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Run/amble 683, 19th December 2018.

Bendy's, Locking.
HARES: Bendy and Croucher.
WHO: About 14 festive frolickers and their 4-legged friends without red noses.
RUN REPORT: AGPU, parties, holidays, hare commitments - you name it it's made the Bogs press centre run cold lately, but now we're back on form and tonight without flour for the short and good measure. One of our top hostesses handed out the cryptic and not-so-cryptic instructions for a hash that took in the many decorated houses of Locking (many I'm sure will object to their imminent undressing), though it almost threatened to become the shock horror of a race on the hash when we were divided up into teams out to find the nearby Coach House and drink its bar half dry - luckily a slightly late Deep Throat did a grandmasterly job of keeping our focus on the side streets that only become dead ends when using petrol (and certainly not when using reindeer!) and our sense of misadventure without misdemeanour was not going to cease once we located the Coach House. All brewed slightly stronger and now with only Croucher to blurt out the encouragement as Bendy was back on her kitchen duty, we only really had time to worry about prowling traffic and the deadly concept of being caught in an On Out/On In loop, were it not for us now being accustomed to viewing our surroundings rather than trusting every word the flour normally says to us. On in to the cosy and tasty!
CIRCLE and ON ON ON: No need to mull that wine over when you get the chance for 4th helpings - and that's after you've had hearty soup in front of the 50 Christmas classics and with a sprout bake to add a healthy dose of cyanide. No less hearty was our congratulations to Bendy for another fine display inside and out, well deserving of the hash mazes in cards that were being handed out. Looking ahead we opted for a boxing day Clevedonian run rather than hash, so next time round we shall kick off 2019 with probably the trusty rather than untested surroundings of the Failand Inn. Ho Ho On On!
Run 680 28th November 2018.
The Old Inn, Paul's Causeway, Congresbury.
HARES: Dongle and Software.
WHO: around 17.
RUN REPORT written by Cinders: The hash started warily following the muddy slippery track at the side of a water-filled rhyne leading to the strawberry line cycle path. Then it was a case of checking which of the paths and tracks on the left and the right were the correct ones for the walkers and the runners. Soon the runners were on a mile long loop around some sodden fields, where Softwares bear rings were misplaced. Back on the main trail we crossed the main road and made our way to further fields and the River Yeo, which led us back to the Ship & Castle car park in Congresbury where the runners found the walkers, just starting to tuck in to Softwares tasty bits, and Dongles warm winter Pimms. Down downs included a farewell to 3s4d who is moving to Londinium, and then it was back to the Old Inn at 9pm for sarnies and chips.
Run 678 14th November 2018.
The Winford Arms, Bridgwater Road (A38), Dundry.
HAREs: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
WHO: around 17.
RUN REPORT written by Cinders: The rain of recent days had obscured some of the markings of the trail giving an extra challenge to some, although the back marking for anyone who may have arrived a teeny bit late was excellent - who could go wrong? unless Walky Talky misinterpreted a straight on line as meaning go right. Anyway the field was very nice (and quite big). The runners route took us almost to Dundry before returning back down hill, across the A38 and then numerous wooden bridges that left us feeling that the 3 billy goats gruff may come out from underneath (OK - most of the hashers out tonight are of an age to get the reference), and almost close enough to Long Ashton to consider stopping off at the Angel again like last week.
Late comers caught up as we traversed the area near the new South Bristol Link Road ( detailed on some peoples Sat Navs but leaving others driving through fields). Then it was a simple (for some) case of following of the route to a layby on the A38 just down from the pub unless you were Rebore who climbed through hedges to get where he wanted where a Down & Dirty feast awaited us.
Fed and down downed we managed a quick (?) 400 yards back to the pub, to be met by a departing Shade Hunter, and to be informed by the pub that they stopped serving at 10pm surprisingly not a problem for most of the late bird heavy drinkers amongst us.
Run 677, November 7th 2018.
The Angel, Long Ashton.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 18 hashers, 1 hound and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: The list of attendees doubled in the last 10 minutes prior to On Out from the Angel, thus answering our prayers, and to appease this divine intervention the runners were sent on a circumnavigation of the pub's shiggy to give no less than 4 Bogs virgins the chance to master the fine art of hashing. Much like a toddler with armbands being dropped in the deep and shiggy end, their first experience was to encompass first a daring dash across the strangely accommodating B3128 and onto the trip-ups and roll-downs of Ashton Court. Having already seen the flour from the night before the night before swallowed up by the tall grass a couple of times, one such virgin opted for the quick jaunty back to the bar as the day's training, lamenting an upbringing that did not include getting lost in woods in the dark. We all tried to do that very thing, were it not for the bikes that came crashing through the over-growth and the naturally reserved deer to our left who seemed accustomed enough to gesture uphill for more flour. A good response, even if a monster appeared to be sighted by the virgins rummaging through the vacant foliage before turning out to be Irish Spew, who is of course anything but. On a night of new challenges the rapid scale of the mountain biking trail was quickly followed by the walkers solving several checkpoints (none with ease and 1 in particular attempting to transmogrify into a turnback), with the last one kicked with sufficient ambiguity to keep a search party on standby in case runners rambled into a ravine. The real On On was not far off of that, with regular rollickers reduced to very careful placing of shiggy feet on a steep incline back down to tarmac. Bursting henceforth we were thankful that nobody had thanked the weather for holding off earlier, as right now it started to precipitate prolifically and reduce our views of the dormant Ashton Court Mansion to a few chance glances. Downhill it was then to a beer stop mostly under cover, even if plenty of grapes had pipped us to the post.
CIRCLE: An outdoor circle was as much appreciated as the 1 a day plus fruit and cider, complete with the classic virgin error of downing one's drink a little too early and the hopefully diminishing error of donning circle headwear against the elements. Overlooking the walkers' commitment in checkpoint solving, though - that would have been a down-down in itself!
ON ON ON: A quick mosey around the back of The Ashton-was-Dovecote was all we needed to view the distant Angel, and bovine shiggy once again showed itself to be our best known preserver of flour against the elements during an increasingly soaking On In. A welcome change too to be kept warm and toasty indoors and educating a few locals on our floury traditions, all while quickly demolishing trays of chips and sandwiches big enough to be the club variety. Quite a standard for next week's culinary latecomer Down and Dirty (spoiler alert!) to live up to a few stone throws from the Winford Arms.
Run 676, October 31st 2018.
The Bristol House, Weston-Super-Mare (Not The Bristol Hotel).
HAREs: Brigadoon, Ballsport and Kaisha.
WHO: 17 plus the late Eager and Ropey.
RUN REPORT: A mix of Halloween haberdashed hashers and the rest of us followed the flour, paper plate faces, skeleton heads and pizza slices (!!) that led us to Worlebury Woods, where the intricate trail left the runners not knowing witch way to turn. Somehow Dongle and Softwear managed to catch up in time for the sweetie stop, and then D(hes behind you!)T appeared through the trees to join the throng.
The hash went downhill after that and stopped for a scary beer stop outside Sweeney Todds barber shop - which previously used to be a butchers shop (some connection there maybe?). The Hares were commended for their route, Rebore was noted for his steps, Fondue for her wardrobe malfunction, DT, Dongle and Software for their inability to follow clear instructions and going to the wrong Bristol, and Bendy for keeping company with bats on the hash.
200 yards later and we were back at the (correct) Bristol enjoying chilli con, and chilli sin, carne and chips, and joined by Eager (grim reaper) Beaver and a Ropey Dracula.
Run 675, October 24th 2018.
The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
WHO: 14 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: Nothing like a little bit of reverse psychology from a hare whom we normally have to thank for military training exercises in place of hashes. There was still of course the necessary evasion of the Greyhounds' markings from the same tavern two days prior, but mostly 'twere fresh arrows for the On Out to and through the community centre grounds (we found time to be bemused by a few upside down turnbacks, long established as Greyhound folklore) onto the dark but never foreboding Keeds Lane. Just as we were beginning to fear a copy and paste job from a full moon prior, we all opted to climb the scree (rather than just Rambos) and then tumble down to a regroup without Double D and Zider playing catch-up this time. Inspired perhaps by Inchworm's Happy Pill of fruit and ginger, Rewind treated us to an easy peeler clementine/satsuma/orange/vitamin C stop next to a scout shack. Well-stocked enough it was to have 2 left over and to supply us with the determination (if not the Dutch courage) to negotiate some shiggy steps without casualties, and even to march back across Providence Lane without being tempted by an even earlier On In than that which arose. Out on Long Ashton's fairways (and with only hashers to witness it) we still found time to indulge in misadventure - the pack's corner-cutters followed the path rather than the lush green grass, and poor Houdini could no longer see the light; that's what happens when you embark on a dark hash without Duracell. A head count thus made amends at the top of the Coombe (Eager, Irish Spew and Rebore choosing now of all time to exchange a par score of golfing jokes rather than looking for flour), and once back on shiggy land we were bordering on perplexed to see a hop over the wall preceding an On In at 8:30 - so much so that the crimes quickly took place thereafter to give us something else to down-down, viz:
CIRCLE: Migrating to the cosy West Wing of the Miner's Rest (all in the name of entertaining some locals enjoying a mouth-watering Ploughman's), this sane Rewind trail had been tainted by the end by Bag Lady raiding a skip (the things we will do for Houdini head torch batteries) and Eager walking straight past his car to try and change footwear in somebody else's (the things we will do to live up to our handles).
ON ON ON: From his own car Eager supplied a horror movie synonym quiz for Halloween/Halloween week/Halloween month, while out from the bar came enough brown and white sandwiches to NOT leave 2 remaining and 2 additional trays of chunky chips. Here's to us bordering even more on ASBO Halloween behaviour with Briggy at the Bristol House next week...
Run 674, October 17th 2018.
The Rudgleigh, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Inchworm and Coppertone.
WHO: 13 hound-less hashers.
