normal standards, plenty of variety, ups and downs, skirting a quarry, enjoying panoramic views across the mystical Somerset levels to Glastonbury Tor and meeting one of the natives stuck on a pole in a garden.(See pic) Back along the road to a lay-by banquet prepared by caterer extraordinaire, Down and Dirty. All were concerned because Irish Spews pooch had made a run for it somewhere on the hill above Axbridge. Bendy, with her universal love of all things hairy - with four legs may I add - accompanied Irish and found the escapee.
ON INN: Rather late (but with such a splendid hash, did we care?) so some didn't make it to The Sidcot. Others however adjourned to kickstart discussions for the 10th Anniversary Knees Up.
Run 547, 27th July 2016.

The Princes Motto, Barrow Gurney.
WHO: 21 Hashers and 3 at the On on.
HARE: Rebore.

A delightful hash, many awesome views, an abundance of sweets, docile cows - made a change, no mad farmer with shotgun - that was a relief - one Hasher said "I have to say it was a really nice hash, but don't tell Rebore". So don't tell Rebore. Both the runners and walkers routes passed by a whopping great house in the middle of nowhere. Screw fix was of the opinion that it was most likely used as a brothel during the war and would make a good one now (that's interesting.......) Well, women did live on the site at one time, it was a Nunnery until the dissolution of the monasteries. And men were tended to by ladies at the house during the war, it was a hospital. As for now, I don't think the residents in their half a mill and upwards apartments would take kindly to anyone knocking at their door for other purposes! Barrow Court; look it up it's quite interesting.
DOWN DOWNS: Can't remember where we did that.
ON ON ON: Bangers, bread and chips all gratefully received.
Run 546, 20th July 2016.
A car park The Downs School drive, Wraxall.
WHO: 24 Hashers plus 2 mini hounds.
HARES: Rocky Horror and Alice.
RUN REPORT: Weather wise, a week of extremes, Tuesday, meltdown, Wednesday, tempest and floods. Having been spared these locally, we were never the less, hashing in much lower temperatures than expected. However, hardy hashers that we are, hashing we did go. Fearless Briggy, earning the name Cow Whisperer, (amongst others he's called) convened his very own cow coven and bewitched the cows into submission. Walkers found the one cow impervious to anyones charms, even Briggy's ! Rocky came to the rescue fearlessly shielding us from a crazy cow on a mission. Mutiny erupted amongst the runners who turned back after four miles - but this was an Alice Hash! Four miles is a mere warm up for him! Cinders dubbed it Turn Back Central (adding even more miles to the four miles..)
CIRCLE AND ON ON ON: A welcome was given to Just Tim just back from Iceland - the one between the North Atlantic and Arctic Ocean - not the one down your High Street Cinders! A welcome back was given to Dropped On. A picnic followed with varied and scrummy food and what was left was donated to refugees by Alice.
Run 545, 13th July 2016.
Druids Arms, Stanton Drew.
HARES: Cinderella and The Fat Controller.
WHO: 41 hashers, 3 hounds and 3 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A close evening bought about as even a mix of Bogs and K&As as possible in the circumstances, with the hares opting to abandon all hope of converting fast runners to fish hooks and instead opting for the more cosmopolitan numbered checkpoint. On Out promptly flew past the Village Hall then Church Farm (i.e. the two most prominent buildings in sight) and into the tall grass which we were well accustomed to from last week’s bovine staring contest. Option 1 of 20 was chosen through the field by many, though a few left insufficient stopping distance and clattered not particularly painfully into Fondue who was making sure Mudlark had not been swallowed up by this downscaled Amazon. Parity took a while restoring itself while we strolled alongside the River Chew and a seemingly vehicular-less Pensford Lane, and so was helped along with a sweet stop comprising jelly babies already wolfed down before back runners arrived and tangy haribo. Up through more crops we continued, though by now our interior homing pigeon was fearing for the distance back to semi-civilisation, particularly as a few back gardens had to be (legally) negotiated along with some cattle for whom Rebore did his usual shielding job for nervous back runners, this time daubed nearer to pink than red. Once in and regrouping among some adolescent rapeseed it transpired that many runners had moved on through the shrubs and back into a strangely familiar field - thankfully no hash horn was needed to warn of the barbed wire that had survived our full frontal assault from earlier. On In it was, then, just in time for another round of Gridlock in the car park for those departing in time for the watershed...
ON ON ON: Most of us (including Woodbine, Up All Night & Dressing Down who had been playing catchup all evening) did manage to squeeze into the pub along with the locals plus the visiting Down & Dirty, Brigadoon and Ballsport. Help thus at hand where it was needed in finishing off plenty of chips and DIY sausage sarnies. Well done to the hares on another excellent evening of hasher splicing and dicing!
Run 544, 6th July 2016.
The The Fox and Goose, Bridgwater Road, Barrow Gurney.
HARES: Eager Beaver and (in absentia) Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT: What a difference this week, a lovely clear evening, hot air balloons in the distance. A Michael O'leary special descending into Lulsgate. More cow drama, mad cows thwarted by a brave Rewind, who stripped, then sent them packing with either the sight of his bare chest or a flourish of his red t shirt - Arson said cows are colour blind, so make your own mind up...., thus saving the Hash from possibly becoming 'Mash'. So traumatised was our Cow Coterie it split in two, one half rampaging through an electric fence. A friendly horse, keen to join Bogs, was dissuaded in so doing, by our very own Horse Whisperer, Bendy - who's reward was to get attacked by some nasty stinging nettles.
CIRCLE: More like Oval. A welcome was given to Just Amber (a mini Bendy) and to Arson. On on on: Sarnies, loads of chips and what a garden!

Run 543, 29th June 2016.
Brent Knoll Inn, Brent Knoll.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 17 Hashers, 4 at On on and two hounds.
RUN REPORT: Could any Hash be wetter than this one? Well yes; if a trail was laid underwater... Both runners and walkers experienced Brent Knoll in all its soggy swirly misty lumpy windy awfulness - and survived, finally shlip shlopping back to the Brent Knoll Inn - but not without Cinders losing his way - and Woodcut leading the walkers astray - how big a reference point do they need? But as we walkers just followed like lemmings who am I to point a hashy finger?
CIRCLE AND ON ON ON: Woodcut kindly offered us his hospitality in Xanten, Germany. Too Early's Programme for his late son's Donate for Dan Rugby Game was distributed. Bag Lady was awarded and then modelled, a fetching blue Hoody for completing 250 Hashes. Very nice and well done Bag Lady!
BOGers at The Isle of Wight Medieval Weekend, July 2016.

