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Run 628, 20th December 2017.

Bendy’s, Locking.
HARES: Bendy and Croucher.
RUN REPORT: This pre Xmas trail led a festively garbed hash to two pubs, making use of at least one two way section of trail. We welcomed two new hashers by letting Dongle run up front with Rewind as we left the first pub (assuming that Rewind knew where he was going - despite the lack of flour), and by letting Software know that Dongle won’t make that mistake again. Dongle managed to catch up with us just before the 2nd pub, and then it was a short meander back to Bendy for some lovely grub. I don’t think anyone really understands where Rewind went, or why, but he finally turned up at the house 20 minutes after everyone else just in time for Down Downs.
CIRCLE: We welcomed the virgin BOGS hashers in the more conventional way, thanked the hares, sang "we wish you a merry Christmas" to Woodcut and family, and celebrated the eventual return of the Elf-like Rewind.

Hazards of hashing in Weston super Mare, spotted by REWIND - make sure you keep a tight grip on your beer!
Run 627, 13th December 2017.
Up All Night and Dressing Down's abode, Clevedon.
HARES: Up All Night and Dressing Down.
WHO: 17 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Wow - the weatherman spared us a hailstorm bedraggling by barely half an hour - the downside of course was the camouflage of all but the most cake-dough-like of flour markings, plus a hares' assurance that we were keeping distance to a little more than minimum. At On Out we quickly decided that this ruled out another exploration of the Court Woods Catacombs (though no FRBs checking it out would still have been one too few) - instead on the ascent of Strawberry Hill we already detected Fondue and Houdini being a little further behind than is comfortable (particularly if one is fish-hooked), and so we split into pack and scribe as they caught up and scaled the Dial Hill heights. Emerging (without that oft-defied limbo bar) onto Rippleside Road, the arrows showed up more prominently at altitude (as just about did a distant DT rallying On On cry). It took all of a festive sweet stop (plus a Wound-Back Rewind) to finally locate the FRBs and MRBs, stirring of course a mini round of applause. Behold the many a zig-zagged zigzag, with the slipperiest way down to Hill Road selected but the views admired nonetheless (none from ground level). No less eerie was the descent through the park towards The Beach (road, not slipway), even taking in a new intestine between it and Copse Road in the process. One way on it was towards Six Ways and the possibility of Santa's appearance in another oft-bogged but never christened park (minus DT who may have gone to check if he had left the kettle on). It seemed we had not been good little boys and girls, or perhaps Santa assumed we were in a more Nailsea direction - either way, On On was heard rather than Ho Ho Ho, and the hailstorm was definitely of the slush puppy variety by now - so we took the Highdale Road spliced with the woods path back down towards On In. Festive cheer had of course added to the timing, well worth it when it involved arriving back bang on 9...
CIRCLE: More drinks to the conclusive proof that even in The Don we can still set many a unique trail and find previously unbogged paths, and we also turned out mostly crime free other than a few corner cutters plus a couple of annual run contributors from hashes afar.
ON ON ON: It was never in question whether combining cauliflower and mac 'n' cheese (both veggie and omnie versions) was a stroke of hares' genius. Way to wash down the mulled cider and sumptuous cakes (Uppy and Downy are long established as our haute cuisine hares, as is Woodbine in helping to polish everything off). Locking, Stock and Barrel it is to Bendy's with even more festive cheer next week, then.
Run 624, 22nd November 2017.
The Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 17 hashers, 2 hounds and 3 visitors for whom election night was too big a temptation.
RUN REPORT: We naturally came for the hash first on AGPU night, with time being allowed to swell along with the numbers past 7:30 so that the home turf hares could assure us still of a likely return time of 8:15. On Out followed a regular On In via the car park's appendix , giving Tithe Barn and the church bells a wide berth prior to making something of a labyrinth out of the preludes to Nailsea's only busy road to cross. At one point alas the FRBs were reminded that it was "One & You're On" tonight, Kerb Crawler missing one such blob which looked uncannily like it had just been squirted. Excuse enough then to break up the pack now that we were miraculously already three quarters hashed. Sticking to the scribe walkers' trail as is becoming distressingly common, we ambled along to a regroup and decided that decision making night was the best night to flout the rules and plod on before all the runners had arrived (Rocky had sounded the...er...infantry charge when he scrambled over a nearby wall). Yet still no bells were heard from the nearby Holy Trinity as we motored on and around Engine Lane on the On In approach, and stomping through the shaggy all as one with no slips and trips certainly felt like enough of a desire to get the AGPU rolling...
CIRCLE: All naturally around the indoor AGPU fire in a bowl:
ON ON ON: Chilli flakes, great cheese and another mountain of baguettes made the perfect canvas for two cauldrons of omnivorous and Rewind/Rebore friendly chilli, although we also garnished the back room with the appearing Briggy, Ballsport and Fast Forward. All in time then for a good sit down for an Annual General Plot for Us. GM DT decided he still does not require an International Master by his side, Eager Beaver gracelessly accepted the absent top hare's tankard for the second year running (hopefully there will soon be no space left to watch), and Cinderella remained as inevitably attached to R-A-ing as he does to appearing without a pumpkin. Most other roles were shaken up in amongst announcing 2018's Annual Somerset Scrumpy in Cheddar and Possibly Also Annual Dorset Python-Free Scrumpy in Litton Cheney, with Rocky on hand to help the hashers rather than the police with their enquiries about the impending crackers and party hats the Ashton Inn. On On until we flawlessly organise something else...
Run 623, November 15th 2017.
The Rising Sun, Backwell.
HARES: Walky Talky and Kerb Crwaler.
WHO: 17 hashers, 3 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Well, it had actually gone in for the night and the moon had followed suit, so rising head torch it was and under new pub decoration and management, even if tonight's hares had done it enough times to be taxed. Runner/Walker segregation occurred right from the On Out, with the airborne pack swatting a few checkpoints and shiggy mires aside to reach the peak of Hillside Road in time to catch the less erratic bobbling lights approaching from below - The same hares had introduced us to this stomping ground back in 2014, however we were still sufficiently disoriented to think an ever uphill trek above the quarries was on the cards, until we were reminded that blob one does not normally mean you're on. Pieces of a figure of eight were joined up through the next few fields (at least that's how the trail would have looked from above) before settling beneath the recycling centre for what was already speed split number 3 - far from rubbish was the dare 'n' do opted for by runners: no sooner had Cinders and Eager commentated on a back road with hardly anywhere to duck out of traffic, then a convoy of dipped beams was sent forth to intercept us. Well, we were at least all present and accounted for at the impromptu head count that came courtesy of walkers setting the evening's pace. Alas this was the last time this evening that what we thought was up, must go down - even if the trail still had plenty of tricks up its walking and talking sleeves - only an encouraging nudge or two made us actually decipher the right way on at St Andrew's Church was...the grounds of St Andrew's Church, whose bells have been known to hassle us. A technically "early" sweet stop after treading another marsh really felt like it was bing bong on time, particularly as it assembled us into a pack to initiate a staring (rather than territorial) contest with cattle in the next field. All still somehow accounted for down by the sports centre, Inside Out was confident enough to crow about being just ready to On In for another hour; not so - tantalisingly close the Rising Sun may have been in the dark, but still another runners' maze had to be negotiated along with the football club grounds (thankfully nobody decided to hit the post before the bar later) - and who could miss that beer stop on the rocks that loomed out of the dark...
CIRCLE: Crimeless we seemingly were until 5 hats in the circle were pointed out - hats off to those who fail to appreciate rule 1 (for those who hash under a rock, "there are no rules") and cider aye down for the rampant hares. A quick On In took us past a few tennis matches in full swing (head torches almost fulfilling the same function as the floodlights), and touchdown still came early enough for the Rising Run to still be rife to the rafters with regulars - let's get recruiting!
ON ON ON: With Briggy and Ballsport as keen to help out as one would expect, we soon made mincemeat of the chippies and veggie/omnie pizzas in the back-benchers' room, and numbers also started to swell for both crackers at the Ashton a few weeks off and Lytton Cheney weekend a few further hashes off. Ah, The Python Team...
Run 621, November 1st 2017.

The Barn in daylight.

Witch sign only evidence of Halloween. Spooky...

No Ball Games. Despite this sign Balls Sport and Brigadoon managed to set a good trail. (Pics © REWIND)

WHERE: The Old Barn, Wraxall.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 17 hashers, 4 hounds, 1 late arrival and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Tricks and treats of the doorstop variety may have come and gone, but those still motivated to line up in witch's hats, Scream masks and recycled webs (thankfully no Trump wigs - what could be scarier?!) were more than prepared for a little eye of newt, ear of Briggy and tongue in cheek. At Halloween+1 On Out we quickly surmised that we were not doing 3 spliced mini hashes this time, opting instead for the ghoulishly unlit Tower House Lane in search of mostly skull and pumpkin stickers rather than flour, a la Bog. This led not only to an early fish hook where Down & Dirty, on a rare full trail outing, felt briefly at the front of the trail before learning just how the nearby Stoney Steep got its name - halfway up we were very grateful to send the runners afoot and find the shorter scramble through tree roots and shiggy, particularly now we had the entertaining sound and sight of Rebore stapled onto the back of the pack. A regroup rather than early sweet stop reassembled us (Briggy really thought them runners would have caught up by now - they made us sweat for at least 2 minutes first), and it was at this point that we entered woodland often reserved for Summer Bogs - time for us to discover the real contents of the hares' closet. First Houdini was the pic of photobombers for a skeleton on a bench (gathered up by Down & Dirty who discovered a night's passion for body snatching), next there was Strap On Dashing Off even though we knew what she was doin', Frankenstein's...er...Hash Monster & what looked like that fat fair weather friend of Casper's on an even older tree. Circle was to precede a Long On In through voluminous cattle and resisting the temptation of Beer Stopping for 2 at the nearby Sawyers' Arms, for Spooky Snax weren't going to wolf themselves down by moonlight...
CIRCLE: The trail highlight though had to be circling up with apple juice and mulled cider to crown latecomers, we-knew-what-you-were-doings and then watch eagle-eyed (thankfully without Smartphones at the ready; I think we've all outgrown You've Been Framed) to watch Briggy boldly go where no Bog other than he would to retrieve another skeleton from above the woods' wannabe lake - at one point a hefty branch snapped and hearts were in brains, feet however remained treading ground and ol' Funnybones made it back to the beer bag...along with his skeleton. To the tune of more well earned down downs of course - our Halloween GM has definitely still got it.
ON ON ON: A musical serenade by non-hashers was a delightful accompaniment to the Canapés under the canopy, as were the additions of Zider, Fast Forward and Coppertone to help with the grub up. We tried as hard as we could to find a rival for the Fondue Pavlova (even if it promptly disappeared), and found at least a half dozen noteworthy mentions - there was butternut squashed soup, salmon crackers, a mini mountain of goat's cheese, chicken that was all but Kentucky Fried plus marshmallow Caspers and Chocolate Slime tart to keep up the spooky theme. Happy Annual General Fright Night!

Run 619, October 18th 2017.
The Butcher's Arms, Yatton.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 12 hashers, 2 hounds and one pub-goer.