RUN REPORT: As is the 21st century's wont, we got in 2018's scare-fest particularly early, even if there were no ghouls on stiles and giant spiders up in branches as we have been known to adopt. All started fairly serenely, the only caper of note through Happy Pill being a supposed dearth of flour for this baker's dozen and a forewarning of cattle in field 1 who nonetheless decided to boycott us. Appropriately, it was on the approach to St George's cemetery that the hash horrors began - for sensitive runners Inchworm spoke peaceably of roadkill next to a road one would not associate with it, being a residential appendix and all, but respectful they nonetheless were as the walkers were quickly caught up with among yonder epitaphs. If the eternal rest was thought to be the night's theme, think again - at the next but three flour blobs there came offspring-based evidence of gastropod copulation (presumably already doing their floury down downs for sex on the hash - and no, this is not a precedent to cite for the future). Quite outraged, we decided to stick to the civilised suburbia with a spliced runners' loop, prior to chancing mother nature again out on what has threatened to become Pill's floodplain in the past. No such deluge this evening (or even lack of flour by now!) as we ducked underneath the First Great Western in need of a sweet stop with a view. Harbour and Duke of Cornwall view we certainly got, Sweets.....we got even better as Inchworm distributed an abundance of antioxidants - dried peaches (shame on me for thinking they were dates; how irregular) and banana chips, a breakfast cereal's best friend. Well, that certainly helped the runners spring back uphill (normally we Bog our way to these parts the other way round) and keep footing on the temporary cobble before the green, green grass of still quite far from home. A potentially rusty Duracell was naturally taking in every checkpoint up for offer, to the extent that he was grateful for Kerb Crawler resembling (you could not make this up) a Ukrainian goods train complete with a constant red light to help DIY BRBs find their way in the dark. No less a beacon however was the mound complete with a not-so-lucky number of head torches atop Ham Green, regrouped at many times but only very rarely with a crystalline ginger supplement to those fruity goodies! By now we were in danger of forgetting our premature Halloween horrors, so step forward a couple of walkers that hashed the wrong side of a fence ("flour on fenceposts" being the timely excuse), a curious equine duo that corralled us along "their" footpath, and the territorial presence of a prowling tractor for On In back across Easton-in-Gordano's answer to the prairies. Thankfully we remained at the top of the food chain upon arrival at a Cinderella-shocking 9:10pm, and we hadn't even bogged for apples...
CIRCLE and ON ON ON: Among just 13 of us there was nonetheless the return of Briggy, Ballsport, Software and Dongle to do away with toasting, but another fine performance by Inchworm and Coppertone (surely addressable as GMs by now?!) could not pass us by. As we quickly got down to reminding ham, cheese and egg sarnies and chips where they were on the food chain, Rocky announced the possibility of somebody else assisting the Dorset police with their python enquiries at Lytton Cheney in March, otherwise it's a no no (it would of course just be in time for a last hurrah before a certain, ahem...political event which may or may not affect the price of flour).
Run 673, October 10th 2018.
The Phoenix Bar, Portishead.
HARES: Houdini and Down & Dirty.
WHO: 18 hashers and 3 hounds, by the end!
RUN REPORT: This was a swell hash! Swell insomuch as the attendees kept finding a way to go up and up rather than threatening to go down and down at certain floury intervals. Needless to say (I type, after all), 'twas also a very pleasant and serene scenic tour of Portishead's rear quarter, beginning with a stroll along Brampton Way and a couple of missed opportunities to get lost on the back doubles (certainly enough to make Rebore and Dressing Down at the back feel lonely once away from street lighting). Sheepway was elected for rather than the Portbury Hundred which even Rambos would not venture down with flour, and encouragement abounded with 3 out of 4 fish hookers' head torches bobbing towards this motely crew of back markers (it went on to help me locate the Back markers as well). I mentioned a swelling trail - well, at an On Out of 11 Cinders and Kerb Crawler had made their customary gatecrash, Deep Throat had jet propelled off into the trail and by now was a little AWOL, and once on the quiet-as-a-leaf Wharf Lane there was news of Double D and Zider lagging (and possibly hitch-hiking!) half an hour behind. Seemed sensible and tranquil enough an opportunity then to share round some haribo and wine gums, citing impunity from using technology on the hash for Houdini to go searching for lost souls once here inbuilt GPS had located them. An even better discovery was the dazzling night-time viewpoint of the Old and the Really Old Severn Bridges, along with the scenic beauty of Portbury nature reserve on the other three sides of the square. Once back among street lighting though, we chose finishing off all but the invisible co-hare's share of the sweets with the now present Deep Throat, rather than all make the run to the top of the yonder "Fingers" and try to recruit some wondrous onlookers with their hounds. We know how Portishead Marina has become one massive abstract art museum in the last few years - along with physics-defying statues and columns that cast spectacular shadows, no less common is a floury fish-hook which usually remains for longer than your average Banksy - in this case Irish Spew (and of course the frequently overlooked quadruped that is Scrumpy) were not going to pass up the opportunity for taking in the sights again, even if heading all the way back to Double D and Zider (who by now had cut our lead to 20 minutes!) may have been one agenda too many. Very much a case of "you know where the pub is" for On In as casual conversation abounded much more than a bellowed "On On", with touchdown at 9:10pm. Not bad for a trail anonymously described as lasting forever.
CIRCLE and ON ON ON: Our culinary maestro Down & Dirty laid on a far from conservative conservatory feast of ham and cheese sarnies, my pickled onion soft spot, salad and dipper doritos, all nonetheless playing second fiddle to Morrisons' own jalapeno tortilla rolls with mayonnaise, none of which bit back (what little remained may, shock horror, be ending up in the mouth of a non-hashing relative). As well as for the non-boxing hares, alcoholic plaudits also went the way of Irish Spew for going above and very far beyond with every fish hook, and to Double D and Zider for their quite OTT impression of the traditional Cinders and Kerb Crawler late brigade. On On to the ever welcoming Rudgleigh Inn with Inchworm next week - they go together like flour blobs and cowpats...
Run 672, October 3rd 2018.
The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 17 hashers, 3 catch-uppers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: We usually dress like miners and discuss their rights when we hash from this half hill, though even more commonly there is a GM hare with us as things get under way - with no Deep Throat to conduct a Father Abraham at all of 1933 hours, Bendy and Rewind took up their own On Out for a warmup but soon came back for a team briefing when his flour-laden hare holiness emerged, promising a short trail with sweets but no beer - how many untruths would there come to be? Only one downward way to find out - checkpoints were soon to abound (making for a most welcome return of the Rebore "On On" bellow), complete with plentiful back marking as the news quickly reached us that Double D senior and Junior plus Zider were lukewarm on our tail. Not surprisingly for a ragtag bunch of Bogs, Long Ashton woods provided the most appeal of the ways onward and back upward, even if the bare roots made the runners huff and puff their way along a loop to a regroup and thereafter throw soon-to-be-virgin hare Ropey's ankle into a little disarray. Back on Providence Lane after kissing a couple of gates none seemed keen on an 8pm On In (front walkers Fondue and Houdini even took in both sides of the On On fence to keep up the adrenalin, thankfully to no cries of "Gerorf Moi Land"). Now onto our most frequented of fairways and well under par time, we still managed to spot some hi-vis non-hashers (golf ball rangers, perhaps?) and this time the encounter with the B3128 merely consisted of Irish Spew and Eager marching up to it and ducking back into the foliage to avoid being hit by a false. A special effort is always made by this stalwart hare when it comes to Sweet Stop, and tonight there were no toffee noses to be turned up at their namesake, all to the tune of another runners loop just as our ranks ere swelled by the aforementioned trio. We tried to get lost in every direction as the Long Ashton bypass-bypass made its appearance, preferring to babble alongside the Ashton Brook (where better to fish hook a feisty 5?) and then demonstrate a bizarre penchant for tarmac rather than the well-floured back onward under the trees. With all this possibly un-bogged terrain it seemed like a trail without any nearby On In; not too far from the truth - after keeping a flashing head torch out for Up All Night (felt like he might be destined for that) and Dressing Down (not so much) with Woodbine at the back of the well split pack, we happened upon a metaphorical On In symbol comprising a fish hook with 9:05 hastily daubed alongside it. Either they were conscious of this being no time to seek out the back of the pack or the phenomenon of 0.05 hashers was about to be revealed at the bar on the hill...
CIRCLE and ON ON ON: A welcome return for Zider and Double D plus free drinks for those that abandoned or kept the On Out on edge; alcoholic kudos too for Rebore whose cosmopolitan hashing made him a worthy RA in the absence of Cinderella (time to try on that silver slipper). Many trays of ham, cheese and practically salad sarnies came out to adorn both bars, as did chips and even bigger sossies than at the King's Head last week. Here's to a proposal to stick 'em in cider at the Phoenix next time?
Run 671, 26th September 2018.
King Head, Bedminster Down.
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT: With loss of daylight and holidays, numbers seemed on the decline, But we were boosted by a visit from Shiggy Valentine, Due to circumstances out of the hare's control the hash started with only the driving hare, But Eager magically appeared 10 minutes into the trail, well Down & Dirty dropped him there, With only 2 walkers, 6 runners and the hare we mainly kept together as a pack, Except when Rocky checked out a false off the A38 and couldn't hear us call him back, Getting towards the end just before the beer stop was quite a steep climb, Into the crematorium grounds where many pretty coloured lights did shine, The beer stop and down downs were done in a few sips, It was then only short run/walk back for our sausage and chips.
Run 670, September 19th 2018.
The Old Inn, Hutton.
HARES: Dongle and Software.
WHO: 14 hashers, 2 hounds and 3 tail-tail enders.
RUN REPORT: A couple of surprisingly modest hares set us off from a pub last hashed many moons prior (let's just say Turbo was the hare and vuvuzelas were a talking point) with warnings about a trail prone to precipitation destruction, possibly being far too short or long and with an SS symbol that stood for stuff that came out of sheep, rather than stops made out of sweets. Well, all to be wary of at On Out was keeping FRBs Missapp, Rewind and Bendy reined in - none for wrapped up warm, after all. With all that chomping at the bit a loop for them around Des Phippen Park and an On Back rallying cry next to the football club kept them in order (no need to show a red or yellow card for that), for uphill we needed to go if we were to encounter the forewarned shiggy slide and the preceding pep talk. We even took it seriously enough to ignore the inner child of a zip wire and to huff and puff our way up the correct side of a hedgerow, in time to find the prelude to Shaun's Stools neatly fenced through - 'twere definitely an open expanse when we were last in Hutton. If anything the minefield which all but Mudlark then successfully negotiated made the flour easier to see, certainly sufficiently so to up the runners' ante through the dark realms of Canada Coombe. Among the walkers, meanwhile, fears briefly grew for the whereabouts of Houdini - among the hypotheses were a quick hash and escape from Brunei in 20 minutes, a decision to huff and puff with the runners or even a retirement to the pub to devour the specials menu - but then Eager and a by-now-stalwart Ropey (complete with cash and his own head torch!) spotted her cutting a swathe through the bracken and even roots up ahead. Even those aware of the Roman Road element to these parts were still in for a pleasant surprise as a chalked beer stop loomed out of the darkness near Bleadon Golf Course - out stepped liquorice allsorts (could that explain why Cinders was not yet present?) and Movie Making Haribo, all washed down with spring water turned by means of a miracle into cider in some cases. Now for that briefing - Keep Calm and Don't Go Heels Over Head! It was certainly the first time I had bogged a way DOWN this 1 in 1 gradient back to half a civilisation (and this time there was no fish hook for 0 half way down to add confusion and outrage to the mix). Any screams that echoed in the dark I am assured were those of conquest rather than calamity, even when a slip of faith was required to touch down on tarmac. Nothing too awry had occurred, and so Software had to make sure something hare-brained did occur, leading fellow back-chatter Ropey down an ever so slightly longer (but never acceptable) On In. Free drink aspirers, anyone?