Lady Limpit and Old Legover.

Lady Fondue with comely wench Mistress Doubtfire.
Run 542, 22nd June 2016.
The Blue Flame, Nailsea.
HARES: Dressing Down and Up All Night.
WHO: 20 Hashers plus apres Hasher Eager Beaver.
RUN REPORT: Ten minutes into the Hash, we encountered a stone stile into a field. So arduous and difficult was the scaling of said stile that gooey chocolate thingys, scrummy granola bars and other goodies were produced to replenish our empty energy banks. Walkers and runners parted. The walkers encountered Heifers with attitude, Houdini overcame her fear and showed attitude back - well done you Houdini! No more Cowphobia. As we traipsed over hill for the remainder of our Hash, we were told that WAS the remainder of our Hash. Possibly the shortest Hash ever but who cares - What's the saying? 'If they can't have hashing, give them cake'?
CIRCLE: Songs n stuff. Having definitely consumed more calories than used, most Hashers completed a weird relay all the way back to the pub. (Some of us just twizzled on the spot)
ON ON ON: A pleasant time was had with some emotions running a little high on the eve of the 'Big Vote'.
Run 541, June 15th 2016.
The Swan, Rowberrow.
HARES: Walky Talky and Ben Dover.
WHO: Roughly 23 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Back to one of our classic stomping and shiggy-squishing grounds with a vengeance. At the On Out we were told to ignore one sweet stop while pretending that an early walkers' route was not the On In (a particularly hard temptation to resist for recently successful Mendip Challengers Brigadoon and Ballsport), and before even reaching that there were many overgrown shrubs to swat aside to reach the bottom of School Lane. The no longer soaked hares confirmed that the afternoon's precipitation had reduced the next stream-side stage for the walkers to a quagmire, but still we needed the good example set by Bag Lady of following the flour through the deep shiggy rather than taking the sane option of the high road – once back on manageable terrain and miraculously with no shoes lost, we came face to face with the steep steps alongside Dolebury Warren, though normally we come tumbling down them rather than huffing and puffing up. With the runners still out on a limb and a half, Walky Talky spiced things up by resetting the checkpoints after the walkers (led by the navigational nous of Coppertone) had conquered them to reach the Hill Fort. At this point several runners were swapped in exchange for Eager Beaver who then circled round the fort with Irish Spew, Missapp and Rewind – the words of wisdom were “keep to the ridge” and lo and behold several blobs and even arrows had survived the afternoon's mini-flood, enough for four more runners to catch up just in time for a sweet stop opposite Hill Farm. Wine Gums and Jelly Babies were tucked into rather than turned into, as big kids are often forewarned, and then with still half an hour to burn there came another speed split that ended up doing too much splitting for comfort. All's well that started well – there was an idyllic sprint up and down gravel surrounded by wannabe redwoods and then a surprise traipse through the trees manufactured by mountain bikes specially for hashers. However, taking all this great info in slowed down the scribe and also scrambled the sense of direction sufficiently for the runners' On Out to be mistaken for On In. Oh Calamity! Not even the dedicated search party comprising Bend Over, Irish Spew and rookie hound Scrumpy could prevail in time for the beer stop, and so that took place down in the valley again with (I assume) toasts of “perfect length” and “well preserved flour” as well as a few happy returnees. On In along School Lane and sure enough there was the scribe, complete with Fondue and ready to help eat the bar empty.
ON ON ON: What looked like a classic car rally in the car park confirmed that the Swan was packed out, but not enough to deny us our reserved tables and plenty of chips plus egg, ham, cheese and pickle sandwiches, though lobster on the specials menu was pretty tempting as well. Next week it's a very sporadic visit to the eternally burning Blue Flame – clearly we are going for a land speed record...
Run 540, 8th June 2016.
The Angel Inn.
HARES: Walky Talky and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 23 Hashers and 3 hounds - all delightful, but one especially cute....
RUN REPORT: All started together, a field almost next to The Angel Inn quickly sorted the runners from the walkers. Then up into Ashton Park for an enjoyable meander around its many pathways. The runners ran, the walkers walked - apart from one notable exception. Pounding the pathways was the solitary figure of Rebore. Yes! Rebore RAN!
CIRCLE: Bottom of park - usual stuff...
ON ON ON: A welcome addition was Eager Beaver and Down and Dirty at The Angel Inn where, as usual, quality over quantity prevailed, but as we are all such lovely kind and thoughtful Hashers, nobody went without.

Run 539, 1st June 2016.
The Golden Lion, Wrington.
WHO: 23 Hashers and 2 hounds.
HARES: Bum Bag and absent Hare Anthrax.
Run report: Bum Bag, ably assisted at times apparently by Anthrax, assured us they had laid plenty flour only to be thwarted by fellow residents of Wrington who, deeply suspicious of heaps of powdery white stuff around their village, scrubbed most of it out. However, never to be deterred by such a minor detail, we all pressed on and had a good time going up hill, and down dale. Irish Spew, once away from the starting block, shot off at his usual speed akin to a heat seeking missile and wasn't seen again until 10 o'clock.
DOWN DOWNS AND ON ON ON: A sandwich or two, a song or three etc etc...
Run 538, 25th May 2016.

Run 537, 18th May 2016.