RUN REPORT: Have a butchers at them views! From virgin pub to verging on the peak of the less known Cadbury Camp we squeezed in plenty of shaggy shenanigans tonight. At On Out we decided against spectating the junior footie on show, opting in stead for a big kids' run-around that threatened to become a time-warp at one point, ending up back at an arrow which we had already spotted in the short grass once and catching the walking fraternity just in time to begin an all out assault on Cadbury Hill Fort. At the time of our last Bogsnorkel up there we had the quadrupedal (now departed) Pushover and Lucky among our ranks (and ensnared by branches, no less) - this time however not even huskies and a sleigh would have made for an easy ascent, with the walkers being called back from R and vice versa in time for Cinders to give a runners' briefing seemingly about how to avoid peril, but actually it turned out to be how to make Briggy do a lot of the front-running! Somehow or other Strap-On and Eager had instigated discussions about the Famous Five, perhaps due to there always being an adventure to be found with a helpful dog, but actually this was quite a fateful topic. For having negotiated many a shiggy minefield and found Briggy once again leading the way to a sweet stop in the now towering grass, the goodies were fished out of the foliage and unsuspecting glances were cast towards Cadbury House below. Enid Blyton made 5 go to Mystery Moor - Cinderella made a dirty dozen go to a misty monolith! "Temperature inversion ahoy!" was the rallying call as some fought to bravely hack a way through the battleship grey that had enveloped us (including Rocky Horror who executed an emergency stop courtesy of a non-luminescent Eager) and it was probably trial ad error as much as the dense flour that helped us back down to merely Yatton's upper tier. With early beer stop (and a toast to both the hares' and Brigadoon's FRB status) came the chance for more diversions on the way back to bar - both a runners' loop and a Yatton Recreation ground were afforded their 15 minutes of Bogs fame - but it was a case of well, well, Well Lane - fancy On Inning from the end of your good self in time for a knees up.
ON ON ON: With the pub again divided up into those with a running and those with a football watching problem, we welcomed late-late escapee Houdini into our ham, cheese and egg sandwich bar, along with plenty of chunky chips to help give us Butchers' Arms. Let's Crown another mist-ery solved at Churchill next week.
Run 618, October 11th 2017.
The Anchor, Ham Green, Pill.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 14 hashers, 2 hounds and 3 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A mad dash for the scribe to drop anchor and play catchup with the long nights setting in – to avoid having a quarter of a trail to make up this did unfortunately involve speed walking the walkers' routes along the A369 and assuming that the spray-painted Beer Stops were all part of highway rather than footpath maintenance. First the traditional non-warmups Cinders, Kerb Crawler and Walky Talky were encountered along with an ever-fast-forwarding Rewind, and then once branching off in the direction of Leigh Court we pretended not to know what Strap On was doing next to a bush. As we still resembled BRBs, Rocky laudibly called said regroup and advised that runners could opt for a Leigh Woods circuit with plenty of pitfalls of the shiggy and vertiginous variety, or try in not quite vain to catch the walkers spearheaded by Deep Throat who walks these woods in his sleep. For the latter, the amble went a little too close to Leigh Court Estate for comfort, though no “gerrof moi land” was forthcoming and the flour showed up much clearer when we turned around. All walkers assembled specially for an eponymous sweet stop, complete with Rocky Bars since we had had enough Rocky Road underfoot. We now could take in many star speckled views of the Avon and the distant Portway as the runners caught up with the haste of those who had missed sweets. They weren't the only source of a distant rumbling – we thought farm machinery was stalking us in a neighbouring field only to find we were nearer to the First Great Western than imaginable in this wilderness (not to mention a couple of fish hooks possibly left out by the keen anglers and, alas, unpopular among the walking contingent). Chapel Pill Farm paved the way back to civilisation again with near impeccable timing, with On In taking in the perimeter of The Green and making us that much keener to get that much cosier...
CIRCLE: Done indoors again by popular demand – those who had attempted to gatecrash the estate while also being late for the hash were down downed along with Rocky, to the ever appreciative audience of Down & Dirty, Briggy and Ballsport. Time to get on those high chairs.
ON ON ON: Those who had downed drinks before the circle opted to declare themselves “what a bunch” with mouthfuls of doritos to go with ham, cheese and tomato and egg sandwiches aplenty, along with a more than generous helping of chip/wedge hybrids by the trough load. A minimum of one Bogs virgin to behold next week in the form of Yatton's The Butchers' Arms – let's hope he provides plenty of cold cuts.
Run 617, 4 October 2017.
The Wagon and Horses, Clevedon.
HARES: Houdini and Captain Mainwaring.
RUN REPORT: A Clevedon up and down hash, featuring one of the hares doing a Houdini magician style disappearing act and needing his Sat Nav to find the sweetie stop (PS it wasn’t Houdini), and getting us back to the Pub in good time.
CIRCLE: The pub had a new landlord ( between it being booked and us turning up) but did loads of nice food including some very peppery salad, the hares were celebrated, Coral became "Croucher" (I’m still not quite sure exactly what she was doing at the back of that vehicle), Cinders may have had newish shoes, Miss Tit missed it (the pub that is), and a few people turned up late and missed the circle – but it was nice to see them anyway.
Run 616, 27th September 2017.
The Old Barn, Wraxall.
HARE: Rebore.
WHO: 13 hashers, 2 hounds and 5 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Well, that could have been a Rewind brainchild (he was there to contribute to the revolutionary proceedings, after all). With a BBC news-worthy event making several of the baker's dozen late for Rebore's briefing, the first of three mini hashes was commenced with 9 attendees, heading out the back way of The Barn (which is more often than not our itinerary for the Wraxall evening) and keeping the hounds firmly on their leads as a field of skittish woolly jumpers was negotiated at pace. No sooner had we found civilisation again we also found arriving hashers for run 2 – better strap 'em on to the trail and crawl over the kerb while walking and talking about how Cinderella would never do this. The ring was wider for round 2, but still nobody was on the ropes and sweets were not forthcoming – they were left at hare's home. On In number 2 quickly fell by the roadside and made us pretty sure that the best of the triumvirate was left till last. Affirmative – after assembling at one of several duplicated regroups, the runners took in both Tower House and Ham Lanes (Eager and Rocky briefly thinking about chasing a white rabbit/flour into the woods) and obeying an equilateral triangle across the road in search of front-walkers. While touring the tall grass at the back of Wraxall a checkpoint was missed across a bridge and thus a few On Backs needed bellowing before we could see and sprint towards a distant light. By now we were (comparatively) quite far afield and still felt the need to send latecomers on their own limb once a few roundabouts were negotiated a la mainland Europe. All still in the name of 9pm touchdown, inevitably.
CIRCLE: A lot of On On On had already taken place before we assembled for canapes under canopies. Use of technology and a rogue hat in the circle met with frowns, Woodbine being the well-behaved hound was met with jaws dropped in astonishment, Houdini had headed the pack for 0.3 seconds and welcomes over the threshold for Bogs virgin Gashead plus arrivals Briggy, Ballsport, Fast Forward and Zider senior and junior.
ON ON ON: What a great spread Rebore had in store – if anything really had to be given number one rating it was the salmon pittas, complimented all round by salad, olives, sarnies by the tubload and fairy cakes to indulge the sweetest teeth (better watch out, absent Fondue's absent Pavlova – you were THIS close to not getting mentioned). Rocky Horror also refrained from getting down on one knee to propose a Litton Cheney visit one weekend later in February. Love of our life – we do.
Run 615, 20th September 2017.
The Ship Inn, Portishead.
HARES: Bag Lady and Coppertone.
WHO: 20 hashers, 3 hounds and 3 visitors.
RUN REPORT: A damp squib evolved into a cloudburst during this shiggy dig (albeit not one with a sexist name), but that was never going to keep the numbers down – indeed the returning Inchworm and Flour Power made up the fairly hefty numbers who knew that a quick amble down towards Portishead's number 2 coastal path would come at a price (even if runners had started with a circuit of the pub which Briggy would have turned into an early On In). Procrastination abided at one such checkpoint, with a few FRBs heading north towards the less old Severn bridge being called back to join the throng both for channel views and for the sweet stop beneath the water works. A climb did not follow immediately if you were a runner – a further circumnavigation took in Charlcombe and Walton Bays – but for walkers it was time for shiggy to be thrown into the uphill mix, or for hashers to be thrown into the shiggy mix, as preferred. Reaching tarmac again after some steep steps, we still had to assent to another ascent (past a playground depressingly with no zip wire) before stopping to wait for the appearance of distant jiggling head torches. For Flour Power the increase in precipitation at this stage proved enough of a sway to call it an hour and dock at The Ship, but for the rest a non-guided tour of the Weston Lodge Shooting Ground was on the cards. The speedway track threatened to become a time warp for BRBs, had the rallying cries of On On not been sufficiently lupine, and even back on gravel a rogue arrow made us think we were looking for the opposition's flag among the paintball scenery rather than flour. As so often, GM DT stepped up to point out the blobs onward to Valley Road, our wet hash attire weighing us down just like with army cadets, but there was to be no harsh barking of orders (remember your ASS rule number 1 – no rules!) or even sticking together as On In beckoned in the downpour. Way to work up a hunger...
ON ON ON: So pleased were we to get in from the deluge, greet a warm and toasty Briggy, Ballsport and Down & Dirty and to wolf down 1 or 1 and a half pasties (otherwise they may have been thrown down to the miners), that we may have saved any down downs for after my skittling departure. Like the pub, though, all vehicles were still afloat and setting a course for Rebore's Old Barn.
Run 611, September 2nd 2017.
Alpine Grove Touring Park, Chard.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 36 hashers (including 2 dinner ladies) and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Rise and shine as much as the sun! Once again fate had decreed that our ASS would be sun-kissed, at the very least for the running and drinking part. A lot of limbering up took place (thankfully not needing to be told to keep it down at this time of day) along with Brigadoon's lecture about purple paper in place of flour, plus shuttle services and pub stops for this very long limb. Tempted though I was to adopt the first walkers' route at On Out (last night's haring had been hastily assembled at the 7th hour), Brigadoon's offer of promotion to running hare was snapped up like lemon drizzle. Now was surely too early to take a lengthy break from those who prefer to keep at least one foot on the ground, and indeed we quickly followed the purple paper road back in their direction and timing our "collision" on Lower Coombses quite superbly. An even shorter time apart from them soon followed with the sun already beating down hard enough for us to beckon the first pub stop - it was a classic "home run" around a swamp like many a Weston hash before chalking our way on and uphill towards the novelty of a B road - cue a still very enthusiastic Izzie hound (and ASS veteran) to be tethered and follow Poppy's shining example. Once we had landed with a few thuds at Ye Olde Poppe Inn for the first drinking problem stop, many opted for a long, cool 'in. However I was instead tempted by a large, frozen 'un, especially as it was chocolate flavoured and wafer-adorned. Once dinner lady Down & Dirty arrived to check on our progress, Red Light opted to accompany her to the much-later lunch stop (no Cheers Drive this time), and promptly there followed another speed split upon resumption. For both speeds though this meant a long trudge up a narrow country lane (grass growing in the middle, always a sign of ASS territory) and a couple of duck 'n' dives out the way of traffic who had miraculously deemed it to still be a road. That included a near-HGV we encountered at the top, learning the name "Pop Lane" in the process, and once Brigadoon had called to order all but the FRB-ing, a shortcut to the next stop was declared for some, as long as you weren't keen on going down for a bit. For those determine to stick to the trail like shiggy to a welly, there was not just tall grass to contend with but a herd of cattle determined to seal off the exit to the next field - among the many approaches considered (the bovinophobic Strap On may just have got lucky), we opted for the firm but fair requests from the grandmaster to let us bipeds pass amicably and with great success.