CIRCLE and ON ON ON: Commandeering an alcove proved no mean feat with the locals' quiz about to get underway, not even with Cinders' lot appearing after their annual whole-trail catchup. Among toasting Dongle and Software as well established hares (even if they go astray for 3% of the trail) we got ourselves back into the pub grub theme (reinstated at the Bedminster Down King's Head next week) by passing round the hares' Flapjack/Rocky Road hybrid as discreetly as Sheep S**t in a shiggy bath - just don't tell Trip Advisor...
Run 669, September 12th 2018.
The Golden Lion, Wrington.
HARE: Bumbag.
WHO: 15 hashers, 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: After a reasonable length hiatus, this top notch stroll (a regular among Bumbag's repertoire) began with Father Abraham's - Seven Suns there may be, but only one sun was presenting us with a beautiful melt into the horizon with the accompanying chill. At circle up alongside help-yourself fruit we noticed that this was a mainly running fraternity, hence the executive decision amongst myself to stick with Fondue and Bumbag while the runners conquered a little bit of petrol. Hash trails from yesteryear have presented many a territorial bovine in the fields that cropped up next, but this time we only opted for a FT symbol gone awry en route to the back end of Lower Stock Farm, complete with a Cheshire Cat moon clearly out to rival another celestial body for providing a portion of the run's entertainment. Sweet Stop was scheduled for the immediate aftermath of cattle grid number 3, with the first being buried in shiggy and the second crossed the sensible (i.e. cheating) way by the still honourable hound Mudlark - by now we felt like BRBs with a vengeance, since initially the only middle-running headtorch that bobbed towards us was that of Walky Talky who merely felt there was no flour for On On. With a non-Rewind hare in tow, though, things were unlikely to have been that fishy, and indeed it was the namesake hook that sent 4 FRBs hurtling back around us before Having At Ye, Havyatt Road! Mudlark this time chose the hop of faith over the cattle grid (finishing with her tail between her legs) to reach the sweet stop where a motley crew were fighting a winning battle against lactic acid. Make that a toffee, apple and orange stop - now what body part which isn't coated in enamel could possibly object? Harsh critic it would be, too, to not find enthrallment in the back garden footpath we soon opted for, taking in a footbridge and a cosy-looking front room as teaser material for the imminent pub. A somewhat early arrival and the swift dodging of several internal combustion engines on the way back into Wrington may have motivated a few rogues to invent their own hasty On In, thus merely missing the deathly quiet back doubles complete with a playground infuriatingly devoid of a hashers' zip wire. On Indoors then for the inner child.
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: We knew already that 11 and a half hour commitments from staff meant we were about to embark on 2 On On Ons in a row without grub, though plenty of hastily pooled bar snacks soon sufficed with a contribution from postscripts Briggy and Ballsport (the former getting in some of the turkey, cranberry sauce and stuffing orders presumably for this year). DIY On Ins were Dongle, Software and Kerb Crawler and warm welcomes were for bogs virgin Rock Climber (now there's a handle of one who had been it all, hashed it all apart from the ballistics of Bogs). The Old Inn at Hutton we shall come a calling next week - I don't believe we have been there since vuvuzelas were being blared...
Run 668, September 5th 2018.
The Rising Sun, Backwell.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 18 hashers and 5 hounds! Somehow not an unheard of ratio...
RUN REPORT: After an ASS full of Cheddar which he was not present to witness the half-marathon length of, Rocky showed no mercy in sending runners out on a Hillside home run which could have transmogrified into an On In for those still wearied, but thankfully among their numbers was Bendy who thought little of one arrow and took them further afield before being called back through the bracken. With a serious game of walker catchup already thus on the cards, there was little option but to go for a stampede out onto possibly unconquered Bogs territory, paying little attention to traffic with bicycle or tractor tyres until the high-vis specks in the distance could be safely concluded as the wimpy rather than Rambo fraternity. With calves seemingly tucked up in bed the occasional straying from a very specific footpath roused merely the curiosity of bovines present, particularly as the sweet stop appeared a mere Jelly Baby/Haribo Sports' throw from the First Great Western - one with those Stop, Look, Listen, Hash equivalent signs rather than a footbridge. Thankfully we can by now rely on the horses and sheep present thereafter to merely inspect our flour rather than rub it all out in the assumption that they will be burgled, otherwise runners would have needed calling back thrice rather than twice due to a fish hook (Croucher having a run in with nettles as a reward for newfound commitment) and a trail overshoot. Rocky had warned of a potential need to cut the trail short, and with the headtorches having increasingly less reasons to fade, so be it - we knew that without a matter transporter the inevitability was another rail crossing or 3, spliced with the possible pitfall of a shiggy embankment which that heatwave had had little opportunity to assault - nonetheless all bipeds and quadrupeds emerged at different times for a debriefing on tarmac (the ulterior motive of finishing off the sweets is obligatory). Petrol, flesh and blood suddenly emerged to advise us that the footpath so-labelled it may not be, but Rocky has helped the hashers and the Dorset police with their enquiries enough times to know public property when he blobs it, and so on a few brave souls bobbed into the night, leaving walkers to naturally light up the tarmac against traffic more than a few times. Seems the runners' ramble was fair game, for their front markers Irish Spew and Missapp emerged quickly enough to catch the walkers right at On In, conveniently ignoring the On Out arrow from exactly 90 minutes prior. Bravo Rocky!
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: The Rising Sun was as well lit as one but with a lot more inhabitants, thus we spread-eagled the bar and made quick work of a few trays of chips and omnivorous sarnies, welcoming back next week's Wrington hare Bumbag and taking our hat off to Bendy's new shoes! One day somebody might turn up in spanking new glass or crystal footwear, then there really would be no excuse for not drinking from it...
Run 665, Aug 29th 2018.
The Crown, Churchill.
HARES: Bendy and Fondue.
RUN REPORT: Thanks to the hares for stepping in at the last minute to set this route. A few turnbacks kept the pack together, before a steep climb up to Dolebury Warren made sure that no-one was going to go rushing too far ahead. Then, surprisingly, a downhill clamber - causing Briggy to sit down and rest his knees (and others to think about it) before a vandalised fish-hook at the bottom was interpreted as a regroup. Then uphill again to a few minutes respite at The Swan at Rowberrow, where it was only polite to buy a beer or two, followed by a pleasant run in -mainly downhill, except for the uphill "pub crawl" (ask Inchworm!) - and back to the Crown.
CIRCLE: Warm enough again to sit outside the pub, where it was noted that Rentahash has turned up to hash with BOGS twice this year but only when we have hashed from the Crown!

RUN 664, 22nd August 2018.
The Observatory, Weston-super-Mare.
HARE: Bend Over and Fondue.
WHO: 25 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Those Summer numbers weren't going to keep themselves up - they needed a little help from a drop in temperature and surviving flour, and of course the promise of Fondue food on the grounds where she debuted as hare 8 years prior. Quadruped Mudlark was as sprightly tonight as back then, though not enough to take on a runners' loop resembling a hot air balloon on a string - the balloon element in this case took in a greenbelt, an Inchworm nearly left foundering and the tantalisation of a non-existent beer stop at the no less hashed Ebdon Arms. Back on the string, we engulfed Kerb Crawler, Cinders and Walky Talky (they're not the only regular latecomers, for all the gossip) and made a most nettlesome manoeuvre out onto Castle Batch (no moat to negotiate) for a sweet stop view point - what could there not be to see when there was a menu of apple, chocolate and caramel buttons and Jelly Babies to send us wibbling and wobbling off on a runner/walker gradient. Immediate regroup there were too, all in the spirit of entertaining local populace who had decorated one checkpoint with broken headlight - do not try this at ASS. Nor should one row row row one's boat from the middle of a roundabout, but that's exactly what has long been in the middle of one that we soon marched past - a good marker for when using petrol to reach any Weston pub, too. We could not decide what hybrid of a smiley face/fish hook, regroup had been bestowed after a carefree crossing, but could deduce that we had lost our bearings sufficiently for the next greenbelt to be mistaken for the one before. As if to emphasise the difference, out of the sporadic flour popped both a fish hook for 6 (Up All Night and Dressing Down appear to have inherited the BRB moniker from Briggy in recent times; one can hardly accuse Woodbine of holding them back) and a PS which we had to decipher - among the suggestions of Pimms Stop and Psychopath those with memories of G Spot and Cheesepot immediately spoke with salivation of a Pecan Stop! All but Ropey on the nearby swings spared no time in finishing these pukka pies off and then leading a charge of the non-light brigade (though its time will come soon and chances to snap up those remaining daylight hare spaces are dwindling fast) down past the nearby primary school of its own Castle Batch - with no hopscotch to show for our efforts the entertainment was left instead to another fish hook for 7 to reassemble the throng on a long straight and for On In to appear as surprised to see us as vice versa. After all, it was only a splendid seventy minutes which we had crammed all of that into...
CIRCLE: Enough daylight nonetheless to assemble everyone more into playing hash than watching footie out on the patio - Sticky got a Down Under's Down Down for a proud exclamation that she was not looking for flour while Bendy herself was announced as Bumbag's hare replacement for next week at the Crown Inn, making it technically a Bendy Hare Hat-trick! I can't imagine what obsessive-compulsive-impulsive-repulsive hash loon could have inspired her...
ON ON ON: We are slacking a bit with our consumption! Of a massive spread of cheese, ham and tuna sarnies at least a quarter went home with Brigadoon, though the same could never really be said for scotch eggs, pork pie quarters and sausage rolls with a hybrid of mini cheddar mix. May next week be Bendy's Crowning Glory.
Run 663, August 15th 2018.
Bendy's, Locking.
HARES: Croucher and Sweet FA.