Run 536, 11th May 2016.
The Waggon and Horses, Clevedon.
WHO: 16 Hashers.
HARES: Down and Dirty, Houdini and absent hare Eager Beaver.
RUN REPORT: The Landlord's pooch gave us all an anxious moment by jay walking into the road and narrowly missing a trip to oblivion. This was followed by an interesting urban hash amongst the grand Victorian houses of Clevedon's hillside followed by a tootle along the coastal path, giving the runners a decent run for their money. However, not for all it seems. Bend Over and Screwfix didn't know where the Pub was at the beginning of the Hash and maybe forgot where it was at the end of the Hash as well. They got lost and found themselves uncomfortably close to Portishead.
CIRCLE AND ON ON ON: A rather dusty pub, it must be said. No dust on the food though. Unusual, varied and plenty to go around.
CIRCLE: This and that as is the norm.
Run 535, 4th May 2016.
The Crown, Winford.
HARES: Inchworm with a hefty dash of Coppertone.
WHO: 18 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: With the potential to hassle cattle, we had spurred a couple of local farmers into researching hashing and declare themselves out for our blood, along with a few thousand insects, so would we survive this trail far from the madding crowd? Well, no better way to spur on our bravery than with a Deep Throat Father Abraham, that’s for sure. Warily we ascended to the top of Crown Hill at On Out, albeit not to fetch a pail of water but instead to take in Spring-come-Summer views and to anticipate a half hour split of speeds on the way back down. Plenty of peril came to of our own making - firstly Rocky Horror had to be tempted away from a public footpath which nonetheless skirted the boundary of the evening’s forbidden farms, then a wardrobe malfunction quickly turned into a brief tumble for Bag Lady and finally once back on tarmac the runners heard distant instructions to “Stay Orf Moi Land” and thus catch up quickly with the walkers on an eerily dry Watery Lane. All present did still manage to take in the sight of a scaled-down viaduct before a genuine speed split (both along tarmac and pretended to have been missed by those who had driven here and there looking for the pub earlier) seemingly stretching on for half a hash and a long way from the Crown. Appropriately enough for an already well established Bog, it was Wine Stain who selected/detected the way back homeward through the tall grass (much more reliable than navigating via the overhead sunset), and once a few more leaps and bounds had occurred via North Hill Farm (a seemingly happier farmer therein), us runners pooled together along and up Pool Lane in the fair assumption that walkers were both not too far off, and that Deep Throat and Red Light could retain the diplomacy to save sweet stop goodies. Alas, the culinary offering even took place under the watchful eye of Regil’s St James Church - sufficient dried apricot and crystallised ginger to feed the 5000 was indeed just sufficient to sate us 18.5 bogs - in fact it was rewarding enough to send runners on another loop a few hundred yards further on, even though the On In was literally round the corner. Would it thus be premature to declare us all back safely?
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Not if “safely” means getting a fair share of an excellent spread from a pub more deserted than a BRB on a Rewind trail - doritos, sausage rolls and plenty of sandwiches adorned chips and were reduced by half prior to the runners joining the circle and encouraging more of the same from Inchworm, plus less of the same from the mighty which fall. Anticipations for an unusual Bogs venue of Clevedon’s Waggon & Horses next week - but if we can survive whatever it was the Elm Tree threw at us back in November...
Run 534, 27th April 2016. The BLUEBELL HASH.

The Downs School, Wraxall, followed by The Rudgleigh Inn, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Bag Lady and Coppertone.
WHO: 26 hashers (including 5 latecomers) and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Everything could not possibly have fallen better into place for our annual bluebell run with quite a lot of wild garlic mixed in as well - previously it has been a tricky job timing the run just right for the Hyacinthoides non-scripta to be out in full force, but tonight the high attendance of Bogs and Bluebells were kindred spirits. After traditional latecomers Kerb Crawler and Cinderella had joined forces with Eager Beaver to pick up the pack’s scent (helped out by Rewind examining a checkpoint to the full), Inchworm helpfully turned lookout and advised them of a short cut to a regroup rather than a march up through the trees and down again, skipping on the edge of Noah’s Ark Zoo Farm as is our bluebell custom. One mountaineer politely declined and opted instead to tumble down and then along into a false (once again Rewind was the homing beacon) before thanking no less than a sixth sense for finding the sweet stop up ahead, with a liberal dose of bluebells and wild garlic being mixed in with the fruit in fresh and drop form. Mention too also for Rebore doing a fish hook (heck, for anybody doing a fish hook what with the pack’s ever-so-slightly rebellious nature in spring months), just in time for Deep Throat and Red Light to tag along with the walkers for a split after springing out of the undergrowth. For runners there was a well tried and tested circuit to negotiate, calling back a couple of FRBs from near Portbury RFC for good measure, with the added bonus of a viewpoint that could not make anybody feel blue - calling on the pacey contingent from all sides, mother nature posed for a beautiful photo-op with what felt like a massive splash of purple paint seeping down the hillside, plus the cherry on the icing that was the evening sunset poking through here and there. As tempting as it was to have down downs there and then, there were still front walkers to consider plus falling over the great trail in the case of Wine Stain. Lo and behold, the timing was close to spot on as ever and each variety of pace found the circle for cider and fruit juice at the same time; quite a lot to toast, to boot.
CIRCLE: An extremely warm bluebell welcome back to Big Stick, who we still recognised under his busy gardener’s beard, and welcome to Bogs virgin Brooke, offspring of the returning Zider (“Coke Me Up Landlord” doesn’t quite have the same ring, though). A couple of non-fish hook crimes - Wine Stain’s pride came after his fall, whereas shorts and mountaineer gear were deemed inappropriate attire from Dangleberry and Red Light respectively. At least 5 hats had miraculously been removed prior to the circle, though...
ON ON ON: Our convoy promptly scooted down via the many routes on offer to the Rudgleigh and settled in our familiar little alcove. Up though went the stakes - fully fledged doorstop sandwiches which made your average rib eye look puny, with ham, cheese and egg to choose from as many a chip accompaniment. A pub definitely well endeared to hashing.

Run 533, 20th April 2016.
Newton House, Hill Road, Clevedon.

Run 532, 13th April 2016.
The Blaise Inn, Henbury Road, Henbury, N Bristol.
HARES: Limpit.
WHO: 29 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Bristol hashers invariably help to swell the numbers when we are this far afield and ready to take in many a fantastic new viewpoint for a Bog, and this evening approaching thunder was anything but the exception. Beneath a very dense sky the pack conveyed out past a couple of latecomers (one of whom insisted on running to the pub to start the trail from the start, Get a Life, Get a Life...) and respectfully through a graveyard with a numberless turnback on its outskirts to keep the flour therein to a minimum. Many more than just Inchworm had to mind their head as we plodded through a catacomb and then up through some low branches onto a very open combe on which at least 6 footpaths had been eroded down the years – for most of the pack the long way round was for choice and yet the back markers found the most direct route across, with flour of course. A detailed inquiry will imminently follow as to what made the pack disperse at yonder regroup before the BRBs huffed and puffed their way there; it certainly couldn't have been lactic acid setting in at this stage, so my suspicion instead is an unquenchable desire to find as long a way up to the top of Blaise Castle Estate, in all its woodland and early appearing bluebells glory, as possible. Despite many twists and turns and the possibility of getting distracted by a rope swing near the peak, the markings were as bold as a front runner in a thunderstorm (proved by many of them still being there when Eager & Down & Dirty copied and pasted the trail a few days later) and so nobody either got lost or went tumbling heels over head in search of the quickest way back down. Fondue did have a brief stint of misdirection (just when she was threatening to catch up with the middle walkers, as well) and so the somewhat lonely stragglers decided to open up their own sustenance stop at the top of another mighty climb. Not only were liquorice allsorts an adequate refuelling and a good choice on a night with no Cinderella, but also they seemed to spur Down & Dirty on to conquer more hills afterwards. Alas, the remainder became a soft, zephyr-like breeze compared to the hurricane of our prior ascents and descents – a runner walker split looked oddly like a spliced regroup whilst on the approach to the museum we passed a tree doing a quite reasonable impression of a Giant Sequoia. As if to emphasise that the hike really was over, On In was helpfully laid twice just in time before the gates to the estate were shut and the buffet was served up. Now, how did we squeeze in all of that before ten to 9?
ON ON ON: Without a beer stop, RA or substitute RA it was left to Rebore to step up to the plate and crown a crime-free trail and receive an overwhelmingly positive response when he asked us what we thought of it – appeasement for anyone with aching limbs (save for Woodbine, who initiated another of his loud yapping contests whenever another canine comes near) soon came with a anglo-oriental spread of scotch eggs, chipolata, spring rolls, wedges and samosas – enough for some first but plenty of seconds naturally. All to get one in the mood for next week's Grandmaster House Party...
Run 531, 6th April 2016.
The Fox and Goose, Barrow Gurney.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.