Well, now that this trimmed herd had found its own leader it led us swiftly downhill through more shiggy and wide expanses, followed by a hard left upon the rediscovery of tarmac and in the direction of nearby merry music. Turned out (with Briggy planning THIS far in advance) that outside the George Inn we had happened upon the Chardstock Street Fayre all singing, all dancing, all pulling pints and being given an extra dice by us for their future Shut The Box games.
Fed and watered, the walkers left the rest to conquer the dizzy heights around the church, while themselves struggling to find the On Papers past the bowling club - in fact, it was over what we felt may have been a private gate (Eager Beaver being politely reminded/educated to climb over the hinged side) and back into the habit of checking out for the still distant runners. Trial and error was the winner as we ambled on and off road again towards a regroup where Missapp (the first returning running wanderer), posed specially to make the nearby Ent resemble a toilet stop - never short of scandals. Once this regroup had actually been obeyed we split again and crawled uphill with an increasing craving to stop the running problem again for a bit - time then for a sobering experience. Missapp at the top of this incline felt she had homed in on the way onward, but roaring round the corner came heavy farm machinery in the hands of very young arms. We weren't about to stop him to see his licence, instead we let some of the shiggy ahead be brushed aside prior to the next intermission. An intermission that followed no red flag waving in front of more bovines or dodging the swampy sinkholes, of course.
The Cotley Inn was where we all stopped for a three quarter, along with a permitted use of technology to report in to Down & Dirty and Red Light who had taken all the time that was needed to set up shop for our luncheon pause soon to come. By now the absence of Irish Spew had become more than a little conspicuous, particularly with an Irish hound still running free, but we of plenty faith were only too keen to storm ahead (and plenty up), keen to take the pressure off the trestle table. Once sighted, the semi-junior hashers present opted for a piggyback sprint while everyone else lined up and cheered Irish Spew's arrival. The dinner ladies were happy to help us demolish the DIY ham, cheese and salad rolls in abundance to go with crisps, olives and Silverskins, essentially working up a thirst to follow hunger which we could sense the ability to quench in the sun soaked Chard which we spotted below. A lot of incident on descent - my bonce went bonk on a rogue branch which Houdini gave the all clear, late toasts were made to the departed Dragon lady and Koko, and some Pointless quizzing with Rebore and Rosie took place when we reached the Bell and Crown Inn, our semi-last pub stop. Here Briggy extended the 5 minute warnings to 10 minute warnings (no doubt enough for some Bogs to order another pint) before copying and pasting much of our previous quadrennial's march onwards through Chard Cemetery towards Cerdic. Whether Spoons or knives and forks were needed to finish off today's grub for choice, the pleasant surprise was that we would only require one minibus to return the remaining contingent to the campsite - those wanting a heroes' mention for running the remainder would have to wait for the one-sided regroup...
CIRCLE: Brigadoon, Ballsport and "Us" had to take the opening plaudits for mutually tolerating each other for the 7th year in a row, as well as for a lack of cartographical skills at the last pub stop. Next up were the honourable mentions of Eager keeping his hare on sufficiently to only lay a 50 minute Friday trail, Public Enemy and Strap On beating the minibus back to the campsite, Zoot and Hot Lips for having the culinary skills of Apple Crumblers and 3&4 pence for being perfect in every way. Not so perfect a thought was Down and Dirty compounding her Dinner Lady Difficulties with taking to the campsite swimming pool with not that much more than a thong. Quickly changing the subject there was the day's eternal front runner Missapp coupled with the eternal pursuer Irish Spew, all toasting hash virgin Tanya and late circle arrivals Bag Lady, Houdini, Deep Throat and Red Light. We all needed another campfire...
ON ON ON: Tonight it was Down & Dirty's specialite de la camping, consisting of sweet and sour chicken and veggie coupled with spring/autumn rolls and prawn crackers which were all the colours of the 'bow. Amongst all the calories that we quickly replaced with 1000% interest, the rhubarb cider certainly helped to wash everything down a treat before retiring with the slightly downbeat knowledge that the weather could be turning against us by dawn. It did and how - a Sunday ASS spanking trail was foregone in favour of returning our tents in soaked rather than bedraggled condition, pledging a desire to stick our sausage in cider along with Cheddar next year. It's all good for yer ASS...
Run 610, September 1st 2017.
Alpine Grove Touring Park, Chard.
HARE: Eager Beaver.
WHO: 31 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: All tents and ASSes were in gear save those off at speedway or putting on tonight's or tomorrow's festivities. A 50 minute hash was promised in light of a mouth-watering non-pavlova Fondue curry being on the cards for our prompt return; this hardly limited the amount of controversy we could squeeze into our Friday evening limber-up. A little shiggy ducking and diving was needed along a gravel track going by the Google Maps alias of "The Drift", emerging on Roman Road (not the one above Bleadon) with hounds tethered as our fame had clearly spread to the local boy racers. Not, however, to the inanimate technology that was to abound. After a mostly erased (necessitating a bellow of "On Back"!) T5 had led all but BRBs to stampede through a farmyard towards admittedly not the most conspicuous of public footpath signs, off went a burglar alarm which we all danced a merry jig to up the hill (the straggling DT, Red Light and Down & Dirty could be observed making peace with the farmer from the summit) and onto Pye Lane - a fish hook for 6 was only obeyed as much as going back to Irish Spew (we were adopting the Greyhounds' fishhook routine of going back to the hare rather than the BRBs - it literally takes all sorts), though Public Enemy did go above though not quite beyond in attempting to find them at the next hook (and downhill, to boot). One quick warning equilateral (well, I tried) across the B3167 and we were indeed touching down for campfire (probably not with smores) at 50 minutes on the dot, though staying out for the stragglers arrival 20 minutes later was a hare's obligation - they even got to see a campfire previously unlit for the FRBs; winners all round.
ON ON ON: We certainly don't have head torches bigger than our stomachs - not only did the veggie and omnie curry options from Fondue disappear a lot quicker than flour, we also found room for the 7 varieties of cider on tap (plus Shiraz, for the connoisseurs) along with brownies, Madeira and Lemon Drizzle cakes out in force. Late night festivities around the campfire included short stories and chirades - though none of the inaugural ASS Hash's Chinese Whiskers - that nationality would yet have its day...
Run 608, August 23rd 2017.
The Swan, Rowberrow.
HARES: Dressing Down and Up All Night.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: We began another leisurely woodland stroll as we wouldn't go on – in brief panic that we were scribe-less and thus leaving a massive arrow on School Lane for stragglers and paparazzi alike. School Lane led where it always seems to have, though more recently it has been to a valley of rubble rather than pink houses, and promptly this was followed by the sound of a babbling brook (oddly coming from a stream) along Rowberrow Warren, crossed just in time to complete a hefty ascent all the way to the sweet stop and cheer on Fondue and Houdini who had been left behind without being abandoned – there was even plenty left of the sumptuous goodies cracked open – haribo jelly babies, chocolate-laced liquorice and battered marshmallow. Would a more literal Rocky Road follow? Well, certainly for runners who faced a lengthy departure from their steadier brethren in search of the peak of Burrington Combe. Definitely well worth the shiggy waded through, plus extra ascents taken on at checkpoints, for the sake of a sunset view stretching out to Congresbury and bathing the rocky descent in pink luminescence. Call that a challenge? Spare a champagne down-down for the 2 mountain bikers (who were not going to dismount for the world) that we encountered while rolling back down in the fading light. Cue head torches to pick a way through more shiggy alongside Dolebury Warren (and even to encounter some non-Bogs with their own head torches who no doubt had been sent out to investigate these extraterrestrial white markings). Fears again surfaced about flour's survival chances, though it quickly transpired that the walkers and Up All Night had left fresh markings as clear as mud on a whiteboard en route and uphill to the beer stop out on Rowberrow's only road, and not just the only chance tonight to shake off all that shiggy....
CIRCLE: Minus a few FRBs who were out to drink the bar dry, we stopped one sprint away from the non-migrating Swan and welcomed the sight of more Uppy and Downy haute cuisine – Nutella cake on a crisp base and plenty of drinks to swill it down with. These choices were as bold as the end result was exquisite – a fitting parallel with the trail which touched down at 9:15 almost to the smell of the grub about to join us on the patio... ON ON ON: Brigadoon and Ballsport joined in the down downs welcoming both the hares, weekend hostess Limpet and news of a well recuperating Inchworm. Way out here the appearance of Goat's Cheese, Ham and Pepperoni Pizza with fat chips atop trenchers went down with the same popularity as Uppy and Downy's home spreads. News also had time to surface of a return to another Bogs favourite next week, no doubt a DT Major Exercise courtesy of The Miner's Rest!
Run 606, August 11th 2017.
Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 25 hashers and 5 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Many a Xanten hasher (including a 3-legged Faceplant) paid a visit to swell the numbers for another cool but dry evening, one that almost uniquely did not On In to the sound of the Holy Trinity Church bells. On Out split the pack briefly through the neighbouring undergrowth and also allowed for a good natured dogfight once reassembled, owing to tonight's high hound to hasher ratio. Youngwood Lane may have been the road we had located, but the death of old trails was on the agenda as we passed firstly an old Rowan tree previously only seen in the dark, and then we found that where a previous Double D expedition had signalled a pond stop there was now the still newsworthy shiggy in its place, even with a false trail assembled the other side. We were, of course, well used to reaching Backwell Lake, locating a fish hook for 5 on the far side and finding that walkers were nonetheless taking the short cut to late hare Zider's revelation of a Regroup symbol. To some it resembled simply a vandalised R, but others (naturally Briggy among them) reckoned it must have been a full glass of beer and thus demanded a premature stop of the same kind. They would have to wait and earn both it and sweets – first there was the back but not yet dark alleys encountered after tunnelling under the railway, leading via the locals' encouragement to the meandering tarmac of Backwell Common and the realisation of just what we would have been up against had we taken Double D's original route. With FRBs now certainly hard to find among BRBs, what seemed like a gross of cattle (young and old) gave us the pretty evil eye from behind a gate, hopefully just to point us the correct/only way on. After heading off through the hay remnants and in the general direction of Ye Old Farmhouse (some missing the turn-off to increase their heart rate), the trail made its own decision to reassemble the sum of our parts for sweets. As well as tangy haribo and allsorts, Zider added some Maltese goodies that lacked chocolate or honeycomb, though they were still the lighter way to enjoy the hash. By now the return journey still appeared not to be under way, but these Nailsea stretches always succeed in deceiving – a quick hoop, skip and jump past the croquet club (with traffic still reminding us of its presence on our route) coupled with another alley still familiar in the dark (particularly when fish-hooked) put us on the finishing straight at 9:20, definitely in need of indoor down downs...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Several virgins to welcome (at least in terms of regular Bogs territory), as well as calling out Rewind and Titsup leading each other astray and to the hares for again managing to re-shape a well moulded stomping ground. Plenty to dine on too while still finalising the ASS hash – cheesy tiger loaf formed a solid base for pate, ham and cheese along with the Grove's other finger food for thought. Xanten On!
Run 605, August 2nd 2017.
Clevedon Sea front, near The Salthouse.
WHO: 17 hashers.