WHO: 22 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Assembling at Bendy's under less than a little rain, we came upon the only instance where said hostess would turn up for a run without running it - there was hash grub to prepare for our onslaught later! The still just-about-junior hares though proved more than capable of holding their own (and not hogging the sweets, either). While manoeuvring towards the A371 we heeded warnings about not obeying early On Ins, all while keeping runners and walkers apart at several intervals, but before we reached the Locking's only dangerous road we first needed to speed or slog down Old Banwell Road with its end always in sight. The spicing up of things really started here - after most of us had looked and listened both ways, a mix of Marti Mushrooms, Tangy and grown-up-loving haribo definitely did the sweet stop trick. For beckoning was Locking's other side of the road; many full moons ago we found it to only have one entrance for cars - would it have evolved. It seemed to begin with that our hash senses had devolved, an arrow having sufficiently been swallowed up by the grass no longer dying of thirst - as a result only 7 of out got to taste turnback under cover. Many were gallivanting nonetheless - only trial and error got us to the exit of an open field, by which time it seemed only fair to treat a mini roundabout like an arrow timewarp and one of those 30 symbols like another turnback (there's ANOTHER reason why it's 30 - for hashers' safety). We still weren't listening or learning under a slightly fading light - only Croucher and BRBs followed the correct trajectory of the flower to whence we had entered the neighbourhood. Alas, there was a different way out after all, and with more pleasant scenery spliced with a fish hook - if that didn't keep you calm and make you carry on, then how about a runner's overhead loop safer than a walker's alternative (a "footbridge" to the Highway Code boffins). Change of roadside, change again of conduct - consultations were made to ensure the only way on was the only way on and many loud and clear On Ins resonated as we marched past El Nino from earlier. That's yer allotment for ON IN in earnest, even if it didn't quite coincide with the Locking Parish Church bells tolling for 9. We needed time to eat like Bogs, after all.
CIRCLE: This took place well into On On On, but we could hardly forgive and forget the majority of the throng for not bothering with that turnback, nor could we not toast Bogs Virgins from Down Under, both in the geographical and the shiggy sense. The only stereotypical downside was that we had no shrimp to put on the barbie...
ON ON ON: Another BBQ and combined with home oven cooking, another rousing success! A 3 and a half mile stroll had certainly wetted our appetite for 1 vegeburger plus carni-burgers, pesto pasta and drumsticks (ahem, I had four), all garnished with Software and Dongle's Lemon Drizzle cake and a Dressing Down rocky road cake for the ever wiser Houdini. With pubs being in danger of missing out on us drinking their bars dry, we shall plot a course for the Weston Observatory next week, followed by Wrington and then a few cheesy Cheddar pubs. Down Down!
Run 662, August 8th 2018.
Uppy and Downy's, Clevedon.
HARES: The hosts!
WHO: 20 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: This heatwave/oven tsunami began just after a non-hash BBQ at Briggy's, and so we flicked the off switch for the grass/hay's sake with a barbecue run preceded by a few luxury showers. On Out circumnavigated the neighbourhood and briefly made me fantasise about a 10 minute On In and with grub the whole evening, but instead it was Court Woods that came calling, and any abandoners would have missed out on sweet stop delight. Quite a hike it were too, with straggling virgins just as popular as the compensating Wimp/Rambo trail that cut a swathe through the brambles/tryffids that preceded our culinary viewpoint. While overlooking a long-dissolved DT Beer Stop (veteran hound Mudlark reminding us that quadrupeds balance much better on cliff edges than bipeds) at a quarry without a hash handle, we tucked hastily into a menu of Rocky Road (the trail is what you eat), flapjacks even better than homemade and healthy peaches - many however passed on the Easter goodies from 2016 (they had also followed a trail with one helluva hill). What had hashed up was in danger of tumbling down, hence the strategic positioning of a fish hook for infinity which stopped any FRBs from gaining momentum and needing to avert their eyes from the obscene graffiti (perhaps pa prophecy of the much classier Banksy graffiti which has appeared in Clevedon between then and time of writing). Norton's Wood Lane (probably used by four legs more often than four wheels) was always likely to be where we were fished out of the foliage, avoiding the tempting footpaths on either side and emerging at a Valley Road regroup. Oddly thankful for no marching up the Ripple or Strawberry Hill and marching down again, an even greater mercy was reaching On In without getting stuck in a loop, an ever present danger when FRBs are mixed with an On Out/On In clash. Let there be light up!
CIRCLE: Pimms and softies' drinks were filled up from literally a stone's throw/flour squirt from the Barbie - my mind was so grill-based that only one of 3 virgin down downs was duly noted in the form of junior Harvey, clearly out to prove those "lazy" adverts wrong during the summer hols. Congrats too though for the increasingly miraculous hare task of finding fresh Clevedonian terrain!
ON ON ON: A couple of head torches even made an appearance as the flames quickly became the only other source of light - if you weren't up for bring your own burger, sizzle your own steak or char your own chicken there was also Houdini's garlic noodles on the side plus the 5 varying loaves with no fishes. Keeping with the non-pub-grub at Bendy's in Locking next week; all in the spirit of an ASS warmup.
Run 659, July 18th 2018.
Clevedon marine lake.
WHO: 20 hashers, 1 hound and 2 lake crossers.
RUN REPORT: Even for Rewind there was no notch which this hash setting could not be turned up to. Many On Outed in the belief that a Rambo/Wimp trail was taking the former merely through the path on the middle of the lake (apart from Briggy and Ballsport who remembered who the hare was and thus decided to take to the marine lake with some hot air), but instead it was nearly out to sea over the wall and with a few slips but no trips towards the pebbles on the beach. No let up either once we skipped/plucked on the edge of The Little Harp. As tempting as it was to run under a sprinkler in operation, we left that to the groundsman and instead opted for our most popular Clevedon back alley which isn't zig-zagged. Flour remained abundant along with the news that Rocky Horror was playing catchup, though we didn't spy him at the viewpoint overlooking, well, Clevedon, and nor did we see him going through the Viewpoint as we subsequently looked up from Cinderella and Kerb Crawler's back garden down below. He appeared nonetheless to help quickly demolish a fresh fruit and sparkling cordial stop, all to the tune of a rapidly thinning out posse becoming devoid of runners and distinguishing from our symbols and those seemingly spray painted ones of the Bristol Greyhounds from last week's Salthouse Saunter. Out by Clevedon Pill there stood another R/W, though any Dressing Down fears of heading out to sea were dispelled by it merely being a photo-op-stop atop the weir. Weird also was the approach up Poet's walk – for junior Faceplant the rocky incline was not enough excitement and thus the sloping flour had to followed to the letter – for sole quadruped Mudlark however the encouragement involved a much bigger team effort, and thus a much bigger reward at the top. Plenty of Wows were exclaimed at the top, almost enough to drown out the On Ons past the cemetery and final viewpoint, but nonetheless Cinders once again perceived a near perfect touchdown at 9:03. Was it the kitchen calling?
CIRCLE & ON ON ON: Many happy returns to the Woodcut clan who were trailblazing whilst getting stuck in but without faceplanting, plus a toast to Briggy and Ballsport who had finished a possible warmup for the distant Marlens festival. Out on the benches it was for another heatwave DIY pub, complete with brownies, rocky road (named after the trail) and, among all the savoury highlights, Software and Dongle demonstrating that practically anything can go into a tasty veggie sausage roll. Must not forget too to mention the revolutionary lentil bread – quite a high standard for the high-rising Carpenter's Tavern to match next week...
Run 658, July 11th 2018.
a car park in Nailsea.
HARE: Double D.
RUN REPORT by Cinders:
England 1, Croatia 2, Bogs 15!
Despite the dubious attractions of watching TV, 15 of us followed the flour around the deserted streets and pathways around Nailsea. There were options of pub beer stops to keep up with progress on the match at The Old Farmhouse (but it was half time) and the Sawyer's (too packed to get a foot through the door), before an early finish at Double D's mum's house for food and drink, a TV in the conservatory and a view of giant sea monsters swimming in a pond.
CIRCLE: Thanks were given to the hare and Cathy, the food hare. Mrs DD's mum was recognised as being alright for providing the venue for the On In. KC and WT were berated for delaying down downs by refusing to leave the conservatory until defeat was final, and Rebore and Cinders proved by means of VAR technology that Rebore had indeed completed a fishhook to the back of the runners.
Run 657, July 4th 2018.
The Ship, Portishead.
HARES: Inchworm and Coppertone.
WHO: 16 hashers, 3 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: This evening's opening theme was that of relief – after next week's returning hare Double D made the effort to inform us that "Hashing's Coming Home" on the night where many pubs will be packed full of footie fans, we were also most grateful for the British oven being turned down to gas mark 0.15 for an evening, along with fan assistance. Rain washing away a fair share of the flour though was still somehow not welcome, though a copy and paste job for On Out and On In along with the throng being mostly local populace eliminated the risk of all bar 1 barking down the wrong field. Blackberry Lane (a little too early to find any pickings) was check-pointed and chosen ahead of the grounds of Portishead Activity Centre where we tried to get lost on our last excursion, and once out on the grass on the brink of turning to hay we had the welcome spanning sight of a viewpoint over Black Rock Quarry – stone manufacturing site that is, not item of hash pursuit. No, that was Inchworm who lured us past a few ruined buildings and checkpoints before sounding the gong for an organic peaches stop at the Valley Roadside. Very tasty and enough for 2 of our 5 a day in some cases, also provider of the energy needed for walker and runner uphills and downhills galore through Weston Big Wood. We emerged from a familiar hazy back door with The Downs in the distance, but this time took a sharp left back in Blackberry Lane direction (possibly spurred on by the time, though still too early to expect to pick any), unfortunately making a brief Rebore deduction from the trail owing to a combination of checkpoint destruction and his own sense of going solo. On In had magically appeared after negotiating another steep uphill (well known to Bogs as a skid pan when there is any precipitation) and so a curse was plot along Valley Lane for the Ship, and yes – Rebore was already there getting the down downs in.
CIRCLE: Mercifully lukewarm out on the benches and with Briggy and Ballsport for company, we decided against a Grand Old Duke for the hares and instead sang to us taking the high road and there'll be a quarry drop. Would-be-Bogs-Virgin Stretch had managed to go the wrong pub twice, possibly getting in plenty of drinks for the announced Friday 13th hash in Bristol, and Rebore of course did not need to be told to get lost.
ON ON ON: A Severn Sunset was enjoyed almost as much as a fancy mixture of omni and veggie wraps along with announcements for the Friday 13th hash in Bristol – a trail no doubt to rival the Aardman character trails currently adorning Brunel's hash city. On On to Double D's with maybe a little rain, if you don't mind...
Run 655, 27th June 2018.
Old Inn, Congresbury.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 15 + 1 dog and Eager Beaver later.