Run 530, 30th March 2016.

The Crown Inn, Churchill.
HARES: Up All Night and Dressing Down.
WHO: 23 hashers, 4 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: As if we really needed egging on. With all of those lapine ears flapping in the wind which was trying to be there and the promise of many a chocolate sweet stop plus rewards for those who found ribbons, we began in the plenty daylight that remained with a rapid ascent up and then down the Batch which any vehicle’s conquering is a mighty achievement, and yet there were plenty for us to dodge with the aid of “petrol!” and “ka-ka!” No less a hazard to be found on the brief way back down to earth, either - first there was what looked like shiggy turnover in a field where cattle often prowl, then there was a handy triangle to help us sprint over the A38, and then the spanner of all spanners in the works. Down a seemingly trusted and tried public footpath, the considerate side (i.e. most of it) of Farmer Giles emerged and advised against giant rabbits storming past cattle and daring to suggest our ears were bigger than theirs. A good opportunity then for Eager to whisk out his hare senses and lay an improvised checkpoint and turnback back to whence we intended to go, though for one BRB this was where common sense made a rare Bogs appearance and dictated that the rather obtuse looking slope looming before us was one Everest too many for an evening. Minus a retiring Down & Dirty then, us bucks and does scaled the North face of Dolebury Warren as fast as our springy legs would take us, atop which we could see the whole world and where men hardly ever come - Richard Adams would certainly approve. No cannibalistic chocolate bunny at the sweet stop on high, though - instead marshmallow, mini eggs and jelly babies appeared amidst those who already had ribbons ready to exchange. Once the new back marker Briggy had easily huffed and puffed his way to the half summit, the runners went off on another escapade around the edges of the hill fort, however they were to find that while being out in the sticks and stones may not break your bones, being left behind by the walkers and with innumerate fish hooks to negotiate certainly will. A select one or maybe two decided to seek out the back of the trail anyway while holding out hope for returning with a small taste of lingering daylight, though the bleeding sunset had already been a feast for those who stared indirectly at it. Once back at close to sea level at Dolberrow and still with no slips or trips, another brave crossing of the A38 was on the cards and followed swiftly by a half-cliffhanger footpath which has certainly done well to hide away from my eagle eyes all these years. Public footpath, though, ’twere and so was the On In which made us pretend not to get stuck in another time warp that threatens to occur when On In equals On Out. Not even Rewind was tempted to go up and round a second time - must have been the looming beer stop.
CIRCLE: Down & Dirty’s early retirement proved a blessing as she appeared armed and safe with plenty of plastic plates to share out practically everything a hasher spliced with an Eater Bunny desires. We had pork pie which looked a lot better than mass produced, more of Houdini’s delicious bhajis, more than likely sausage rolls (can one really have food hangover?) plus fruit and chocolate cakes, pavlova somehow without Fondue and of course the eggs that grew from the trail ribbons. “Grand Old Duke of York” is becoming a pleasantly common hare Down Down song, as are the new recruits (two tonight, spurred on by Woodcut) and the lack of crimes or perhaps just evidence. Time to crown those down downs...
ON ON ON: Adding Double D and Zider to the throng, we conquered the other side of the Crown’s tight little interior and certainly appreciated its genuine pub feel to stay gone 10. Good will hunting then for next week’s Fox & Goose