RUN REPORT: It was a REWIND Hash! Rocks, Walls, "H" stops, graveyard, coast, river, town, lost on trail (including the Hare at one point), and a swim in Marine Lake afterwards for a few intrepid hero's of the hash.
CIRCLE: Picnic style by the side of Marine Lake, before retiring to The Salthouse.
Run 604, July 26th 2017.
Major's, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and& Ballsport.
WHO: 17 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: A typhoon too soon thanks to the moon did not make us swoon; however it was strong enough to give us photo-op aplenty on the sort of weather one is used to on school break-up week. Parking places turned out to be harder to find than one of Weston's hidden pub gems, with warmup not commencing until 7:40pm and quickly being deemed redundant anyway - for those with a spring still in their Summer step there was a fish hook for 6 to behold along the promenade (durably daubed in orange), followed by a circumnavigation of Marine Parade (horizontal, not vertical - we decided not to conquer the South West's London Eye for one evening) and the executive decision that walkers were not short-cutting up ahead; an arrow had merely materialised. The equal cheapest foray in history down Weston's High Street followed (a record also set by hashers rather than revellers, and also at a time when all shops were shut), bizarrely making temporary use of some traffic lights prior to another ascent through Grove Park, each as unique as the last and tonight with a little misdemeanour added to the recipe - walking returnees Double D, Zider and Zider Junior decided the runners' loop was for them too, in fact all the runners decided to sniff out the nearby regroup via the wrong trail - an offence with impunity if mere GMs or RAs were in charge, but not for Briggy having pulled this trail practically out of the hat at such short notice, and so note was made for later down downs. We had heard prophecies of a shortened trail with no beer stop and thus the bar felt tantalisingly close as we edged along Upper Church Road looking vainly for its lower namesake, but still had to reckon with Briggy joining forces with Mother Nature. Stopping to take in the sights of the remaining 60% of Birnbeck Pier plus Prince Consort Gardens (site of many a calorific beer stop), we found flour calling us down to sea level at the Captain's Cabin and certainly felt obliged enough to make it a good workout - cue technology abuse on the trail in quadruplicate as selfies abounded with the crashing waves alongside the Marine Lake. In years gone by prior to the Health and Safety at Hash Act (which, as it turns out, I invented specifically for this trail), many would have crossed the bedraggled Causeway Walk to Knightstone Island at high tide, especially as the hares had laid it earlier and we did not want to see all that flour milled in vain. Compromises were swift in coming, though - half the pack opted for the promenade alongside rather than through the lake (the causeway was at least serving its purpose in making the lake eerily calm, and when the BRBs hastily caught up anyway Missapp decided to On In with a dash around Knightstone Island thrown in as well (presumably verifying Briggy's claims by spotting the forlorn flour. Accounting for delays, 1 hour was the finishing time - as a past master of stepping in to fill anyone's shoes even better than Disney's Cinderella would, Briggy has clearly still got it...
CIRCLE: A big hand to the hares for assembling this trail almost as quickly as your average flat pack furniture, and to what few short cutters and mis-directed walkers comprised us. On to Chips!
ON ON ON: It looked tiny from the outside, but inside there was enough room to swing an ASS gazebo while porking out on DIY chip and sossie sarnies, even if the wind had died down enough to try and lure us out onto the patio. Another Weston-splendid-Mare hash to add to the annals...
RUN 603, July 19th 2017.
The Nova Scotia, Bristol.
HARES: Cinders and Walky Talky.
WHO: 20 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Not quite 10000 men, but certainly a good enough turnout to march far up, down and afield as the varying Bristolian scenery would permit. At On Out we promptly split the pack with it being under and onto the Cumberland Basin for the walkers, while runners caught up only after pumping those muscles past the Pump House in order to get the VIP treatment from the swing bridge. Once fully assembled again, we headed alongside the River Avon and under Brunel's feat of construction, rather than engineering, and found the barely stable skies had not deterred many a cyclist from this route which we will be doing very well to upgrade to hash-way. That ascent I alluded to - well it was indeed the first left for walkers who were in for a teeter on the edge of Leigh Woods (including the retrieval of a vaping pen for a junior non-hasher; we'll leave it at that), but runners went a lot further field if not awry - certainly for long enough for the FWBs to wait somewhat patiently for them at the summit before heading on - with the suspended sky now calling it a day and giving us a soaking, there was only so much entertainment in scoffing the Midget Gems and Giant Strawberry Haribo at the present Sweet Stop. We promptly happened back upon the A369 and made the educated choice of Ashton Court Golf Course, rather than a suspended crossing, even if it meant a little more bike dodging as we entered the undergrowth and some premature scepticism about the likelihood of returning in daylight. Though hardly in danger of getting bedraggled, the hares did nonetheless offer a dry long-cut through the evergreens, hurdling a few trunks in the process and getting the most welcome reward of the Deer Sanctuary residents who happily posed for a few pictures, even if we'd preferred it to be the other end that was pointing at us. Surely that wasn't a hunting call that we then heard? No, it was the first of the gallivanting runners keen to make no use of non-existent head torches - they weren't even needed in the murky depths of the woods overlooking Ashton Court Mansion - instead a sense of trust for one's in-built homing pigeon sufficed (plus ample flour in a place prone to abuse by bike, of course), and we even managed to say hello to the right end (though sadly far-distant) of the Stag party before hitting tarmac again via several near-slips on the aquaplaned rocks. For On In we took in a lot of the tried and trusted - the Stuffed Spooky Owl from the yester-decade's Shrek hash is long gone, but the Banksy-esque graffiti and the intestines of Greville Smythe Park certainly are not, and victory was even toasted for the hares as we averaged a touchdown time of bang on 9. Respect and a joy as often.
CIRCLE: With our alcove taken we stayed outdoors with a fair few locals - certainly enough chatter for Cinderella to have continuing difficulty in calling for, and getting, hash-hush. We did, however receive enough order to announce happy returns for Rampant Rabbit and Spotted Dick (having journeyed a full street to get here) and a welcome to trail virgin Kevin who certainly displayed sufficient taste for the wild and wet outdoors that one would expect from an Eager Beaver protégé.
ON ON ON: Dressing Down dressed the table up with her Macmillan Lemon Drizzle cake - if this stuff disappeared a lot quicker than flour, I would expect the sausages and chips which took their own savoury time to arrive were wolfed down quickly too. An apt combo of Brigadoon at Major's in Weston next week - Down Downs may be reserved for those who goose-walk the trail...
Run 602, July 12th 2017.
The Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARE: Eager Beaver.
Run 601, July 5th 2017.
Bendy's Stables, Puxton.
HARES: Bendover, Coral and Amber.
WHO: 25 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: It felt fantastic to be out in the middle of...somewhere...on a balmy evening with plenty of nostalgia thrown into the home brew. We were further away than I had reckoned, but the territory certainly mirrored that of ASS Hash 1 upon our arrival (“H3” being the secret code for our car park) and subsequent On Out towards Oldbridge River. This scribe was declared as just about sane by the pack for ambling along with a coat on, preferring to gently simmer than to remedy multiple bites from the insect feeding frenzy taking place. Taking in the sights rather than a furious pace was definitely the agenda too – once we reached the riverbank and managed to hook 5 FRBs they resorted to half-walking, half-waiting for the back of the pack before making Puxton Lane our own again. I mentioned nostalgia, and here were some of the bits in passing – we were near the electric fence where a fried Cheesepot became Fondue, were near the multiple fish-hooks and later Down Down field where David became Eager Beaver, and on the same night Briggy had gone looking for his beer stop keys. Well, tonight he and Ballsport kept up the pace with walkers while the runners were left to literally hit the hay adjacent to Willow Farm (the R had suspiciously looked like an arrow from a small distance). Quite a daunting prospect lay ahead and so with hindsight we may have mixed some Dutch courage into the haribo sweet stop on May's Lane. One sample of cattle in a neighbouring ditch ought to be no problem, until one remembers that they are a herd animal and that we had several anonymous bovinophobes among our ranks. Horned they weren't, but cornered they were and so we all stepped aside to allow a minor stampede back from whence they came, till it became clear the only remaining hazard was very fresh shiggy. Only one place for circling and beering tonight and so it was On In back along Puxton Lane and with the sunset barely having begun (by now the wrapped up scribe had indeed simmered but not steamed), we felt confident that we'd worked up enough of a hunger for a Bogs spread...
CIRCLE: Down and Dirty arrived to add her own DIY to the rapidly growing picnic table, and this had already been rapidly emptying before Cinders called to order a hash that was “too flat” and with “not enough cattle”. Bovinophobia was fine, but having eyes without looking for an arrow for walkers was not – step forward Cheesepot come Fondue. “Like hares on a non-mountain” also seemed appropriate for the high standard hares, all in time for our own feeding frenzy.
ON ON ON: A mountain of bring and share grub nearly swallowed us whole as our equine friends looked forlornly on (enough for the junior hares to head over and whisper their praises). If anything could be reserved second place on tonight's Masterchef (naturally behind Fondue's pavlova) is would be the spread out cheeseboard. If a Gorge of Cheddar wasn't enough there was also the spiced and creamy varieties atop gluten free crackers, plus enough drawn and quartered watermelon, leftover haribo, pork pies, rolls, houmous, chilled cider and many other nibbles to threaten to turn this into a food blog. On On to the tried and trusted Old Inn – the first bite of a hash is with the eye.
Run 600, June 28th 2017.
Travellers Rest, Pensford.
HARES: Mr Mainwaring and Never Enough. WHO: There were 16 on the hash and a few more in the pub after.
RUN REPORT by Walky Talky: We were warned by the hares it could be a long trail with various livestock including young, and they weren't wrong. The runners route was over 5 miles and the last runners got back to the pub just after 9:30. Also we even went past a very very recently born calf. Luckily there were plenty of sweets at the regroup to give us enough energy to keep us going. The trail had been set the day before in a mixture of flour and lentils, which as some noticed made it look a bit like sick, but at least most of the marks were still there (some more lentil than flour). It was a pretty trail in a new area and very little road.
ON ON ON: On our return to the pub we were treated with sandwiches, chips and cake.
Run 599, June 21st 2017.
The Bandstand, Clevedon, followed by the edge of the land.
HARES: Houdini and Fondue.
WHO: About 25 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: The heat waved goodbye with a flourish (at least until the next time we read the Daily Express), splitting the throng fairly briskly as they ambled along the promenade and making several unsuccessful attempts to recruit newbies along the way. Once upon the site of our al fresco spread later, it was down the not so dark alley and along Copse Road to start a well accustomed ascent but via several checkpoints and red herrings. No less fishy was the zigzag leading up to Dial Hill, offering as golden a view as ever to Clevedonian Bog virgins but also ensnaring them with a fish hook for 4 at the top. Second to none had been Houdini's planning of this hash with a DIY pub, and equally imaginative was the sweet stop which beckoned after negotiating the under and over-growth – here we stopped for midget gems, haribo and liquorice allsorts not only in view of live action cricket but also persuaded a couple of sunbathers to snap us all in one frame. FRBs found that this had enabled them to build up a good head of steam and promptly charged onto Esmond Grove – some even chose the right way onward and downward first time – and for those relegated to BRB there was still the afforded opportunity to make sure the proper number of 6 obeyed the fish hook prowling near the bottom of Park Road. Descending further, nobody was tempted to make their own beer stop at The Bristol Inn nor even the conservative or triangle clubs which we have popped into – instead we took in the high street whose markings had been left miraculously intact before opting to take the high road-come-high pavement. When we reached the viewpoint overlooking the Round Window takeaway and all the other Clevedonian permutations that we have undertaken we were a little dismayed to find that our (previously photo-shopped) sign no longer said “No Dumping of Hashers in this area”; certainly no damper though was the beer stop that Down and Dirty served up back at sea level, with fresh fruit, juice and cider downed very quickly to quench us in time for another speed split to the finishing line after a hare-raising toast. Oddly enough this meant uphill for walkers only but no more twists and turns to our near-sunset On On On. Now for the eating problem...