RUN REPORT by Walky Talky: The hash started with a walkers shortcut, leaving the runners down to three! There was no hare it was just the girl power of MisApp, Software and Walky Talky! It made check points and the turn back fun!?! At least the route was mainly shaded from the sun. The two packs eventually met at the regroup on the strawberry line, It was agreed if the runners wanted to miss the next loop that would be fine. We then worked our way through the houses of Yatton, Following flour along the streets in a random pattern. We then climbed the hill, and the hare cut bits of the trail short, which the now 2 runners it did confuse, The route went round the hill, the walkers met MisApp and then found the beer stop with amazing views. The next bit got quite comical while we waited at the beer stop, Rocky went to find Software, She returned so MisApp went to let Rocky know, you can see where this is going, yeah? Rocky returned, but no MisApp in hearing or sight, Walky tried to call her back with all her might. You'll be glad to hear that MisApp eventually did come back, At which point the walkers were already halfway down the track. Everyone got back and enjoyed being able to sit out the back of the pub, We were treated to sandwiches and chips, the usually grub.
Run 655, 20 June 2018.


Clevedon Sea Front.
HARE: Houdini.
RUN REPORT by Cinders: A grand total of 25 hashers gathered on the slightly cool and windy Clevedon seafront to follow Houdini's up and down trail of some of the local sights. Miss App decided that the water was too cold for a pre hash swim in the Marine Lake, and Waynetta wimped out on her planned post hash dip, but Inside Out was made of stronger stuff and plunged into the brine before joining the seaside picnic.
CIRCLE: Down downs at the beer stop welcomed a few returnees (including Rodders - last seen on a BOGS hash about 8+ years ago.) The hare was thanked, returnees were welcomed, Dongle's ageing and Scrumpy's double dumping were noted.
ON IN: The bring and share picnic was accompanied by a fine sunset over Clevedon pier bringing yet another bogs hash to a pleasant conclusion.
Run 654, 13 June 2018.
Bendy’s horses’ field, somewhere in the middle of nowhere not far from Puxton.
HARES: Bendy, Croucher and Sweet FA.
RUN REPORT by Cinders: Country lanes, tracks, fields, a cycle way, cows, swans, bird song, a 3 day old foal (plus slightly larger protective parents), fish hooks and turnbacks to keep everyone together, meant that everyone had a very enjoyable hash (although not the most rapid one - my runkeeper noted that it was my 76th fastest 4-6 mile workout!)
CIRCLE: The edges of the barn kept a few drops of rain that started to fall post hash from getting us too damp, as we munched through the delicious bring and share picnic. Hares were thanked for not providing any hills, Dongle was suitably exalted for his rope tying skills in failing to re-tie a gate to the gatepost next to it, and it was noted that some hashers exerted unnecessary extra energy in climbing over a field gate rather than simply opening it. Best wishes were sent - by telepathy - to Eager Beaver, whom we hope to see next week.
Run 653, 6 June 2018.
Failand Inn.
HARES: Inside Out and Fondue.
RUN REPORT by Cinders: A trail set on Sunday, and ants seen carrying away grains of flour, meant that following the flour had its challenges, but a lovely evening, a very nice route, including a woodland loop– and the giving of an emergency map of the route to two of the pack – meant that everyone had an enjoyable hash. A select sub group of runners added in an extra runners loop along some known footpaths around a field, but then discovered that this had delayed us getting to the beer stop!
CIRCLE: The circle was held and thanked the hares, and welcomed returnees just Liz and Andy plus virgin Jo, before the final mile or so run On Inn to the pub for some well-earned food and drink.
Run 652, May 30th 2018.
Lye Cross Farm’s car park, with On Inn at the Darlington Arms (for some).
HARES: Eager Beaver and Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT (by this week's Scribe, Cinderella): A dozen hardy hashers had their work cut out spotting the remains of flour and checkpoints after the torrential afternoon rain had done its job – but we managed to find the route (with some occasional Hare assistance). The 5+ mile route across many an unhashed field got us back to Down & Dirty’s picnic table about 9:20pm, which meant that some of us didn’t make it to the Darlington Arms, where a retiring Rocky was waiting.
CIRCLE: After munching our way through Down & Dirty’s banquet we rewarded the hares with the customary song, and also sang a down down song for Rocky – although he probably didn’t hear it.
Run 650, May 16th 2018.
The Crown Inn, Churchill.
HARES: Bendover and Sweet FA.
WHO: 21 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: With a back-marking/barking scribe just about in tow, a voluminous pack set off uphill via The Batch, making the effort to check out all the circles this way and that but nonetheless retaining a due-Star setting towards its namesake pub. All that uppy and downy business provoked an early beer stop among the FRBs when they reached the Star Inn at Star. It may of course have been for Dutch courage to cross the busy A38, but any traffic would doubtless have stopped for us anyway. Once back on lush greenery a number of fish hooks began to come out of hiding, all to keep the pack together prior to the sweet stop with tangy haribo alongside the Swan at Rowberrow - yep, they dashed in for another beer stop to wash them down with. Any hasher with a built in homing pigeon would have sussed that uphill from here 'twere not, but likewise no drinker with a running problem would leave any corner un-hashed. So the wrong way it was then for Eager, Rocky and Kerb Crawler (the latter downhill), while the pack marched on down School Lane to one of our best old-school stomping grounds. A lesser-perfected side-path was taken to bypass the valley and end up beneath Dolebury Warren, with credit given not to put a checkpoint next to the massive uphill stretches that adorn it. Instead it was On and On into a couple of fish hooks spliced with terrain that made a sincere but unsuccessful attempt to trip those runners that were made for putting the boot down. Once the A38 came back into visual range a pack of middle runners had emerged and also obtained a visual on FRBs climbing the hill again towards the Batch; at this point Bendover announced a shortcut back to Beer Camp via Skinners Lane for those that wanted it, though I still had to satisfy the scribe within and conclude that it was the cattle present who had herded the FRBs the right way up the hill. No chance then of emerging onto the Batch and getting caught in a loop with the pub so near, with a mighty respectable touchdown at 8:50 to boot (it had no mud).
CIRCLE: A warm welcome to 3 self-recruiting Bogs virgins and welcome back too to Alice who came out of the winter rabbit hole specially for a trail littered with them, as well as the beer stoppers at Star who clearly had the ulterior motive of effectively 2 extra down downs. A brief return to school too courtesy of junior co-hare Sweet FA's science quiz; we acquitted ourselves reasonably well, considering we weren't allowed our thinking caps on in the circle.
ON ON ON: The Crown was the bar we nearly drank dry, while the car park was the site of an open invite for extra Dongle and Software anniversary goodies plus Fondue's pavlova which we all know this scribe thinks the world of. Next week the Bell tolls for Banwell and its West Mendip Way territory...
Run 649, May 9th 2018.
Dongle and Software's abode/website, Lyddon Road, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: The hosts!
WHO: 17 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Not that hot any more, but the one thing that Bogs cannot control aside, this was some debut venue. The tardy Eager and Ropey were most insistent on going to the front door to start the trail (in place of being hijacked by the departing On Out parade), and quickly settled into the kind of steady stride require of one still feeling the effects of ASS-recceing over the weekend Most checkpoints looked alike even if they had not been absorbed into last month's similar run, though the lush green of Castle Batch was a timely reminder of how hash locations can be kindred spirits. For it was here many moons ago that the G spot fish hook made a brief appearance, echoed eerily by a couple of J-shaped fish hooks tonight with little obedience. Much more willingly complied was the reverse of the runners' route out towards tiny Bourton (itself smaller than a hash in metres squared), especially as the runners appeared to stay as one pack this time, though it did mean the wearied walkers got to split open the sweet stop by Riverbank Surgery in time to wolf down what they deemed a fair share - of no less than Liquorice Allsorts, Jelly Babies, Sports Mix, Lemonade (for aspiring DDs) and Pims! It turned out that this may just have been the supercharge that one no-longer-rookie was in need of, as On In took us past Priory School with the Priority of finding shelter now that the heavens had been at least left ajar...
CIRCLE: Two of these as the RA and hash stats got their bearings - firstly the welcome return of seasonal Bumbag plus one for the gutter press - Coral stripping a layer when others knew what she was doin'. Later on while congratulating the hosting hares (enclosed), we congratulated Ropey on becoming a runner, clearly out to stake a place among that hash grub.
ON ON ON: Toasting the hares' anniversary with a Fondue-Pavlova-rivalling feast (yes, really) was on the cards during the latest storm for which we have run out of names - to pick a highlight among the soups, baguettes, cheeseboard and carrot and lemon drizzle cakes was as hard as obeying a J hook, but it seems the big batch of homemade brownies won out (they were crisp on the top and gooey in the middle, after all). Keep it up, hash haute cuisine!
Run 648, May 2nd 2018.
The Downs School car park, later trudging to the Rudgleigh at Easton in Gordano.
HARES: Coppertone, Inchworm and Bag Lady.
WHO: 24 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Once again the floral stars of the Bluebell run had made an early appearance to push our annual showpiece back a few more nights - fears of washed away flour were mostly the primary concern, though for some parking in the wrong car park and feeling honour bound to lollop past the pack to the start took precedence. Had one runner turnback been dissipated it could have been another case of bluebell time warp, but remain it did and we were soon soaking up some rays, clearly out to light up the royal blue on show. One more compulsory feature of the Prior Woods Path was the march up and down again through redwood impersonators - we even briefly thought we were going all in towards Noah's Ark for a change, before realising the rains had come and gone. With many potential recruits/kidnap victims/just plain dog walkers about we continued to put on a good show while we made a couple of slip and trips towards an equally well tried and tested sweet stop. Whilst another lucky dip spliced with jelly babies and tangy pastilles went down a sweet treat, it could not detract from the by now seemingly absent Deep Throat and Red Light - quickly reappearing in their steady rather than pacey manner (along with a search party of two), the runners had already gone in search of another long loop - one non-hasher out with a tripod may well have had eyes and lens on a less hyperactive organism - grateful for the action shots nonetheless. Eventually would be quite strong language for an 8:40pm finish, so presently we sniffed out co-hare Coppertone leading the way to base camp, promptly tagged by the runners in lukewarm pursuit. On petrol...
CIRCLE: After a successful test drive of about 6 different routes to the Rudgleigh, we drank to another great Bluebell run with Sprummer returnees, including next week's haring duo Dongle and Software. Please grow all year!
ON ON ON: In the back room of the Rudgleigh which we can safely call our own, I felt justified in nearly declaring the splendid ham, cheese and beef sarnies my own, but settled for 6 of them while other Bogs were supplemented by chips.
Run 646, April 18th 2018.
The Woolpack, St Georges.