Run 529, 23rd March 2016.
The Lamb Inn, Worle.
HARES: Fondue, Houdini and Hatty.
WHO: 26 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Some spotted the Lamb's cute little car park nestled alongside, others flocked to the warm up from either afar or from the neighbouring kebab van (THAT desperate to defy heartburn), and what a great turnout it was – just as well there were 3 hares for the pack to hunt. There were also apparently three runner loops, all of which were to be very brief, but even this was sufficient for the already-FRBs at the first peak to briefly miss a gigantic R in front of them and seek the pack's help – duly reprimanded, runners savoured the sight of the Old King's Head (and they probably serve its namesake indoors, too), before realising that what goes up, must go back down and then up again when hashing near Weston woods. At one nearby checkpoint the running pack were even in danger of getting caught in a timewarp of “On On, No Hare, On Back, On On” but eventually the stalwart that is Cinders stepped in and found some flour in a curious arrow format uphill and back to the scattered walkers. Although disorientation had been just about rejected, we still threatened to miss the blobs leading up, up and a long way away to one of our favourite stomping grounds – Worlebury golf course at a time of day when “Fore!” is no longer necessary. For the second speed split ahead the runners this time proved quite capable in heading off for a loop and then colliding with the walkers, all in good time to demolish the sweet stop contents as quickly as some prankster had done the flour markings for it. It was just as well we were well toned up on wine gums and jelly babies, since the hares here made a very commendable attempt to revive the turnback, naturally after an 80 metre sprint down a cobbled downhill – back at said smudged sweet stop, the concealed On On made us scream “Petrol!” a few times and then descend to a viewpoint of Sand Bay (we were in the wrong place to be in danger of VD; see the history annals!) - the viewpoint did, however, metamorphose into another turnback and provoke a false sense of panic that we would once again trip down Monk's Steps to find a turnback at the bottom. No such bad luck – instead we took in another view point of Kewstoke while finishing off the sweets, and then began a very daring descent which in remotely wet weather would have sent most of the pack heels over head. With no damage to report back on tarmac, the opposite of The Bends appeared to set in as many a back marker firstly missed the correct route to the beer stop and then needed to ignore the same arrow they had followed earlier. T'were not the case, they'd still be up there circumnavigating the golf course now. Instead an increasing tolerance of the use of technology was exploited to seek Fondue's approval for a different approach – essentially, the circle of hash life.
CIRCLE: With the naughty long cutters approaching the beer stop via the pub, several had indeed already disappeared indoors since space was at a premium; nonetheless those that stayed loyal to unwritten laws were rewarded with enough apple to inspire Sir Isaac Newton, alcohol or orange juice, plus another generous helping of Fondue's splendid pecan pies, albeit not served on a bed of pavlova. They also shared criminal down downs with the virgins, one of whom got the debutant handle of something-like Wobble-oo for an aspiring lack of navigational nous (I stand rather than sitting to be corrected here). Time enough too to ask for less flour next time so that we could invent our own trail – it is egg-hunting season, after all.
ON ON ON: Sandwiched between the bar and a full flow skittles match, we barely had room to swing a beer bag, but thin, plentiful chips and the egg and ham sarnies on offer disappeared as quickly as the sweets did earlier; even more rapid was the consumption of Houdini's onion bhajis to crown this most culinary of evenings. Talking of which, the tucked away Crown at Churchill next week will promptly be invaded by Easter hash bunnies next week. Whatever hare-brained itinerary will be next?!
Run 528, 16th March 2016.
The Posset Cup, Portishead.
HARE: Woodcut.
WHO: 22 hashers and 4 hounds, ah, like old times!
RUN REPORT: We all thankfully remembered that it was time for the weekly hash rather than the weekly shop as we parked up outside Lid'l and a small portion of Waitrose for a Father Abraham warmup, entertaining the locals like jesters in front of their Posset Cup Banquet. On Out quickly frog-marched us along Harbour Road and into what little shrubbery suburbia could throw our way. Still sufficient, though, for a couple of wannabe triffids to send Bag Lady slightly tumbling, only to bounce back up just as quickly as if her pride hadn't felt a thing. Pride definitely departeth though when shortly afterwards the FRBs mistook a Runner/Walker split for a Regroup, the instant karma being a runner loop that turned into a wild goose chase for flour blobs back from whence they came. Forming a cohesive unit again could not come soon enough, as we respectfully entered the outskirts of a frequently bogged nature reserve and felt well equipped by our surroundings to split open the sweet stop – not quite endangered fruit pastilles and wine gums soon found a new home. Woodcut even warned at this point that the walker trail up ahead was for the rambos and the runners trail for the wimps; that altered precisely nobody's preference and thus on a very long way of the back doubles to Portbury the runners went – suspicions of the fish hooks that were meant to appear after railway crossings (albeit by bridge) were relegated to mere rumours, but there was one cold truth not so far distant that none could deny. First though a few shiggy traps had to be enjoyed as much as negotiated, and after many more twists and turns us runners came across a useful homing beacon in the form of Flour Power's abode, lights out and all. Then the shock horror – Woodcut fully expected walkers to have caught up by now and to be chanting for the beer stop's appearance, no less. Well, with no kicked out flour in sight it was time to wait for technology to show its pretty face and wait for a phone call. The Beer Stop was indeed reached alongside the Avon with not the pitter patter of walkers or 3 of the hounds to be heard – they weren't even hiding up amongst the Seafarer's Sculpture above old BS. Without too much concern we opened up the cider and orange juice (no screwdrivers tonight) and spotted a spontaneous fish hook for 10 after hearing by phone that the walkers had yet to reach Flour Power's (contributing admirably even when she is not in season!). Only Cinders and Eager decided to obey it and even then hardly went for the walkers at breakneck speed – their main beam head torches were collided with still prior to FP's and some fears were expressed for the beer stop's remnants. All hashers great and small were still intact though and had many stories to tell of being lost amongst flour that was no longer there, plus spreading the shiggy wherever (and probably however), they pleased, all the way to beer stop indeed well stocked; could that REALLY have been in doubt when speed is no pre-requisite?
CIRCLE: With several runners having already departed in fear of the wrath of lactic acid, a red letter occasion for Eager Beaver came in the form of a sky blue (okay, so it's normally grey) top for 250 runs, plus another toast to the hare for being a Woodcut above the rest and happy returnees Alice, Red Light and Deep Throat (the latter being synonymous with Father Abraham). On In was more or less as the crow flies, though long enough under the moonlight to feel like the crow's walk.
ON ON ON: Whether spoons, forks or knives have sprung up out of the ground at Portishead's marina lately, this latest offering was nine tenths full and so still there was enough room to drink the remainder of the bar dry, helped out by the appearance of Double D and Zider. Let there very soon be hash daylight!
Run 527, 9th March 2016.
The Salthouse, Clevedon.
HARES: Happy Hooker and Rewind.
WHO: 14 Hashers plus Briggy and Ballsport apres Hash.