ON ON ON: Assembled very promptly (and perhaps with a subliminal message to Clevedonian non-hashers), we baked at a moderate 20 degrees while clearing the deck of sarnies, wraps, Brie plus lemon drizzle and Tiffin cake, to name but a few highlights prior to going far afield in Pensford for next week's big 6-00. We WILL have cooled off by then.
Run 598, June 14th 2017.
The Druids Arms, Stanton Drew.
HARES: Cinders and No Shirt.
WHO: 36 Hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Another excellent turnout both from Bogs, K&As and hungry insects on this very warm evening – for all there was no trade off betwixt covering up against horseflies and preferring bites over being boiled; bare arms ‘twere then as we On Outed past Church Farm to the same spot where we searched many ways last year – this time we had a lot of shiggy mines to dodge as well as crop rotation/circumnavigation before reaching tarmac – runners comprised most of us (well, there were but 12 Bogs), though the walkers were not to feel too lonely as the pack promptly came charging back alongside the river to catch up and with still plenty of time left before even sweets had been split open. When they were next to the river, the insects were practically raining down on us though the repellent still held firm enough for them to dive into the water instead – either that or raindrops had miraculously appeared. Tangy Haribos downed, the next few fields were no less miraculous in only presenting us with the problem of crop mazes, rather than inquisitive cattle (nobody appeared to be adorned in red, our preparation on past experience had been that good). Still, we managed to stick to last year’s guns on one additional account in that On In took us past Church Farm again, with no temptation anywhere of executing a timewarp, and also touching down at a perfect average time for the two tribes at 8:45. Would Food and Drink be equally democratic?
CIRCLE: Kudos to the hares and to the returning Inchworm plus Double D who had successfully played 15 minute catchup – she also technically did not stop while down downing her glass either so an A star there for DD. All the rest made their own very big circle for down downing, even if there were no drinks left having been dispensed with to avoid sweltering. Quenched but not sated, I assume?
ON ON ON: Up in the pub garden again and there came upon several buckets of chips and baskets of sausages (the sauce arriving as an appetiser was the clue) along with plenty buttered bread to complete the DIY theme. One extra basket of sossies even appeared as I was making my exit – no other appeared after I was making a corrected second exit 10 minutes later. If you want to improve further on that, K&As, my advice would be to stick yer sausage in cider…
Run 597, June 7th 2017.
The Jubilee Inn, Flax Bourton.
HARE: Rocky Horror and Strap On On On...
WHO: 22 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Wet and pretty wild we were – certainly a lot more precipitation tonight than the dew drop moniker that this pub used to have. Nonetheless the On Out obstacles comprised first a crossing before the road metamorphoses into the Long Ashton bypass, then a wade through tall grass laced with shiggy and the chance for 7 FRBs to go hook fishing – even with energy levels to the max we still did not count that many heading back. Perhaps then a lengthy runners’ route would instil more discipline, just after passing the site of Flax Bourton Magistrates Court if one is to believe Google Maps. All 6 off grounders did huff and puff for the promised extra mile, including Walky Talky who passed the burden of back runner on first to Eager Beaver and then to Rocky Horror who was as hare-brained as you would expect. Well we never – the prize that we got for nipping in amongst not too much traffic was a sweet stop where not even the presence of GM Deep Throat had been enough to keep the walkers waiting. They had, however, met us half way – there were no spelling or grammar errors in the squirted flour message that they did not wish to wait any longer and so had gone on and up to compare the sites of Tyntesfield to the left and, well, the views of Flax Bourton to the right. They were caught up pretty quickly – certainly quick enough for there still to be some jelly babies and allsorts to distribute and for us not to need Bed & Breakfast when passing said accommodation at Gatcombe Court. Indeed, a good share of the pack still found it in them to run further up towards Tyntesfield than to walk and tumble back down to Weston Road. By now we were remembering (both while walking it and me now typing it) the hares’ words of wisdom about the trail being altered to suit an event not quite as spectacular as cheese rolling, and so along Weston Road it was at a sufficiently leisurely pace to allow Strap On to adjust the markings from earlier towards a beer stop rather than to trap us all in a time warp. We were of course aquaplaning already, but the heavens really decided to open specially for our beer parade (Bend Over was particularly grateful for the tree cover alongside Rocky’s motor). Would we need soup spoons?!
CIRCLE: Not even knives and forks – Balti Mix, fruit and nuts were engulfed by the handful as were the cups full of beer and cordials – Amber and No Handle stepped forward for not doing the early fish hook and Kerb Crawler and Walky Talky caught up in time to be declared not in time for the circle. An eerie tunnel through distant trees was the On In Handle for tonight, touching down at 9:20 though we certainly hadn’t felt the strain yet. Oh the weather outside is not so spiteful.
ON ON ON: We already know the Jubilee to be one for hash protection from the elements rather than for hash grub, but some still put in their own orders from the menu while we all hid from prying non-hash eyes behind a curtain. Next up it’s the annual Kennet & Avoners hybrid run, never the type to be too short and sweet…
Run 594¾, May 19th-21st 2017.


Xanten - Germany.
HARES: Woodcut aided by family.
WHO: 4 North Somerset travellers plus various Woodcuttings and family friends at various stages.
Thursday: smooth travel arrangements, picked up by Woodcut from Weeze airport then taken to our wonderful old converted farmhouse accommodation, just 1/4 mile from Woodcut’s house, where we were joined by Familie Woodcut for tea. Following this Cheers Drive took us for a stroll to introduce us to the lovely town of Xanten, where we were forced to sit outside one of the many bars around the market place to sample a beer or two. before heading home.
Friday: A day for relaxing, so we spent half a day wandering around the immense archaeological park where the original Roman town used to be just outside of Xanten, before heading back for the evening hash. Meeting at Woodcut’s house at 5pm, and then starting on the two mini barrels of locally brewed beer and having some food, before starting the hash at 7pm, meant that it was a gently paced 5 mile hash. The English weather that we had taken with us resulted in it being a damp and cool hash, but that didn’t stop us, and we managed a beer garden stop (under a cover and with blankets to cover cooling legs) shortly followed by a bar stop for an hour or two to warm us up before the homeward leg..
Saturday: Woodcut showed us that he had learned well from Brigadoon in how to set a weekend’s worth of hashes in advance, Whereas Friday evening was conventional flour, Saturday was ribbons of coloured paper stapled to trees and fence posts and checkpoints were paper plates stapled to trees and anything else that was tall and wooden. Fortunately the weather was sunny but not too hot for the 12+ miles hash (something else picked up from Briggy’s ASS Hash planning!)
The first mile took us down to the banks of the Rhine, where we caught a “pedestrian” ferry (which was crowded with about 40 cyclists) across to the east bank, where the hashing took us through beautiful countryside, along the banks of the river, past a nature reserve, small villages and quiet almost traffic free roads, to the first pub. Unfortunately it had a handwritten sign saying they wouldn’t be open until 2 pm ! Fortunately there was a cafe next to a lake the other side of the road which sold beer - and rum and hot chocolate for Bendy who doesn’t like to run much after beer. More countryside, quiet roads and tracks took us to a picnic spot where Cheers Drive soon turned up with a picnic and a crate of beer. From here the next section took us through a long stretch of woodland before stopping at another bar/restaurant - although this one had only just reopened after being closed for 6 months and it didn’t have its drinks licence yet, so some of us had to settle for unfermented cider.
The pace was starting to tell on us now so Cheers Drive was persuaded to provide a shuttle service to take us part of the next section, leaving us to gently make our way back the last mile or so towards the Rhine, where we sat in the late afternoon sun looking out over the enormous barges carrying goods up and down the river, whilst enjoying a beer – except for Walky Talky who decided that Cinderella’s legs needed an early beer shower. A quick run down the slipway to catch the ferry, and then it was just a final mile to get home. No rest for the wicked though – or BOGS Hashers – as it was then back round to Woodcuts for a BBQ and to try to make some inroads into those 2 mini barrels of beer.
A notable part of the day’s hash was 10 yr old Ben (Faceplant), and family friend Clara, doing a significant part of the hash as a 3 legged race, with their legs joined together, with a lot more energy than everyone else put together. (although they did go to bed earlier than KC and Cinders who were last to leave the Woodcut home just before the bells chimed at midnight – having tried, but failed, to finish off that beer.)
Sunday: Not enough time – or enough legs with energy – for a hangover hash, so we settled fore another look round the centre of Xanten, a visit to a church and its bell tower and an asparagus based lunch in the beer garden of a gothic hostelry on the market square before the homeward journey.

Run 594, May 17th 2017.
The Beach, Clevedon, later The Sailing Club on the Promenade.
HARE: Happy Hooker and an appearing Fair Weather.
WHO: Approximately 20 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Things were definitely hotting up around these parts – coats had already breathed their last of the season as we trotted up and along the promenade (runners taking in the supplementary Royal Oak and Copse Road), walkers above and runners alongside the splash 'n' hash site to come later. Rather than sheltering from the heat in The Salthouse, we opted instead to rise with it and take in the channel views atop Poet's Walk. Sunhats off here to Happy Hooker for finding some new material among this fairly familiar stomping ground – not only did runners have to hack through the undergrowth to keep up, but the sweet stop brought about both jelly babies en masse and a history lesson about the ruins we were in (and which the hare was helping to restore). Duly noted as a site for a future sunset beer stop, all but Down & Dirty & Eager opted for the rambo route downhill and back towards the Pill, taking the medicine of an only just setting sun followed by the idyllic rippling of the Blind Yeo (but for a turnback, we would have taken in Strode Golf Course and closer up channel views as well). Heading along the river bank, the back runners turned out to be the savviest in spotting the branch off through the trees and back towards Marshalls Field, even if the overtaking FRBs tasted fish hook and still threatened to leave them behind as we took to Poet's Walk again via the back end of St Andrew's Church. In slight danger of entering a time warp with the earlier markings, the most welcome sight of Fair Weather (eponymous with tonight's conditions) sheltering with a 5-a-day beer stop kept us on our toes, even if Fair Weather faced instant karma for treading on the BS symbol and going a little flying with a bump but hopefully not a bruise...
CIRCLE: Plenty to drink to apart from the need to cool off – Bogs virgins Drools on Balls and Lost in Space had huffed and puffed like there was no more hash until tomorrow, while Irish Spew was welcomed back at this usual brisk pace and those who had opted NOT to cut corners got the second last opportunity to quench their thirst. On In alas took us along much of On Out, though never one to resist a big splash was Rewind in the marine lake. Touchdown again coincided with distant bells – things clearly had been Plain Sailing Club.
ON ON ON: A baguette-bedecked Ploughman's supper greeted us along with a view of the beach which I have astonishingly never beheld, plus the promise of tales from Woodcut's Mainland Europe hash over the weekend from the Cinders Brigade spliced with Bend Over. Well worth plotting a course for en route to the Star at Star...