HARE: Deep Throat.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: What a difference a month and a week makes. An average of 2.66 layers had been shed compared with the Beast from the East runs, not quite a scorcher but certainly you'd be barmy to not think of it as balmy. Good too to see the GM hare reviving the Father Abraham warmup (just when we might have expected the penguin dance), not to mention a long runners' lasso at On Out enforcing a couple of walker-led checkpoints. St Georges duly circumnavigated, we all thankfully Saw Track and Thought Train before cutting a swathe through to a smorgasbord of a sweet stop - preserved mint imperials, liquorice allsorts, specialite de la Haribo and tangy pastilles comprised the menu (Poppy being given a hound's abstinence for standing on the SS and the sweets being casually opened next to a drain, along with Briggy throwing his keys in the air). To those second guessing a suburban trail, we were in for the treat of making a non-light-brigade charge out to remote Bourton and I think all the way back. To set the tone there was the welcome revival of the turnback, naturally out to befuddle at least one witness with a non-hash-hound, and then came trouble when we probably would have asked for it. For runners there beckoned a field freshly ploughed and dry roasted in the afternoon sun (still not quite hotter than the Med), but just as FRBs (half the runners, essentially) thought they were On On a 6th sense told us that DT had followed and gesticulated another way (rather than using Semaphore or a hash horn - one to debate at the AGPU). Too late, alas, to rein in those skippers but early enough to serve up some rough justice. One the legit runners had found their way to and along Ebdon Lane while obeying a fishhook for 4, another fish hook for the very same ensured the FRBs came back and collided Rocky Horror-first. Many anecdotes and a few less insults were exchanged, with Irish Spew even literally getting cheeky and Eager finding that upon his sole his shoe was now flapping in the...er...sun, what with all that Mendip Challenge training terrain. A gate was duly slammed quietly and On Ons duly whispered as we were reintroduced to civilisation en route to a beer stop alongside Priory Community School.
CIRCLE: First to get lines were Irish and Bendy for their lost-and-found approach to a magic mini roundabout, then Irish again for mooning not as much as we have come to expect from Briggy, and a still comfortably warm welcome to Bogs virgin Jude from New Zealand, no doubt shepherded rather than dragged out on the has by the cosmopolitan Inside Out. Not quite so lengthy an On In this time, but still sufficient time to pretend we no longer liked fish hooks after tonight's discrepancies and to take an illicit shortcut or 3 through the grounds of the Courthouse. Oh, the lack of shame...
ON ON ON: 9:06 was the arrival and plenty of long, cool 'uns were duly downed at the bar, though not if you were a hound left out to soak up the moon's rays. The possible default hash food setting of plenty of sarnies and chips continued, though a Ploughman's is also up for first dabs via a Celidh at Ashton School this hashy weekend. Talking of which, Briggy was out shaping his ASS again with this year's early birds for Cheddar. That's mature.
Run 645, April 11th 2018.
The Carpenters Tavern, Dundry.
HARE: Walky Talky.
WHO: A soon-to-be-dirty dozen hashers plus 2 hounds and 2 visitors.
RUN REPORT: Just to prove that this rare Bogs location was in the clouds, well...we had our inter-county views rudely fogged out while playing hunt the non-shiggy. On Out saw plenty of red herrings mixed with flour, all laid in tractor grooves which lent credibility to the notion that the hare had found an offbeat way to lay flour off-road. No less of a novelty was the forewarned checkpoint that quickly became a check-back, lead us father a-several-field to a sweet stop with a view of grey. Not good enough? Well, may I ask what you were expecting to see from a foggy Dundry Sweet Stop? Herds of wilde-hashers sweeping majestically? Alright, scratch the majestic - for those with at least one foot planted the temptation to explore the signposted unstable mines was evaded with some difficulty, since the big W appeared to have been cut and pasted rather than copied and pasted further down the cul-de-sac. With rapidly decreasing hare-brainwaves, we found our way onwards to Dundry's own rival to Cadbury Camp and with just as much shaggy to squelch, mostly through trial and error until the runners sounded the Rewind-bugle that they were all alive and well up for another ascent. The ever-explorative (and exploitative, when there are hash routes on offer) Deep Throat was duly reined in with Eager, quite possibly short-cutting their way to the top, but we let that one slip because they didn't. To cut a long trail short...would indeed be quite wrong, so instead we simply zipped open an early beer stop after miraculously all staying upright within the preceding quagmire.
CIRCLE & ON IN: Little misdemeanour or loss of virginity to report but certainly another toast to a hash well worth walkin' n' talkin' about. Most of the toasting of course would have befitted events after the beer stop - directions were given to a driver whose satnav was not on hasher mode, runners somehow mustered the calories for another Grand Old Duke of York undertaking, rewarded with the more visible views stretching out over a twilit European Green Capital 2015. Makes you want to follow flour right through the heart of it...
ON ON ON: Proving once again that it's never too far to travel to say hello, Brigadoon and Ballsport appeared in the bar to help us demolish all the chips and ham and cheese sarnies that were not reserved for the carpenters - back from whence they hash-dashed to the M5-adjacent Woolpack at St George's next week, and judging by the forecast we may be packing heat...
Run 644, April 4th 2018.
The Black Horse, Clapton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Dressing Down and Up All Night, but not Woodbine!
WHO: 20 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Tucked away in amongst the back quadruples we found ourselves assembled outside this delightful little tavern which may possibly pre-date hashing, welcomed by a trail seemingly shiggified by the same species as the pub. On out was tarmac enough, even finding time to send the runners on a brief limb to prepare footwear for what lay ahead – not only did natural and equine shiggy behold, but also on a sideways slope and with FRBs and stragglers alike in danger of being swallowed whole. If it was loud screams of encouragement that rescued us from that, the next words of wisdom were horse whispering as a quadruped without a handle had taken to following our flour – the whispering without manhandling came from the tried and trusted owner of course, but no less in need of whispers were these bogging lifeforms some without head torches. When they spotted what appeared to be a fish hook with no number, the initial consensus that we were now stuck in a time warp was replaced with the instruction to garner as many waves (and subsequent horns) from the steep motorway bridge ahead as they could – along with a possibly early sighting of Hyacinthoides non-scripta (if you were to believe the Lepus without their Canis Lupus Familiaris). Many approaches were tried to make a journey down the M5 pleasant for those below – bellows of On On, slow plods and mad waving dashes, though Brigadoon may have been the winner with a grand total of one honk thanks to his proud slow and steady approach. It was of course still up and up unless you wanted to go back back – even with these tried and tremendous parts the hares still found plenty to throw into the mix. Quite literally – at a Cadbury Camp fort Sweet Stop the walkers snapped up the majority of the air bubble Rocky Road (Pebble Path?), Raspberry and chocolate Liquorice, thanks to runners being herded far enough afield by cattle to spark a co-hare search party. A long walk oh so good beckoned along Cadbury Camp Lane (Millionaire's Lane for us hash centurions) with the light fading not fast enough to conceal the arrow pushing us back down the grandmother of all shiggy slopes. For those being propped up by uppy and downy the advice of “keep left” clearly fell on the ears of those who saw no problem in getting a little bit shiggier – all in the name of crop rotation to bring out the bluebells in full force. The M5 literally got one over on us just before touch down, at a still perfectly reasonable 9:10pm considering that FRB SS AWOL from earlier...
CIRCLE: Joined by Inside Out and all indeed to be glad inside now rather than out, happy returns came the way of the older and certainly wiser hares, Dressing Down finding the small matter of the Centurion toga a perfect fit in the process. A welcome return too to a non-boating Strap On, whose bellowed On Ons had somehow fallen on the deaf ears of Bend Over.
ON ON ON: A Dark Horse for 2018's cosiest On On On, what with the log fire burning bright and more than enough pasties, pies and cheese and onion rolls to go around, with the cherry on the cake being Up All Night's birthday week cake. Continuing the theme of pastures rarely ventured, next week it is up, up and nearly away via the Carpenter's Arms and head torches at Dundry. May our fame spread faster than greyhounds...
Run 642, March 21st 2018.
Hash Trash from Walky Talky's point if view:
The Landing Light, Locking.
HARES: Eager Beaver assisted by Down & Dirty.
RUN REPORT: It was one of the few times I was coming from Bristol, but there was an accident by the Fox and Goose on the A38, This changed a half hour drive to an hour drive and I realised that I was going to be more than a bit late, When I got to the pub I found a packed carpark and on the road was the only space, I eventually set off at ten to eight following a well back marked trail at a jogging pace, I followed the marks and passed a fishhook, a split and a sweet stop mainly on road and track, I got to a check point that was marked into a field and decided that I would find another way back, I was then shortly greeted by Coppertone walking towards me asking if I had seen the hare, It turns out there had been confusions at the last checkpoint and some misunderstanding there, I gradually met up with more of the pack as we ended up making our way back the way we came, For us the beer stop and picnic was passed the pub only one person didn't go and Brigadoon is their name, We got to Down and Dirty's car to see Eager and Ropey, the only ones that followed the whole trail, There was cider, juice, crisps, sausage rolls an quiche and discussions on where the pack did fail, Again there was also some of the 'psycho' snack range, this times pork scratching that were very very hot, After a quick down down in the cold, back to the pub we went and warmth and more drinks we got.
On on,
Walky Talky.
Run 641, March 14th 2018.
The Ebdon Arms, Wick St Lawrence.
HARES: Fondue and Deep Throat.
WHO: 20 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: As on previous sporadic visits, the Ebdon Arms was almost as well tucked away as the flour, what with rain seemingly suspended a metre from the ground where it never settled all night - I suppose this was the Pest from the West, or maybe an upside-down On In resembling El Nino? Anywho/what/where/why, fond memories surfaced of Fondue originally being christened G Spot at this pub when times were tougher and, well, fish-hooks may have occasionally resembled Gs. Turnbacks and fish-hooks were, however, much better understood and noticed back then, a feeble excuse for one such chalk and Ts being missed by runners who were barely into their off the ground stride. Perhaps most prominent as we negotiated the many twists, turns and wicked ways of St Lawrence was the chance to recruit non-Bogging dog walkers, towards whom the normally yappy Woodbine was quite soporific this near-spring evening. I'm sure we have intrigued if not recruited a fair few (with the flour as much as the On Ons), even if they suddenly buttoned up the hatches when we stopped for lucky dip sweeties - multiple choice haribo being complimented by mints imperial to our energy levels. We had done approximately 0.35 hashes by the time those indulging on runners route 1 felt they were going well out of their way to avoid walking company - each time a turn back in the logical direction arose, a loop became longer, and it was only when stragglers arose that we finally started to charge back in the direction of Orion above - best navigation means when turning this way and that. Novelties from many years prior quickly became the recurring theme - not only were we in for the major surprise of an early Beer Stop at Dingle and Software's abode, but also out came Fondue's non-pavlova speciality which may in fact have appeared on Bogs before it: Pecan cakes! Cider, fruit juice and fresh fruit washed them down very quickly and brought us together for an undercover circle:
CIRCLE: Almost half the pack had their hats on in the circle, the attention thankfully being drawn instead towards warmer clime returnees Bag Lady & Coppertone plus Eager Beaver's completion of 50 hares (incidentally having just had about 50000 hairs cut at time of writing - show me what ya get, pest!)! A kind reminder that we still had a trail to get lost on...