RUN REPORT: A pleasant if somewhat waterlogged hash through Clevedon. Over Poets Hill and on on. Happy Hooker kindly gave the Hashers an option to swim, no not in the sea but on Coleridge Playing Fields, which was, not surprisingly, declined by all. One injured Hasher - Sacha pulled a muscle. Rewind led Cinders astray - naughty Rewind...and silly old Cinders for allowing it... It was nicely finished off at Clevedon bandstand by Danglebury, who, risking being thrown into the sea, sang an enjoyable but insulting song about Clevedonites to finish off the evening.
CIRCLE: Was circlular.
ON ON ON: loads of sarnies and some chips, far too many too finish. Sadly may not visit Salthouse again because we don't give them enough to supply far too much food for us to eat and want us to pay even more for far too much food for us to eat...
Run 526, 3rd March 2016.
The Kings Arms, Pill.
HARE: A raring-to-go-again Wine Stain.
WHO: About 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Happy returnees Rebore, Irish Spew and Missapp must have tuned in on many of our regular crowd being missing tonight, and so with the ground no longer thin we headed up and away seeking the safest crossing of the A369 plus the drop next a stream that Wine Stain had foreshadowed. Runners only did it befall, though the as yet handle-less Ian and Nick contrived to be sucked in by the foliage and prompted use of technology and some elaborate head torch morse code to show them where sweet stop 1 already far from civilisation was. They did at least retain the dignity of having most of the shiggy cleared for them by the throng, as well as a repeat of Wine Stain’s signature unsalted peanuts and mango treats in a cup, all just in time for a long straight of tarmac and then a flop, trip and bump back over the A road and back in the vain direction of the hare’s humble abode. Few could resist the temptation of corner cutting on the field expanse of Markham Farm, though thankfully this trend was put a stop to once back under the trees - had we followed our ears alone in tracking the howls of “On On” it would have been one big hefty turnback - they were actually coming from a path round the exterior of yonder common. Having ended up on Brookside and with no Channel 4 cameras present, we copied and pasted the first sweet stop and took that which way petrol could not (for a good 70 yards), followed by charging on past the fire station with On Ons doing a much better job than any siren. Another ascent beckoned here for the runners, followed by a chop and change around the near-dizzy heights of Ham Green and as sure-footed a descent through the tall grass as possible to Pill Harbour. Once the sights of the distant Avon Bridge and the regular sweet stop ground outside the Duke of Cornwall had been soaked up, the real sweet stop 3 beckoned with a healthy dose of appearing walker - by now wine gums and jelly babies had been thrown into the mix, even if Ballsport in her haste did feed some of the former to the ground. Fearing by now for the likelihood of getting back before silly o’clock, the surrounding suburban maze was turned into several quick cases of On On, though some FRBs did still contemplate helping themselves to a radiator which was indeed labelled as such. Clearly this was too much of a distraction for some as a few mid-running b******s ended up approaching Wine Stain’s homely beer stop from the wrong direction - thankfully there was still plenty of the sweet treats to go round plus some delicious banana cake, no doubt coming soon to a hash BBQ near you. All the listed misdemeanours from earlier duly got their cider and fruity down downs, as did the returnees and the very well adjusted hare all in time for a quick roadside On In.
ON ON ON: Happy Hooker turned up to play hunt the beer bag in time for next week’s Salthouse escapade, and before I departed for skittles a couple of big trays of sarnies appeared with chips on the way and several already signing up for this year’s Ass Hash. Keep up the warmth, Arctic Snowbomb!
Run 525, 24th February 2016.
The Glassmaker, Nailsea.
HARE: Rewind.
WHO: 18 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: How apt for that hare! This history-bedecked trail featured many a pause (aka P-stop for tonight), fast forward and scene selection, so here is the director's commentary to go with it. At the On Out the pack collided head on with yours truly in an atypically tardy state, nonetheless keen to start from the start, and after a turn or two took us past Scotch Horn Leisure Centre there came first the news of another imminent game of catchup from Zider and Double D, plus the first pause to take in the site of Rewind's first Bogs hash – run number 2, a month before Iphones were invented, solely for the purpose of spreading Bogs fame. History continued to be a part of this trail's future, with some even suspecting a quiz later with Rewind reading out the questions standing on his head, such as we have come to expect from his trails and tribulations. Glassmaking and the life of Alan (still "always look on the bright side" could have been sung) were the topics lectured in an event to keep our minds off the flour, but On On it we were past Tesco and slightly cavalier towards oncoming petrol with no pavement. None were the wiser as to why Rewind kept rewinding away from the Sawyers Arms, until the motive of visiting record pub numbers on a trail came to light and thus another history lesson with modern-ish music was taken in. Oh, for the life of Alan we struggled to find the next P stop, even pretending that a runners route existed where flour had been sniffed at, but still suspected some foul play when heading quickly through a subway (apparently the neighbouring Friendship Inn would not need conquering with a runners' loop to set this "record"), with walkers pipping the runners to the P stop at the Royal Oak thanks to the latter's back alley exploits. Was this P stop by a tree-christened pub merely to mark our territory? No, not even on a Rewind trail (laying flour in Lytton Cheney leads to "helping the police" in their back seat, after all) – much more Boggy was the swift canter along the High Street to discover the boarded up neighbouring P stop (side by side; perhaps they were comparing sizes?) at the Queen's Head. With all this non-stop stop-start a serious note was hard to come by, but come by we did with head torches bowed in respect of a recent accident scene with both flowers and our flour present – of near importance was the next P stop encountered after a familiar winding path with inevitable corner cutting – the former location of the website photo from run 171, long since displaced by that of run 318. Rewind regaled stories of how he had somehow set the next segment between Ravenswood and Kingshill Church schools at "playtime" without getting caught in the crossfire; in just as much danger would we have been had we taken the suggested deviation in the direction of the Middle Yeo (where once upon a time "Get Orf Moi Land!" was uttered in the politest way possible). Those either keen on keeping at least one foot on the ground/keeping lingering man flu at bay opted soon enough for their own way back to base, even if it meant missing out on the official record breaking courtesy of the White Lion, Moorend Spout and Ring O'Bells (none of these were virgin pubs and Double D and Zider even popped into the former to make it a REAL P stop plus nourishment). With twists and turns oh so many still falling all around us it seemed all the more pleasant to be greeted with Church Bells, Tithe Barn and some navigational nous from the appearing Fast Forward all in one go, clearly out to complete 18% of a trail in some style. Nothing left could possibly surprise us at this stage, not even the Beer Near symbol pre-dating the Beer Stop by 10 minutes. Interestingly the beer and fruit juice was shared out among the rest of the tribe under the watchful eye of both the Church of England and the eternally resting Alan.
CIRCLE: With the Glassmaker but a pitch from us we toasted the effort, conviction and of course insanity of Rewind before refraining from the temptation of looting on the way On In. 9:15 was our landing time, a mighty achievement seeing as Rewind the wannabe Duracell bunny (incidentally the name of a most welcome returnee!) had set it all in 1 hour 17 minutes, whilst still managing to fit in a chat and a cuppa. Phew!!
ON ON ON: No hash grub in the spacious Glass interior, but prime steaks, soup of the house and a history of glassmaking not courtesy of Rewind still abounded on the high tables. Per chance to follow next week – a round table at The King's Arms, Pill?