Run 590, April 19th 2017.
The Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: A stupendous 32 hashers, 5 hounds and 1 visitor – would there be enough shiggy to spare?!
RUN REPORT: An assembling trickle outside the Old Inn quickly metamorphosed into a tidal wave of hashers with plenty of energy to spare seeing as it was well within daylight, comfortable temperatures and open pastures. Mainland Europe hashing also beckons for a few Bogs soon, so tonight gave us a taste of the continental weather – at On Out runners thankfully still looked “our” way when crossing a few back roads, reconvening promptly to scuttle down a few back alleys, over a prostrate zebra on Brinsea Road and (for runners) out on a limb in search of flour that the resident horses may have removed or at the very least displaced. After reckoning that a long dash towards Wrington probably would have put paid to our mingling with the walkers for one week, we opted back through a neglected gate and located them ploughing a way through an adjoining field, including late arrivals Zider senior and junior. Long returnee hound Oscar is now 70 in dog years and thus presumably in his hash prime, nevertheless a helping hand or 10 were needed for bramble-infested stile and footbridge aplenty as we marched through the solar farm (the panels were presumably a much more familiar sight than humans to the placid sheep we saw all around) courtesy of our own green energy towards a hazard less so – quite a lot of ducking and diving past traffic was needed as we not-quite-frantically ambled along the main road looking for an exit (only Rebore and Rocky Horror seeming keen to heed the classic “against traffic advice”), so it almost seemed like salt in the wound when a fish hook for 8 was encountered down the dirt track we settled on – thankfully back-marking hound Woodbine was sprightly enough to have left the road behind and the pack remained nice and closely knit. No less knit were they when Sour Haribo leapt out of the woods to be engulfed – certainly looking at the surroundings there were many routes it seemed to link up, however the runners' route here turned out to be another of those well worthwhile home runs with an arrow miraculously appearing once we had made it back to home base. Duly playing catchup, a lot of shiggy was picked up despite the bone dry conditions of late (Briggy's “watering hole” from St George's Day 2011 remained, though went unused this time), and Briggy's promise of a hash of “reasonable length” from earlier came expectedly to fruition as the church bells sounded just as we crossed a bridge over the untroubled Rhyne, touching down 5 minutes later. Let's pack 'em in!
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: In the back room nice and tight, we packed in a load of the ham and egg sarnies and crispy chippies, all to the tune of welcoming the returning Woodcut and singing a song that all but young bucks joined in with in toasting a load of FRBs following the leader the wrong way out of a field (including Down & Dirty who beamed in to finalise the latest Failand run). Limpet also announced her hash bash in August, specially to keep 2017 ticking over smoothly but not as rapidly as a hash...
Run 588, March 29th 2017.
The Phoenix, Portishead.
HARES: Fondue and Houdini.
WHO: 14 hashers, 2 hounds and 4 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Daylight made the hash news, along with the customary forgetting of a few head torches as we departed from the ever trusty Phoenix (Bogs runs from there actually pre-date the credit crunch). With a late scribe in such searing pursuit that Fondue went back to the start on a whim, on up was quickly the order of the fading light, promptly encountering a speed split among the checkpoints and check what-nots – walkers in this case were thankful to encounter a well known slippery slope going uphill this time (it has indeed “turtled” a few Bogs going downhill in the past). By the time we had relocated the runners we were atop West Hill and careering down towards a sweet stop spliced with a lovely view of the Severn, with Denny Island still showing up among the twilit mud banks. Wine Gums and Fruit Pastilles were quickly finished off before we checked it out left, right and centre – centre and down was chosen by trial and error, as was another duly replenished arrow leading us on towards the still shallow Marine Lake. Much more flour to be seen than boats – runners though still had to be reined in from an attempted circumnavigation and led along the promenade towards the open air pool. Not just from this end, either – after opting instead to scale the steps alongside, we found some Banksy standard graffiti of somebody trying to sneak over the pool's perimeter fence! Another time, maybe another splash and hash – but for now the woods beckoned along with a fish hook at their peak which FRBs waited their own turn to obey, maybe because we were thinning out a little. Past the Royal Inn and the RNLI, we were too far distant to pose atop the “Fingers” or knock on Flour Power's door in passing, so alongside the ever-flourishing marina it was (au naturelle statues and all) in search of a consumerist beer stop. With good customer service for loyal Bogs plus convenience and good budgeting thrown into the bargain, nowt could top the Waitrose Car Park that stepped forward:
CIRCLE: 5 a day thanks to Fondue's apples, grapes and oranges (plus the egg white-inspired dessert which we somehow knew would follow imminently in the pub) and a most welcome down down to to the returning Inchworm, clearly as well versed as ever in scaling the heights and feeling the trail in the dark. This circle appeared to take the form of a rain dance as a few spots suddenly decided to join in – thankfully just a 10 minute On In was needed, spurred on no doubt by it being that ever-welcomer of outside food, The Phoenix...
ON ON ON: Swelled considerably by the introduction of Briggy, Ballsport, DT and Red Light, our stomachs swelled considerably with the introduction of a glorified, shipped-in Ploughmans plus Fondue's ever-pristine and irresistible Pavlova. Briggy was once again seen getting his ASS in gear (never any need to cover that up), while Rebore plot a course around the roadworks to the Princes Motto next week with flour and petrol alike – On Vrooming On!
Run 587, March 22nd 2017.
The King's Head, Bedminster.
HARES: Walky Talky with a dash of Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 19 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Just teetering on the edge of hash territory (close enough probably for Greyhounds to sense our presence, though we have been half a mile further in previously), we knew that plenty of literally brand new views and footpaths beckoned as we were right on the doorstep of the A38's new Link Road. Most of us noticed, but practically none expected, the footpath leading straight into mud at On Out, followed by a well won battle by all to stay upright as we headed steeply downhill towards Colliter's Brook and confronted an R and W that had stayed intact for a day. For walkers this actually meant a tread of faith across voluminous shiggy followed by a brief emerge next to the A38's latest branch – a little early it seemed to contemplate crossing as the least likely On On once again emerged as the On On. Care was taken not to nosedive into an adjacent ditch, and for the second week running it was time to sing the praises of Coppertone – not for detecting the next On On, but for going below and beyond the trail in an effort to find it. Rocky and Eager were no less keen to go above and beyond once we had gone further on, and were themselves called back when Walky Talky subtly suggested a slalom through staked saplings and down to the road again, with the same ditch ready for the wary to negotiate. This time Bristol's own shortcut for cars was indeed crossed and some surely un-bogged fields were soaked up before a gap in the hedgerow with occasional headlights glimpsing through it seemed the logical way on – no less logical once emerging was to head back in a Bristolian direction, particularly as the runners had still yet to make up ground and kick the trail out. Hard work for the walkers as it turned out – after covering what must have felt like ¼ of a mile, they were called back to the right and then uphill, but it turned out to be a useful prolonging of movement. After ascending through tall grass rather than the tall shiggy they were now acclimatised to, a sweet stop appeared with the suspension bridge still a glowing distant sight, and due to our earlier misadventure we were waiting for the runners' arrival not for long enough for those limbs to seize up, though news did nonetheless filter through of 2 retirements – Duracell with an ankle knock and Rebore with his own bit of trailblazing. In fact, there was time for more still – after another link road crossing the final fifth beckoned with plenty more shiggy and horses not quite so used to whispering, and so Woodbine, Dressing Down & Up All Night chose the open road back to the pub. For the rest there was still both a tall gate and a couple of planks to hurdle, but intact we all were once On In sounded slightly later than 9. As we prophesied - new season, new heights to scale.
CIRCLE: Remarkably free of spills if not thrills, though the walkers did indeed need to admit to the complacency that led them the wrong way and the retirees got an honorable mention without a discharge. On indoors – so spacious that it would not be a tight fit for us even with a quiz going on...
ON ON ON: Oo-er! Not for those just starting a strict diet, even if hashing melts away the odd stone or two. Plenty of sausages (again of the omnivorous variety) plus chips and onion rings which would have been even more tempting had they been calamari in disguise, nonetheless all promptly scoffed or doggy-bagged by the throng. Well done Walky Talky – a hash with plenty of new highs!
Run 586, March 15th 2017.
New Inn, Kewstoke.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: Approx 16 hashers (2 latecomers) and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Such a great deal of bog-snorkelling had welcomed in 2017 that this route simply HAD to be gone back to and done the other way around with several bonus titbits. On Out thus took us through a great deal of shiggy West of the Kewstoke Rhyne though thankfully still East of Sand Bay itself, and runners had already put a few stone throws between them and the stragglers by the time we briefly took to Beach Road to the tune of a wild and whistling wind. Evergreen Coppertone led the troops up off road but was called back when the pack remembered that it was Sand Farm Lane that we had emerged from last time – memory did not serve us well enough though to prevent a brief intrusion onto private property and the sharp tongue that went with it; at least the markings had survived rough weather better than our dignity had and once back on dirt track we quickly remembered just how muddy we were going to get again. After a little manoeuvring to find arrows we remembered the very well worn quagmire leading temporarily to gravel from before (presumably some non-hashers had indeed discovered it in the interim), and respite was only temporary for runners who bravely volunteered to get lost down a country lane or two in their efforts to locate the flour next to a massive mound of earth. Not quite so duly located, they twice mistook the barking of nearby kennels for a lurking regroup, but ended up still needing to body-swerve a few sinkholes-courtesy-or-ramblers before Dressing Down and Woodbine were finally sighted as a beacon of their achievement – namely catching up before the beer stop. Talking of such feats of endurance, no sooner had Briggy opened up his portable bar than this evening's eternal chasers Kerb Crawler and Cinders appeared round the corner (the mudpies that they were carrying on their feet were quite sufficient proof that they had done the whole trail) – just in time then to be toasted themselves, along with Briggy for amiably bringing his caretaker experience forward as a hare. To On In some were offered and took up a shortcut, while many more opted off road for the final not-quite-straight (Woodbine had displayed his complete fearlessness of traffic all evening, but ended up being carried through the nettles to douse all that chivalry) – a customary touchdown just after 9 for Brigadoon, even if a couple of us added 10 minutes on for going back to their hash wagons.
ON ON ON: This cosy little pub is now almost as popular as a venue for the musically talented Cowslip's performances as it is Briggy's runs, and you can see why. Not for the first time we were served up more than plenty veggy and omnivore chilli (darts tournament in the neighbouring bar also customary for us by now) and devoured it at the same pace that Kerb Crawler and Cinders must have set. New season's greetings will follow next week, courtesy of The King...
Run 585, March 15th 2017.
The New Inn, Kewstoke, Weston Super Mare.
HARE: Brigadoon and Ballsport.

Run 584, March 8th 2017.
The Ring O' Bells, St Mary's Grove, Nailsea.
HARE: Dressing Down and Up all Night.

Run 583, March 1st 2017.
The Nova Scotia, Bristol.
HARE: Cinderella.