ON IN: Mixed in with the trail's reminder there were two additional runner circuits, skipping on the edge of rugged Priory School in the process, but we really had to hop to it when it came to the evening's real hazard. Heading back in a beer pump direction, the lonesome frog from Winscombe a fortnight ago had told his spawning pals that humans with head torches are nom danger - they're just peeping toms! Of the 100% in-trampled pondlife that we encountered on concrete, many of them were in a compromising position, or perhaps the males were just lazy and wanted to, ahem...be carried back to the river. This failed to give any male Bogs bad ideas, in fact many were still running at On In, all of 8 and 3 quarter bells.
ON ON ON: Down & Dirty turned up amongst a sparse pub with a nonetheless cosy conglomeration of tables, each housing a crisp basket with ham and cheese sarnies which were finished with consummate ease. Weston's-super-surroundings remain our itinerary for next week, for which we have left the Landing Light on.
Run 640, March 7th 2018
The Rudgleigh, Easton-in-Gordano.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 20 hashers and 2 hounds.
RUN REPORT: All that hype 'n' tripe about the Beast from the East - would it have disrupted us Bogs out for Jogs? Well, apart from leaving what was either the Beast's death throes or washing up suds gone to excess, there was very little on this trail to cause a faceplant. We had needed to contend firstly with late hares and being democratically advised to park in the back car park - good thing that this was On Out as over the cricket pavilion we charged - stumped briefly for the right way On On thereafter, it took multiple screams of petrol to keep us assembled as a non-coherent unit and a speed split alongside one of our favourite sites of beer stopping to remind us of the great scenery on offer. Once down at sea (well, River Avon) level we raised our head torches and sweets to the Duke of Cornwall before assembling with the railway yonder to emphasise what followed was no mere runner/walker split but a wimp/Rambo. I bravely scribed along the wimpy way, finding no furniture left out for us to scavenge this time, crawling through a few blind and back alleys along with the ground of St George's Church - the bells were not yet tolling, so clearly On In was not going to be at the neighbouring King's Arms as some of the weary may have wished - instead it was uphill with demolished flour on Rectory Road with near-perfectory timing; 10 to 9 was the Rudgleigh steakhouse chime...
CIRCLE: What could possibly hold the presses more than the hares being as late as usual and Rewind repeatedly wandering the wrong way? Well, Walky Talky could get a life for a start and finish, having reached the mile-diamond of 500 hashes! On and ever so promptly On!
ON ON ON: Commandeering the back room and with that front car park still empty, signs were already here that Briggy is getting his ASS in gear. A toast and the odd cheese, ham and tuna sarnie to be raised then, even if skittle duty beckoned to prove that clearly not enough blind alleys had been negotiated for this scribe...
Run 639, 28 February 2018.
The Nova Scotia, Bristol.
HARES: Irish Spew.
RUN REPORT (by this week's scribe, Cinders): Minus 5 degrees to start, dropping to minus 10 in the wind chill! Who in their right mind would go out in the evening in this? Well, 15 of us enjoyed Irish’s trail of Bristol’s mediaeval history, as he led us up and down, and up and down again, and again, along ancient footways. Almost up to Clifton, down to the Portway, back up to Clifton, down to Jacobs Well, up again on Brandon Hill, down to Trenchard Street, part way up Brandon Hill again, down to Hotwells, and then a final climb to Clifton Wood before allowing us a flat run in to the Nova.
CIRCLE: In the welcoming warmth of the pub, and replete with sausages and chips, we thanked the thawing hare and welcomed the virgin BOGS hashers Andy and Liz, and returnee Julie - all encouraged along in the sub-zero temperatures by Double D.
Run 638, February 21st 2018.
The Woodborough, Winscombe.
HARES: Cinders and Kerb Crawler.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Great to see this many trek out to a real blast from the past – the verbal memo was that turnbacks rather than fish-hooks were in for a revival tonight (they are entirely different symbols, after all) and that Strap On was keen to keep her hair in its current Brazilian Blow Dry state: cue hand-held torches. Straight away one such T turned up at runners' On Out, sending them back towards the Strawberry Line (classic number 2) and encircling the walkers before another such T sent the throng alongside the Lox Yeo River. Brigadoon had seized upon the chance to nearly head the trail at this point, what with all those turnbacks, but then came quite a bit of huffing' and puffin' from him like a not-so-good 'un. Of course we had Houdini on call, but with plenty of flat and oxygen to hand we reckoned a shortcut later on would suffice – fair enough, though a steep hill out of a patch of green would need climbing first, and for those sticking to the main trail a warning sign of frogs in the road actually turned out accurate for once. Several unsuccessful attempts were made to persuade the former tadpole to hop it (hashers are much more dangerous than vehicles, after all), but eventually we decided to go and find our own green habitat, mostly comprising stone stiles and with local lambs that Mudlark would have easily blended in with, provided of course they wouldn't swallow her whole. At Sweet Stop we miraculously turned wine gums into rain water (it just will not relent for a whole evening at the mo – perhaps a big freeze would be welcome, after all), and then mistook the roars from the nearby playing fields as On Ons from Briggy. Those miraculously retaining a sense of direction eventually led us to On In via another dose of Strawberry Line, with another healthy touchdown of 8:50pm – particularly as there would have been few church bells for us to follow...
CIRCLE: More red letter antics to add to Brigadoon and Ballsport's early reappearance – after KC and Cinders had run like hares on a mountain, the censored version of Strap On's Down Down was "Her name is Strap On and she blow dries", while the visiting Software had made her branding of turnbacks as "hare-teasing" a little too verbal and astonishingly we found it has taken this long for Irish Spew to get a life like a good centurion. A welcome too to Inside Out's virgin friend Tegane (who had nonetheless impressed with shiggy hurdling throughout), the returning Inchworm and to Rocky Horror who presented bottles o' bubbly for the Litton Cheney cooks (half absent).
ON ON ON: Chunky chips came out after a circle turned board meeting, along with equally chunky bread for the ham, cheese and egg sarnies. A polite note to the scribe – do not rush out of here to play skittles in future, instead invite the team to hash from Winscombe and play at the flawless looking alley at the Woodborough.
Run 637, February 14th 2018.
The Miner's Rest, Long Ashton.
HARE: Rebore.
WHO: 13 hashers, 2 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: Plenty to talk about here without miner puns. With a scribe parking up at 7:35 and frantically finding un-kicked checkpoints here and there, outrage at this supposed lack of back-marking threatened to boil over until, while fretting under foliage, the On Ons actually came up from behind, turning this BRB into an FRB already quite sodden with precipitation perception. Long Ashton golf course inevitably beckoned, presenting a lot of shiggy when clear of the fairways (Double D slipping afoul of one such quagmire and...laughing hysterically about it. We have yet to find other ways out of this greenbelt than to regroup and dash over the B3128, adding a few crossroads and runner's loop to possibly somewhere into the bargain this time round, but then came another familiar obstacle from these parts. Behold the bespoke training of two-wheelers as they cleared the brown carpet specially for us en route to the sweet stop (in the middle of THEIR eponymous Ashton Court trail, no less). With tangy haribo and jelly beans quickly finished off by these big kids and mostly-grown-ups, On On took us squelching along by the woods to LongWood Lane, but whosoever would treat their geographical location as On In would quickly be reined in – for runners were called back and sent light-brigading back into the woods for presumably the ulterior motive of all arriving at the same time – well, it was certainly a Cinders-approved 8:55pm once we rolled prominently down Providence Lane to said symbol which all driving hashers ignore. GMDT suggested a re-run of the On Out which I had missed if I was feeling guilty, duly noted – even if the opportunity was taken to drive my changing room up to the pub, with the skittles watch ticking.
CIRCLE: Remembering suddenly the date, we sang the well ad-libbed “Roses are red, violets are blue, that was a good hash, set by you” to our evergreen hare, taking the opportunity to return his chequebook from Litton Cheney and likening Double D to the popular myth about Walter Raleigh.
ON ON ON: Not quite so much drying off was needed tonight, but the trick of the steam effect by a raging fire proved just as popular, and just as welcome a sight as the visiting Red Light was that of several trays of chips and sausages, complete with brown sauce for the royalty and red sauce for..er..the miners? A classic to be revived in the form of the Woodborough at Winscombe next week, already beginning to feel like an ASS warm-up.
Run 636, February 10th 2018.
Litton Cheney Youth Hostel.
HARE: Rocky Horror.
WHO: 18 houndless Bogs and 4 visiting Hardy Hashers - Rocky Horror, Cinderella, Cinders, Walky Talky, Eager, Down & Dirty, Zider, Double D, Houdini, Inside Out, Fondue, Brigadoon, Ballsport, Irish Spew, Rebore, Bend Over, Strap On, Croucher.