Run 524, 17th February 2016.
The Rising Sun, Backwell.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 15 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: A very commendable feat for the regular haring duo of finding a platter of Backwell's back streets that we had not previously spread shiggy upon, especially as there was plenty to go around on this mildly drizzly window in amongst the Arctic Snowbomb which no longer believes its own hype. If using a traffic light as part of the On Out seemed sacrilege, then having the runners rush down more of Rushmoor Lane made up for it big time. Amid the growing fears that precipitation had put paid for many a marking, a fresh arrow kept on miraculously appearing and guiding the two troops away from each other – the runners even at one imminent point managed to cross a football field without anybody spitting or feigning injury, though seeing as Inchworm was by now up to his toes in shiggy it seemed fair to expect the tarmac respite plus regroup that beckoned after a few more twists and turns. Just as lactic acid threatened to show its dark side, the walkers flashed their way towards us (Briggy of course included in that) but stopped a shot putt's throw from the actual symbol and instead ambled down to Station Road. For their dogged pursuers there was another Rush, this time along Moor Lane after sliding down its neighbouring field, such that any group photo down near the station would have resembled a hash marble cake, such was the contrast. With the warning triangles now out in force we briefly enjoyed fooling ourselves that dry terrain was in store, nonetheless reaching more of the deep shiggy once the "On Back" bugle had been blared. Alas our current stage was Backwell Common-come-Woolleys Farm, though the quagmire that we were presented with after a road crossing was clearly contributed to by animals with leathery hides, not woollen ones. The homing pigeon/ Briggy's appetite was very quick to turn us back over much less of a swamp towards the Backwell School car park, where a sweet stop burst out of the shadows even though Double D's recceing other half had expressed incredulity at it being next to a doggy bin. Well, we certainly wouldn't want to dispose of Woodbine or his so far-handleless chum of this evening, and nor would we take kindly to wasting this multicoloured sweet shop – Drumsticks, tangy Haribo and I believe Starburst made for some great fuel, particularly for a convalescing Woodcut (child-flu could not keep him indoors) who felt roused enough to take up walker leadership duties with Brigadoon and Ballsport. As it turned out, the runners literally didn't see him coming – for after the faster fraternity had ascended with none too many slips to St Andrews Church (no doubt spurred on by the bells of creation that seemed to be swinging forever) they seemed keen for Zider to head back downhill at a regroup and hunt the walkers who, it turned out, had elected out of the two drier sides of the square. Well, that lone fish hook over by Hillside Road wasn't going to wait forever, and so 5 FRBs proved happy enough to take the bait and seek the last chance slalom saloon for the shiggy all the way downhill both to BN and BS, well sheltered from being washed away along with the drinks.
CIRCLE: Out on Kellways (a cute little "appendix" of a road welcoming hashers into Backwell) the hares did indeed have Zider and orange juice to crack open, and even found a good way for technology (shock, horror) to be used on the trail – Brigadoon and the rest of the walkers opted to join in after all, via smartphone-link, even listening in on the down downs for another A grade DD & Z trail. They may even have assured us that they had not yet downed all the grub...
ON ON ON: Life in the fast lane – in the back bar Brigadoon was already handing out the flyers for this year's ASS Hash (fully booked by March, perhaps), as well as preserving enough of the cheese, ham and egg sarnies plus sausage rolls and bacon rashers (not that sort, it was evening!) to stuff us all. On on to possible Bogs-virgin pub the Glassmaker next week – we can see right through Rewind's plans to keep us out till 10.
Run 523, 10th February 2016.
The Bell, Banwell.
HARES: Cinderella and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 14 Hashers and Titchy Percy at Pub.
RUN REPORT [by Fondue]: Who'd have thought a new route could have been found around Banwell? Our hares found one which took us up dark dark lanes, down and back up over fields then down to Banwell High Street which is just full of old cottages with no Marks and Spencer's and not even a Pound Shop!
CIRCLE AND ON ON ON: A welcome was given to Just Sacha on her Virgin Hash. Nice cosy pub, good selection of food.
Run 522, 6th February 2016.
YHA, Litton Cheney, Dorset.
HARES: Rocky Horror and Walrus.
WHO: 21 hashers, 1 hound and 0 pythons.
PREAMBLE: And breathe again! After choosing our own set of times to arrive at a wet and wild Litton Cheney for our Koko memorial hash, everything ranging from Mother Nature to exotic pet owners to the Met seemed keen to make our youth hostel stay as eventful as ‘twere enjoyable. Routine enough were the evening’s hash-free festivities - an amble apiece to the White Horse Inn, Rocky relating the Horror story of helping the police (in their back seat!) with their enquiries of white stuff on the ground which the local populace could not get high from, plus a Dorito Dip party, all to conserve energy for what happened BEFORE the hash. Once all had assembled after 20 winks for a Brill Bit of Briggy Brekkie, the newsflashes without headtorches surfaced - in the night there had been a neighbouring police raid with "hands on heads!" shouted much more than "On On!", all with Dressing Down, Up All Night and Woodbine in the thick of it in their camper, debate among the throng about whether to give Rocky Horror up - you name it, something else would come up. A released python from a neighbour, to be precise - could this all have been in the spirit of livening things up even by Bogs standards? The wet weather come Saturday morning clearly thought not, and decreed that tarmac would be the terrain of choice, and as of yet no kidnappings, anti-hash cults or whispers of a new-style Bates motel have made the news, so all alive and well then as we sought to practice what we had travelled South to preach:
RUN REPORT: Huddled on a minibus/coach hybrid and with Down & Dirty (well acclimatised to the role of emergency chauffeur even if that was because she had no hash footwear available), Dressing Down and Woodbine following without a tow bar, we came to a de-briefing halt just outside Bridport and quickly took to the near-exclusive and watered-down shiggy (potentially the River Asker take two), with none taking an active interest in inventing their own fish hooks, as per the already long-suffering hares’ request. Instead our first regroup brought about a warning of a Wimp/Rambo split ahead (a concept invented at the inaugural Ass Hash, need I remind you) with akimbo the only reasonable stance to be adopted for tackling the latter. In fact it was still one set of splits too many for Woodcut who paid a slightly muddy price for cutting through the woods at a steep incline; the rest of us successfully gave the shiggy the slip and negotiated a couple of checkpoints without yet finding the Wimps. Aptly enough for those well used to sharing pictures of their beautiful landscapes rather than selfies, our first urban port of call was the Crown Inn in tiny little Uploders (circumnavigate this village thrice and you might just have had half a hash), and with the rain not even considering stopping yet we drank the bar a quarter dry and enjoyed the added luxury of Wasabi nuts as promoted by Rocky. A trickle of arriving walkers led to a rapid increase in the precipitation as we took the long, winding dimension that was New Road towards Shipton Gorge - ignoring the many footpaths that popped up either side was as tricky for us as it must have been for our haring duo, though considering the danger we faced of aquaplaning what with the Summer-esque rainfall in motion, it was left only to Zider to add further adventure - to slosh through a deep puddle laced with shiggy was insufficient and so instead a neighbouring shiggy mound was chosen, then rejected in favour of the water again. The pack had