WHO: 14 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Storm Doris had had her couple of days, the rains had gone having not really came, and Cinders had reliably briefed us on the survival of all this Cumberland trail's markings, a feat of engineering worthy of Isambard himself. At On Out we remembered that the Last Nova Scotia trail had also been during a dry storm, but this wasn't going to stop the runners cantering out alongside the dock and encircling the Create Centre like killer sharks stalking their floury prey – after all, their other items of walking pursuit had neglected the remainder of their trail and hopped up onto the Cumberland Basin footpath and down again. Up we caught and regroup followed a whisk away from traffic- we heard here of an imminent chop and change of runner and walker splits through the trees ahead – and more than once it turned out the walkers were the ones made to go down and back up, though the runners did end up being the cliffhangers at one point (they may even have been as close as 20 metres from the cliff at one point – bless that flour). It felt as thought we had already had 90 minutes' worth of excitement packed into a mere 30, and this was one of many motivators (one being "there was nowhere else to hide the bag!") that Cinders fished out a very early (though certainly not unheard of) beer, cider and orange juice bag. Cue circle!
CIRCLE: This was by no means an invitation to invite unpunished crimes for the rest of the trail – we awere also thirsty from all those ups and downs! Every walker thus made a circle within a circle for encroaching onto runners' turf, one Bristol hasher from nothing like afar was welcomed in for definitely not the last time, and the trail was felt "too long" already. Would it be a case of calling our suspension bridge bluff?
RUN REPORT REMAINDER: Not twice in a row – prior to a crossing at altitude Cinders found time for a runners' sweet stop while at the summit Eager Beaver and Rocky Horror briefly called the trail's bluff and went searching for for an alternative way across the gorgor (perhaps a helipad laid in flour), but in the end all were happy to take in the views while NOT debating just how much Brunel had contributed to all this. On Down took in several checkpoints and a couple of former Shaun The Sheep spots from 2015, plus another speed split for extra good measure. Like before at Nova Scotia, early touchdown was sounded to the tune of more Banksy artwork at 8:40, and just as keen was this migrating flock to huddle together indoors...
ON ON ON: A dash to a skittle match already completed was thankfully performed late enough to witness a bucketload (albeit on plates) of mini-bangers and chips enter and quickly leave the fray in the cosy and well made-over Nova Scotia, after all semi-veggie Rebore was trustworthy enough with them and what may initially have felt like an over-budget turned out just right to stuff us all good. No less cosy no doubt next week will be the Ring O'Bells in Nailsea, complete with enough Dressing Down to keep us Up All Night
Run 582, February 22nd 2017.
Backwell Village Club, probably in Backwell.
HARE: Rewind.
WHO: 17 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Well, nobody gatecrashed the spread that followed this upwardly mobile, yet quite sane for Rewind, trail, and so I assume that the weather accounted for the numbers being as watered down as the flour. Upon arriving at the hare's briefing from several directions and time zones, the longest circumnavigation of neighbouring Fairfield School was selected prior to ascending Church Lane and onto a Field that was anything but Fair. Normally bovines are the hazard here, but tonight it was entered via a shiggy cesspit, followed by several attempts by FRBs to disappear over the horizon before "On Back!!!" bought them back out behind St Andrew's Church. Veterans and recent Bogs virgins alike then proceeded to pretend not to see a footpath up to the left and right, perhapos because they knew it led somewhere very steep or perhaps because, being a Rewind trail, they expected to be pointed towards it via a T40 first. Well, as has been alluded, sanity was to prevail on this trail, along with all the grit and graft needed to reach the near crest of Backwell Hill and regroup to admire the most man-made of views above the quarry. Puffing and panting having promptly subsided, it was time for runners to plot a semi-course around the scaled heights and back again, while for walkers it was a quick sneak across Cheston Combe in search of the Jubilee Stone. Duly collided with, not only did we have Walky Talky to thank for rationing out some leftover tangy non-haribos, but also no less than the National Grid for the twilit view below, with Backwell almost resembling its own planetarium quite far below and making up for the blanketed constellations above. Certainly a good enough visual feast to desire beating the church bells back to the village club, and so On Down it was and with plenty of mire thrown into the shiggy. Although a couple elcted to briefly tumble, nobody elected to roll and so our surroundings were eventually recognised once on Uncombe Close, still missing a runner or 9. No need for manners – we knew there would be enough grub therein to feed the 5 thousand, aka 20 hashers...
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: We hospitably acquired a secluded corner of the club to set up an indeed plentiful picnic hamper, and so it was quite gentleman's-club-like to sing the down downs in our head for the evening. Quality and quantity prevailed – tiger baguette was softened up with plenty of cheese ham and pate, with houmous, carrot sticks and good old pickled onions contributing to the runners' feed once they were back all told. Keep the Winter this friendly and warm please!
Run 581, February 15th 2017.
The Walnut Tree, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
Run 580, February 8th 2017.
Clevedon Sailing Club, Clevedon.
HARES: Kerb Crawler.
RUN REPORT: The pre-hash started with a take over bid by Bristol Greyhounds HHH, but the just-on-time arrival of BOGS stalwarts soon redressed the balance. A well-planned route soon had the most local of the pack uncertain which direction "must" be the obvious route at the various checks, as we traversed the heights and length of Clevedon. Strap On turned into Recruit On as she sang the praises of hashing to a local couple out for an evening run – we'll see how successfully if they actually turn up at a future hash! Then it was back to the sailing club, where we tried very hard (honestly) to not disturb the gig rowers having a meeting at the far end of the bar whilst we tucked into KC prepared fare.
CIRCLE: The hare and returnees were celebrated, along with Walky Talky having celebrated getting another year older, but still remaining younger than most (all) of the rest of us.
Run 579, February 4th 2017.
Youth Hostel, Litton Cheney.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 16 hares, 1 hound and 1 chauffeuress.
RUN REPORT: One year on from THAT weekend and fate decreed that for 2017 we would have to write our own, non-python headlines about hash lunatics on the loose, rather than those surrounding the hostel with searchlights. After an evening of settling in which included Rocky charming us with his guitar just like any python would be, plus Eager Beaver doing a low budget impression of Richard Osman with some Pointless quizzes, we awoke to the revelation of it merely being breakfast time and with but not a trace of anything escaped or dangerous, or even that feasted on Rocky's ever-meticulous flour. 10:30's the customary circle up time for getting both your ASS and your Cheney in gear, and after sending Down & Dirty off on her pub and beer stop rounds it was On Out with conditions quite literally the polar opposite of last year. Back then the banks of the stream had been-a-bursting outside the YHA, but here we were greeted with dazzling sunshine as we quickly branched off from last year's trail and conquered the terraced hills leading to Chalk Pit Lane (soon to be Flour Pit Lane) in a way even the Grand Old Duke of York would have been proud of. Yonder checkpoint spliced with photo stop surprisingly kept us with the shiggy, and once over the piste the FRBs found themselves a little off-beat. First Eager and Walky Talky were reined in and frog marched back through a gate, and then Bend Over almost disappeared into the sunshine before Rocky could warn us of the Horrors of the busy-for-a-Saturday A35 up ahead. Sitting ducks at the crossing we were not, even if the flock quickly thinned out after a quarter mile of roadside daring do's and dont's. So thinned out, in fact, that an increasingly common scandal soon struck us – 4 fish hook rebels out of a possible 5! Was it something the hardly slacking back-runners Fondue, Dressing Down and Up All Night said? Or perhaps they could already sense their first pint stop a few crossroads ahead? Well, first there was a generous trade-off in store – for the slightly problematic deep shiggy encountered off road by runners, there was a road rendered off-road for vehicles specially for the walkers, owing to recent precipitous landslides. By the time the first quench stop at The Crown in Uploders came around, Down & Dirty had parked up and done a mini hash in search of walkers, returning with all of them let off the lead and promptly drinking the bar half dry, quite necessary given the mountain of sandwiches and sausage rolls that awaited demolition in the Bogs' back room. With the weather still making a sincere effort to dry out Lytton Cheney from last year, On On took us briskly along New Road, this time ignoring the shiggy footpaths on either side until most of the pack found another way to negotiate the A35 – duck beneath it, while a few wannabe rambos decided to head uphill first to wave to traffic and then to set a traffic-rivalling pace at the cost of getting lost. The latter was of course most necessary – once this select pack of 6 had convinced themselves to stick to tarmac rather than overgrown footpaths (since technically it wasn't a Rambo trail), they found themselves needing to dash across the A35 again and seek refuge off-A-road. Once Shipton Gorge had been galloped towards, the lack of companions plus beer stops had started to make its presence felt, and right on cue there appeared The New Inn, always ready to welcome those with a running problem, even when unannounced and only just into Saturday afternoon. Both parties had done well for themselves by the time resumption quickly followed, and as if the ante could not be further upped, revelations then arose that we were not the only ones following a trail! Whilst locating the track towards Bredy Farm Cider Shop (where we "steam-dried" ourselves least year) we happened upon not a cavalry charge but a cavalry stopped for a chat while engaged on a scent trail with Bassets aplenty and not far off. A couple of telephone boxes were not the place for a hare to seek cover from so many canines, and so following the walkers' distant chatter proved almost as fruitful as the cider served up in abundance once there. There was even Marble Maze entertainment and first-cider-of-a-lifetime for yours truly (not half bad, but still not half as good as Glitter Berry J20) before the reassembled pack trudged ever onwards and with Roman straightforwardness along Bredy Road oh so straight and long. So long in fact that Rocky duly remembered a runners' route back in the direction of the hunt who may even have picked us as their new quarry by now – clearly Rocky was trying to throw them off the scent. For back stragglers if not quite strugglers Fondue and Houdini now was the time to call the last pub quits and head straight for the Hostel Showers and spreads, but for the rest the lure of another Crown Inn in Puncknowle was too strong, even if another gruelling ascent was in the offing at first. Not only was the cosy interior there to reward us, there was also the chance for the hare to finally show all those hounds and horses who was boss as both trailblazers collided head on outside the pub and the hunters scarpered with no intention of roles being reversed. Memories not of the 2016 trail but that of 2014 were imminently roused as Rocky promised a slap up meal for those willing to cross the same quagmires from before, with the added challenge that Spotted Dick was not present to become Walter Raleigh on this occasion. THAT Vicar-of-Dibley-swallowing puddle was indeed still there under the rapidly fading light, and on this occasion it was Rebore who turned knight in spit-polished armour to help Inside Out, Woodbine and Dressing Down to negotiate it. 5:30 'twere when we touched down and sank a few in the White Horse alongside the YHA, just in time for the rain to start as it had NOT been threatening to all day. Time to get in and ask Rocky to name those witch doctors...
CIRCLE: Turns out it was all in Rocky's positive vibes and so we toasted those along with his generous helpings of flour before heading indoors, though fish hook rebels still clearly need to have a zero tolerance policy enforced an early finishers encouraged so if it means an extra down down. And of course all glasses were compulsorily raised to the dear departed Koko, no doubt still smiling down at how bonkers we make each away weekend.
ON ON ON: With omnivorous and carnivorous (and even Rebore) curry options to choose from followed by extra Rebore birthday cake now that he was a year wiser for real, we did indeed declare ourselves stuffed and spit roast in time for some more Rocky serenading, some Shut The Box and, of course, Pass The Pigs now that we had gamesmistress Down & Dirty back among the ranks to save our bacon, having enjoyed her day's hop down to Dorchester. As a little postscript, Eager and Down & Dirty deflated the ranks on Monday morning rather than stopping off with the hardies in Dorchester, though cross my scribe's heart and hope to die, it had NOTHING to do with that footpath-turned-river that we had to wade through last year. Inspiration will obviously have to be drawn for KC's Sailing Club Trail next week. On On and here's to never knowing what normality is...
Run 578, February 1st 2017.
The Pelican, Chew Magna.
HARES: Never Enough and Mr Mannering.
WHO: Approx 21 hashers and 1 shiggy hound.
RUN REPORT: I do not recall darkness greeting us in Chew Magna, though Father Abraham has certainly been just as happy to do so in the past as he was tonight, courtesy of Deep Throat. Never Enough was definitely out to show Mr Mannering the ropes as a hare, including a forewarning to all about both a very steep hill to come and the trail needing a little resetting after overnight rain reduced it to dough that wouldn't rise. Well, a big W and R at On Out were certainly clear enough, and for those setting a fast pace it was a still respectful canter through Church of St Andrew's graveyard to find The Queen's Arms still open (our previous visit had been made out as that pub's supposed last stand - clearly they have found many more drinking clubs with a running problem). A lot of pondering about which whether the "big" hill now stood before us runners followed, and was swiftly refuted - the hidden footpath did turn from tarmac to gravel, to shiggy and almost to marsh before we emerged on Chew Hill. Not even the absent Brigadoon would have assumed that this was time for On In - instead we headed right and through a few fields to find the walkers and the solution to the next checkpoint long gone. With catch-up already being played, this of course was the best time of all for Mr Mannering to separate the Rambos from the Runners, with 6 of the latter opting for "the" hill up Nutgrove Lane, on which more shiggy mines than vehicles were encountered. The Chew Hill traffic was then braved for all of 5 metres before heading back into the shiggy with the twinkling views of distant Winford (too dark to spot where Farmer Giles ranted last year). Previously this footpath had sent some of heels over head, but this time we added into that mix a touch of extra uphill and some very slippery steps, all crowned with a dim light at the end of a non-tunnel (actually a lonely front room). We had been led into Battle Lane and promptly feared the wrath of another goliath uphill with very insistent arrows, however this uphill quickly evened out and even offered the idyllic views and sounds of Chew Magna Reservoir into the bargain. By this stage the rambos' minds had already falsely convinced them that they had seen distant walkers' headtorches several times, so it was most welcoming to behold them finally flickering in the distance after negotiating both the B3130 and an electric fence (they may well have been yelling "hurry up!" in Morse code). The ulterior motive for stopping to let lactic acid take a foothold was, of course, a very generous smorgasbord of sweets - wine gums, tangy and orthodox haribo, Opal Fruits-come-Starburst and no Cinderella-proof Liquorice Allsorts were present, as was Rebore who I assumed was a latecomer but whom had probably already been round the trail twice. After all that time apart, we thought that time and grub would be waiting for no hasher, but quickly found our bearings once we were on a shiggy strewn back alley which we have probably Bogged down more than Joe Public - familiarly over the road and into crops that were as tall as one would expect in February, we found the time and expanse to encounter a surviving fish hook for 4, let alone actually obey it! With a little undergrowth and another quick split of speeds duly accounted for, we once again thanked our built-in compasses, stopwatches and probably GPS trackers as we snuck back into the Pelican car park around the back just as St Andrews' bells were tolling for 9.
CIRCLE: Mostly a crime-free night apart from those who were late for the circle (including Rocky Horror who of course has to prepare aliases and python-proof footwear for Lytton Cheney), and only "Grand Old Duke of York" would suffice for these quickly evolving hares. Chew on that!
ON ON ON: After sitting briefly in front of a log effect fire we were duly promoted to the spacious and equally cosy barn out back, complete with more than enough ham, cheese and egg sarnies plus chips to go around, not to mention slabs of non-birthday chocolate cake and birthday chocolate cake for Rebore, though he will actually be blowing out the candles at Lytton Cheney - I assume nobody was complaining about getting an extra cake helping...
Run 577, January 25th 2017.
The Bristol House, Milton Road, Weston Super Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
RUN REPORT: A short (ish) hash roving the streets and Ashcombe Park in Weston Super Mare. The mix of walkers’ shortcuts and runners routes kept us all meeting up at regular intervals, with a welcome whisky beer stop 3/4 of the way round to celebrate something Scottish.
CIRCLE: took place in the pub after we had all partaken of a dead haggis, plus a vegetarian version, tatties and neeps. Just Jim was recognised for leading the pack straight along the road, missing a very obvious bend around a corner, earning himself the new name of Missed It, or was it Miss Tit? what difference does a bit of spelling make?
Run 576, January 18th 2017.
Byron Road, Locking.
HARES: Bend Over and Amber.
WHO: Approximately 21 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: We'd got the number in Byron road correct after all – 21 was also about the number of yards that runners and walkers managed to stay together for, all well wrapped up against Locking's elements of cold but dry. Upon splitting the pack which made for a very encouraging co-haring debut from junior Amber (feet on the ground), the runners manoeuvred a checkpoint or 5 before happening across the less frequented Old Banwell Road. Here we already called to mind Bend Over's words of wisdom at warmup ("crossing the main road twice in quick succession, once on a blind bend!") and assumed it was left towards the footbridge spanned by Bogs many moons ago. Wrong! In the correct direction, we also had to rein in Mr Mainwaring who threatened to collide with what turned out to be the On In. Duly corrected (again!) and with a little horse whispering along the way, the off the floor contingent quickly happened upon the first road crossing, figuring that the next one probably would be a long time coming due to the looming ascent into the woods neighbouring Canada Coombe. Tension-breaking highlights here included a trio diving into a makeshift alcove to avoid petrol, Eager Beaver gracelessly hurdling a gate that could have just been skirted, and specially for the scandal section – Strap On expressing fear at the many cowpats and their sources that emerged from the darkness while eventually succeeding in finding the flour that led back to tarmac. Luckily cows it seems do not smell fear as much as sharks do, though huddling together appeared just as effective a deterrent and there was even enough time and space for a few near-cow-slips to occur en route to Windmill Hill. Here the presence of R and W seemed to confirm that walkers had done checkpoint checking if not the most efficient of back-to-front marking – just as well then that the uphill R quickly produced an F and back downhill it was to disturb more locals with our symbols. If the walkers had done this earlier, then they certainly hadn't provoked a Locking rebellion and the shiggy-encrusted route onwards beckoned back up towards Mr Mainwaring's On Out. An arrow had naturally appeared over the course of the run and led us through the allotments – no, it wasn't a dieters' beer stop, it was simply On In to the tune of the walkers' cheers (not so long having touched down themselves) and out of those shiggy shoes if you wanted true sustenance:
CIRCLE: Nice and tightly packed in for extra warmth, we toasted the hares who had excelled in getting us back here safely and with flour to spare, even with some fish hook rebels thrown into the mix – most appropriate on newbie hare night though that we had a re-christening: for her (always friendly and well-meaning) ramblings about running from the cows, Strap-On shall henceforth be known as Strap On, and On, and On...! Add any number of Ons depending on how much she/we go on, and on.
ON ON ON: Flavoursome soups of the chicken and butternut squash variety, plus plenty of tiger bread and baguettes for mopping up, had pulled in the crowds every bit as much as the up and down trail. Rocky continued his hash cash practice for Lytton Cheney, and the absence of pythons or helping police with their investigations tonight at the very least bodes well. Note to the Bristol House next week – keep those fresh Weston trails a-coming!
Run 575, January 11th 2017.
Market Inn, Yatton.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 18 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Not the scariest thing to befall a Bog to On Out and nearly collide with a tardy scribe, but most certainly out of the ordinary for a trail close to home. "Punishment" ensued by going all of 20 yards to the start of the trail and then commencing it properly, opting for the immediate walkers' trail as the internal compass suspected that runners were out on a very quick limb. That suspicion was correct; however once quickly back together it was time for a longer speed split to ensue once back over the road – first the off-ground contingent saw a checkpoint by a blind alley (and a grassy one, to boot), but found tarmac the right way – flour markings by properties were kept to a minimum, as is our unwritten 2017 policy. Bamboozlement was next on the agenda – upon seeing "another" checkpoint by a blind alley, it was theorised that the original blind alley led there, but actually the runners had merely gone in a big loop and now had a bit of catching up to do. They didn't make enough light work of it – there was a fish hook for 5 which only Rewind ended up obeying. Well, as that method at keeping the pack together didn't work, it seemeda better try was to stop for sweets aplenty – liquorice allsorts and tangy haribo did indeed make us huddle (did I forget to mention it was trying to be sub-zero?). Many would have feared rather than hoped for a pre-8:30 return when we emerged next to the Station; quashed were they very quickly as it was up and over the bridge and waving to the distant Strawberry Line (more of a Bog popularity in daylight). Keeping with last week's theme, an early beer stop beckoned under tree cover, complete with plenty of fresh fruit and teetotal.non-teetotal quench thirsters:
CIRCLE: A strictly enforced down down to the fish hook rebels and a couple of corner cutters, plus a silent song for Houdini who, in a rare capacity as FRB, chose not to shout "On On" at the station. Welcome back too for Red Light, though this was far from where the trail stoppe. The GM announced a further mile or so for those still with running in them, and at least half opted for this, trusting in the Market Inn grub to arrive on time rather than early. There was even time to set our sights on the again distant station before branching off to Stowey Road and back again. By now the Market Inn seemed rather cosy then small...
ON ON ON: The chips were just in on our early arrival (the clue was the ketchup on tables), but tuna, ham and cheese sarnies soon appeared and disappeared in abundance, with Rocky Horror already well accustomed to his hash cashing. I left just late enough to see Briggy and Ballsport arriving to help finish things off; let's raise our goblets to something soup-er at Bendover's abode next week.
Run 574, January 4th 2017.
New Inn, Kewstoke.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 20 hashers, 2 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: A tale of two terrains as we welcomed in 2017 with a Sand Bay hash that miraculously featured neither heading out to sea nor an ascent of Monk's Steps (naturally with a turnback at the top). Some assumed that was the itinerary at first as we ambled along Kewstoke Road finding many a marking either washed away or rubbed out by those who have not read the website's new disclaimer. Back to the terrain topic, we remained firmly planted on tarmac until long after a surviving checkpoint was spotted by Norton Lane, then its Lower namesake, but then we got our wish both for an overdue overdose of shiggy coupled with a mostly un-bogged route which only flour knew the way out of. The splits needed to be done a few times before the backmarkers emerged onto farm country (including an under-the-weather scribe plus pint-sized Woodbine who seemed to have no problem swimming through it all). In spite of the erased markings from earlier, excellent back marking came to the fore with many an arrow that was indeed parallel to a long distant stile (each of which was sufficiently popular with walkers to be free of brambles and triffids), though by the time the final third of the trail dawned on us we did have something of a distant beacon to follow – to modify a phrase from Basil: "you can see Kewstoke – it's over there between the sea and the sky!". No fawlts could be found though once tarmac was rediscovered in Sand Farm Lane form, particularly as an early beer stop beckoned:
CIRCLE: In the absence of FRBs who feared the wrath of lactic acid, we did indeed down down them in their absence plus the hares for adding another most welcome quagmire to our repertoire. Early refreshment had come at a tiny price – a long walk oh so good along Beach Road (with the homing beacon taking a long time to appear to be getting nearer), and then a branch off for On In, hoping there was still at the very least crumbs to be had...
ON ON ON: And then some! With the welcome addition of Deep Throat and mention too of the returning Missapp, the sandwiches, mini pizzas, pork pies and co disappeared pretty quickly, with a course promptly plotted by the visitor for the Market Inn at Yatton next week. Oh, where have the first 4 days of this year gone?!

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