also thinned out considerably by now, even if the arrows pointing to our next pub stop still looked suspiciously fresh (although most of these symbols resembled Rocky’s smily face after being released yesterday without charge, there was another which, ahem, resembled something that often shrinks in the rain and which isn’t made of wool. Censorship aside, the beckoning New Inn served up a feast of Leek and Potato Soup plus so much mopping-up bread that we half expected two fishes to appear alongside. None suspected this may have simply been a ploy by Rocky to give him a head start in re-setting the blobs out and unto the cherished Cider stop at Bredy Farm, with the stop by no means merely to soak up the local fermentations. There was also the matter of paying our toasted respects to Koko, more stock for our evening meal and down downs to be taken by Down & Dirty as logistics manager, Eager Beaver, Houdini and Double D taking the opportunity to steam-dry themselves by the stoked up boiler, plus the unfortunate retirement of Zider whose wet and wild excursions had by now left her as white as the pickled eggs in the New Inn. Wishing her as well as we could, there was at least some interception storage en route to the seemingly afar Puncknowle (writing this I can resentfully declare that Google Maps drove around the area on a VERY sunny day in April 2011), though walking through a newly manufactured drainage basin did at least have the wonder of making drains appear like waterfalls, as well as crossroads appear devoid of flour. Right and up away from Litton Cheney seemed the best bet, but the little homing pigeon inside Kerb Crawler felt more promise in taking our next right, and so it proved. With no less than a torrent flowing down the miraculously intact Rectory Lane we took several opportunities both to clean our boots and to unblock the drains, especially if surfing down this after our last pub stop seemed viable. Up at The Crown Inn we confirmed the additional retirements of Fondue, Ballsport and Brigadoon, but nonetheless those still out on their feet were the majority as another bar was mercilessly drained a little drier than the outdoors. Two years prior we had retreated to the Hostel via a very muddy route here and today there was no Walter Raleigh wannabe...and so Rocky’s mercy prevailed and it was back where we came from to locate the beacon of the White Horse Inn under what was quickly threatening to turn into twilight. Each recorded their own very long lap times and bought quite a bit of the surrounding rivers into the hostel with them - high time I reckon to chilli out...
CIRCLE: All showered and wrung out, we did everything but roast Rocky on a spit for going as above and beyond as a hare could for this weekend-long escape from the 21st century (even teetering on the edge of the law, it seems), as well as "awarding" early down downs to fall guy Woodcut, a lightly rested Zider and aforementioned retirees. Now time to repay those lost calories with a LOT of interest.
ON ON ON: Any sense of culinary guilt had been well and truly washed away - very short work was made of the vats of spicy, plain and veggie chilli with fluffy rice by the ladle-load. Such was the void in my belly that a dessert highlight came in the shape of, ahem...Rocky Road slices, a chocolate brownie from Fondue, Dressing Down & Up All Night’s Millionaire Slice (liced with peanut butter!), Madeira Cake and merely a toping of birthday cake with double cream poured on top - "Funeral On A Plate" seemed an apt name in the very long run.
All in all a fantastic weekend made all the more fanatic by the postscript of Fondue locating her purse presumed lost to the drainage basin and a literal splash and dash with the Hardy Hashers in Dorchester on the Sunday after a python-free second night. Watch their website for all the headlines, but here’s a sentence-long teaser - after an enormous horse statue wished us well, we followed pink flour over the railway, leaving no trace of Abbo and encountering the fit to burst River Frome which nonetheless swept away none, not even a secreted key fob - only a model dinosaur was destined to scare this motley crew.
Run 520, 27th January 2016.
Burns Hash at Captains Cabin.
WHO: 21 Hashers inc 1 Virgin.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
RUN REPORT: For some Hashers the desire to wear a skirt was clearly greater than the need to keep warm on this chilly night - others didn't have the balls to wear one... We set off for an urban hash in various tartan attire, around the Sea Front, passing an RNLI/Coastguard exercise on the Marine Lake who didn't bat an eye lid at such a peculiar bunch. A beautiful clear night, a dram, shortbread, a Victorian shelter, the lights of Wales behind us, the wind around us - what a night...
DOW DOWN AND ON INN: A big surprise awaited us! Tables laid, plates of haggis, neeps and tatties that defeated even the most Scottish of our un-Scottish Hashers - YES! he who embraces Scotland, by kilt, sporran, weird tune on weirder bag pipe thingy and name, was beaten by a humble haggis! Yes you Brigadoon, are you still deserving of your name?
Down Downs, by permission of our religious adviser, was a sit-down affair, the Virgin was welcomed and the Down Down was just as silly as it should be.
Run 517, 9th January 2016.
The Criterion, Weston-super-Mare.
LIVE HARE: Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 13 hashers lukewarm on her tail.
RUN REPORT: "Hunt The Hare" ended up not taking us not through Weston Woods above the Criterion but around the many coastal and shopping sights on offer – after plotting the course away from the main road we established quickly that it was a "1 blob and you're on" affair, cruising along an On Out that would miraculously metamorphose into an On Out later on (a clear pro to being a live hare). Knightstone Campus of the college would serve as our homing beacon later on, but for now we navigated past it and out onto the promenade, trying vainly in the process to recruit the few other runners out to enjoy this rare gap in the rain. After regrouping by the not-so-new pier and finishing off the spare Maynards sweets from yester-hash, it was now time to tackle the many twists and turns through the shopping precinct (several teens were only too keen to shout words of what I assume was encouragement) – after showing the lingering traffic who was boss on more than three occasions we decided to light up some dark streets a couple of times en route to appearing on Milton Road and ascending some steps without a red carpet to the upper side of Milton Cemetery. Once we had peaked it was time for Brigadoon, Ballsport and Woodcut to decide they had had enough of staging their own short cuts and head back for an early non-bath; we also happened to be fetching an evergreen Deep Throat who was in mild danger of adding an exclusive extra loop of his own at the time. Having thus reached the right way by trial and error and abandoned hope of catching up with Kerb Crawler, we still needed a genuine dead end (without even a turnback) to point us back towards our favourite cake ingredient and promptly on towards a few more twists and turns which by 8:40pm began to look familiar and dwarfed by Knightstone once again – we had still nonetheless discovered another intestinal means of accessing Grove Park without using a back garden, and were happy enough to envisage an indoor beer stop given the imminent Criterion's previous culinary performances – even the uncannily timed start of the rain would concur.
CIRCLE: Along with the live and well hare a slightly hobbling Missapp turned up to help with the down down and wolf down proceedings, focusing on Rewind's enviable ability to not go wrong when confronted with many a checkpoint, Briggy and Ballsport's secret cloning project which made them keep reappearing on the trail after rumoured retirements, and Rocky Horror being overtaken by a fox while leader of the herd. Makes you wonder what it had done to the hare...
ON ON ON: Another great spread from the Criterion which clearly likes to encourage a running problem so as to get a thirst – sausages in and out of rolls, plenty sarnies, twiglets and doritos with luxury dips seemed ample until they were complimented by the later arrival of wedges and miniature hash browns! Here's to a lot more of the same.

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