RUN REPORT: Fate decreed a 2016 dose of Litton Cheney weather combined with a 2017 edition lack of headline incidents for this year's Dorset Bogs shindig. After arriving at the cosy YHA at widely varied times (one literally due to a non-python-related vehicular defect), we injected ourselves with carbohydrate aplenty, some even taking on a third-come-forth helping of the spaghetti mountain and meat/veggieballs (we didn't keep calm and check them) and absorbing the warm fire and bodies of the neighbouring White Horse Inn. After an evening of singing and dancing from wannabe (and not far off) sopranos we awakened to more of a pitter patter outside than 2016's continuous downpour – thankfully at On Out everyone was helping Rocky Horror with his enquiries about the trail, rather than him helping the local bobbies. Clad in all weather clothing, we set off with the words of wisdom that last year’s trial was virtually copied and pasted, but this was not going to stop us from inserting our own twists and turns right from the rallying cry – runners agreed to check out at the start in a direction never likely to reach any pub stop, but once back mostly on track on Chalk Pit Lane (okay – Flour Blob Hill) it was to Rocky's utmost Horror that the walkers were out of sight. Enough, alas, for the hare to lollop downhill in search and decide that those with one pace had been underestimated. Makeshift Homing Beacon Eager Beaver assented to ascend along the walker's route and recounted last year's scattered flour at the summit – sure enough the quarry was sighted just ahead, timing their rendezvous with the runners perfectly – much ado about little. Much more certainly was ado now that we needed to cross and briefly stick with the A35 – the spray affect of roaring traffic not only erased the flour pointing downhill (the hare reined in those missing the downhill turnoff) but also made this a drenching rather than a moistening. Still, we were sheltered again once we had descended into Askerswell for our first pub stop – 'twas not to be a repeat of the basking in glorious sunshine from last year in the garden of the Spyway Inn, instead we repeated the steam dry trick from 2016 at the cider farm in front of the fire while downing a quick pint. It did at least fire us up for the long trek along tarmac (runners could not divert along yonder fields this time – shiggy happens) and take in a few dirt tracks before stopping for lunch at the uploaded Crown Inn at Uploders. With Down & Dirty now here to cheer us on we quickly demolished the soup, sarnies and sausage rolls while shutting the box (it's a great game if you ever could possibly get bored on a hash). A longer plod now beckoned for walkers whereas runners opted for a mad dash to try and take in another nearby pub (an uneducated guess would be the Loders Arms – any other nearby pub and they may as well have followed the walking fraternity). A long way along the old trail that was new road, the plodders were most outraged to be overtaken by Briggy and Ballsport courtesy of Down & Dirty's taxi service (that sputtering internal combustion engine couldn't lose its hash enthusiasm, after all) – that additional shelter turned out to be the final straw when it came to the weather's efforts to do something bas to our parade, relenting in time both for the runners to catch up at the brow of a hill and to down the cider at said Bredy Lane stop. Previous waterlogged Litton Cheneyers had been known to linger here to dry off or, worse, to retire from the trail, but the only repeat was use of the marble run and apple juice extra-concentrate in abundance. Zidered-aye-up and down Bredy Lane it was then to scream petrol a few more times – by now the flour assumed we knew our own way, though several had the novelty to check out (for consumer purposes, no less) Modbury Farm Shop to see just how free range this trail would turn out to be. No less wearied we found the going uphill towards Puncknowle a bit tough (Fondue and Croucher short-cutting back to base for culinary duties), though certainly not as flood impacted still as 2016 and with enough time for the scandal for several BRBs to chant “we know what you're doing” at Rebore – can't imagine why. The Crown Inn provided the chance for 6 or so hashers to catch up on that many nations playing rugby, though most were simply in it for the refreshment and the lack of peer pressure for getting back to huddle around the dinner table. The threat again of us trampling the regular On In route to a drainage basin convinced the flour to guide us On In along tarmac, with twists and turns and more than a few non-hash hounds encountered prior to touchdown – what do you know, it once again chose to bucket down on those that stayed on the trail late.
CIRCLE: Once all under cover and with the drying room full to capacity, we toasted Rocky Horror albeit not over a spit and also raised every quickly refilled glass to absent friends – first to the Hardies who had come and possibly gone after discovering how waterlogged they would get, and then as ever to the departed Koko who had set the near-new-year weekends in motion when Bogs was already world famous. Now, as for the excuse of acting as last night's cabarets to get extra down downs...
ON ON ON: Showered and well huddled and with Irish Spew taking up the guitar baton with aplomb, we tucked into a delicious (and naturally mountain-load) mixture of Tagine and Fondue – the latter the cook, the former the cauldron for the curry and fruit couscous – of course the hasher former known as G-Spot excels just as well with fruits when providing desserts, this time with crumble rather than meringue on top. Games night was not enough to prevent early night for Bendy and Briggy, though the ASS style breakfast that preceded the next run spliced with hardies certainly shook them out of their slumber the next python-free morn. On On to the next county match!
Run 635, February 7th 2018.
The White Hart, Weston-in-Gordano.
HARES: Houdini with a swift dash / daft swish of Eager Beaver.
WHO: 19 hashers and 3 hounds.
RUN REPORT: The Bogs were mostly atop a bog on this irrigated evening while taking in a lot of fresh surroundings marked with some flour from this afternoon and some from the weekend's recce – perhaps the clear as shiggy approach accounted for a couple of FRBs sticking to the B3124 rather than diving off road; checking out that restored checkpoint soon put them right and directed us through the first of the Gordano Valley's many greeneries – first it was orchards, then warning triangles preceding a slightly perilous hop over the B3124 with runner/walker split to follow. The reconvene (including those making up for lost On Ons) was perfectly timed with another B road crossing (hey, these boots were made for bogging!) leading on into the Gordano quagmires (much more like it!) - had there been any way but that which led straight ahead we certainly would have still been out there now. After all, FRBs (with a Bogs virgin mixed in) briefly missed On On over a concealed bridge (the semi-co-hare staying put to resemble a beacon as a precaution), and slightly harsh punishment consisted of a fish hook for 6 and a sweet stop which had made efforts at self concealment. Thankfully the tranquil din of trickling water helped to settle our nerves now that we were on tarmac for a short time – equally pacifying was the fact that only a turnback was encountered rather than petrol (even if On Ons meant an arrow had to be switched round to point back in a pub-like direction. By now those who had missed the sweet stop had also turned back in search of clarity, promptly encountering the bobbling lights and thankfully finding the fields free of sheep ready to herd humans. The distant glow had been with us all night but it was nice to add a Bogs touch of debating over the last checkpoint prior to taking on the home straight – touchdown at 10 to 9 was always likely to bring plaudits during this post-snowy season, so we did.
CIRCLE: Keeping to the cosy and rather classy indoors, we added further to Houdini's recent centurion plaudits as well as frowning imperceptibly at those who missed de-materialising blobs, but a welcome return simply had to be toasted to Flour Power who definitely still has both the power and this evening's flour (on her shoe).
ON ON ON: Apparently budgeted for a lower turnout than this, however there was still more than enough chips and cheese sarnies to go round, complimented with a large bowl of olives and the toothpicks that come with them. A good hors d'oeuvre for the coming weekend's Litton Cheney hashing club with an eating problem...
Run 633, 24th January 2018.
The Bristol House, Weston-super-Mare.
HARES: Brigadoon and Ballsport.
WHO: 17 hashers and 1 hound.
RUN REPORT: They all got the memo about Tartan garb, not that the hare was ever going to be outdone in potential for kilt mooning. After failing to recruit some non-hashers merely in high-vis for On Out, Ashcombe Park beckoned for runners on high, including Eager and Kevin who shared a newborn and a dying head torch between them - naturally the stalwart opted to trade equipment with the student in order to tread tarmac again opposite Milton Surgery with no need to use it. Quickly catching up with the hare, not even honest instruction that followed a couple of "left, rights" was enough to keep everyone on track - instead a search not quite in vain for the tennis ball flour blobs actually led to them colliding with Brigadoon again, himself in search of AWOL runners and also the subject of search by the ever loyal Ballsport. We found the co-hare not yet watch tapping but at least pacing to keep warm along with Houdini, Down & Dirty (lured by the concept of flatness) and Fondue with Mudlark not yet her traditional second-half shade of brown. Punishment was merely to walk up onto Weston Milton locomotive platform in order to find an arrow marching us down again - a walkers' loop it seemed as the runners chose now to reappear led by welcome returnee Missapp near to home turf. After Expressing past Tesco a polite request was granted to rein in the runners again from a false which they'd F'ed up. Somehow while back on track around Locking Castle pond we overlooked Down & Dirty being abandoned to the inherited, "dead" head torch and all of 10 seconds of searching was necessary to make sure no walking on water was necessary for all to reach the...ahem...refreshment stop. Jelly Babies and tangy worms - oh so orthodox. Shot and whiskey glasses - well, certainly orthodox for run 210 in the snow (when juniors were present, no less). With Dutch Courage levels peaking, the choice of bypass, steps or cargo nets out of the Maltlands Play Area seemed very well timed - most made as graceful a hop, trip and bump over the netting as could be, but the plaudits for one semi-newbie's tackling of the obstacles would have to wait for the indoor Beer Stop later. After Stopping, Looking and maybe Listening our way across the path of the First Great Western, the long and straight of it was to seek higher ground via the twists and turns surrounding Windsor Castle (the one with beer pumps, not the one near Legoland). While not all the feet were grateful for a downhill finish through part of Ashcombe Park and its namesake road, we quickly appreciated Brigadoon's punctuality at On Out which had led to an arrival at 10 past 9 rather than that of Summer peak hours.
CIRCLE: More plaudits for Brigadoon in a year where they will not at least be getting their haring ASSes in gear, along with shedding some light on Down & Dirty's walk through dark places before the sweet stop, plus the heroic exploits of second trail timer Kevin through the cargo net tunnel - henceforth "Ropey" shall be seen making hopefully regular appearances alongside Eager Beaver.
ON ON ON: Cock a Leek at that, would you! Along with the traditional buttered cobs to dip in there was (I am reliably told) roasted parsnip which resembled more of a savoury brandy snap, all not even expected as the Burns Night Supper appetiser. Out then came the Neaps and Tatties and Haggis, with the sheep soon put paid to by us wolves in tartan clothing. From farms to Butchers Arms next week it is, then, keeping the hash grub in the family...
Run 632, 17th January 2018.
White Lion, Nailsea.
HARES: Double D and Zider.
WHO: 22 hashers and 4 hounds.
RUN REPORT: Another one of those Shrek hashes came to bear on an evening far from clear. Arriving on time for a change (by recent scribe standards), I found time to don a waterproof cape at On Out and follow the throng towards the Moorend Spout - not that that spout caused all the aquaplaning we were going through. A few back streets took us out onto the shaggy beneath the buzzing pilons and with cattle opting to keep their distance for a change - they had of course already spared no effort in trampling away most of the flour, after all. Out of the darkness there loomed a hole in the wall which we may have yelled "Bring On!" a few years ago and when junior hashers' supply outstripped their demand, but not tonight. Instead we regrouped at another familiar corner and charged towards Nailsea Rugby Club, suspicious of the lack of a T24 after all these ASSing years, and perceptive of there not being a 300 symbol on the fields where no scrums take place. A more traditional SS symbol (albeit in a poor state of rain and repair) came calling with Liquorice Allsorts (poor Cinders), Haribo Sports Mix and Drumsticks of the non-chicken hybrid. Clearly we had had too much of tarmac to call an early On In, branching off before local rival the Ring O' Bells to try our hand at tripping over all the bracken - how common! We all kept calm and carried on not falling flat on our wet faces (mostly) in pursuit of On In, but not even years of Bog experience made us choose the right way initially once the fish bar appeared - clearly one for a future beer stop in the dry?
CIRCLE: Not intent on down downing with rain water, we stormed half the pub after stomping all the mud off outdoors, toasting the hares with a rousing chorus of "Mud, Mud, Glorious Mud!" and bringing a few crimes to light that did not take a rain check - first there was Rocky Horror getting lost in his pursuit of Litton Cheney python insurance premiums, Rebore miraculously being the only one whose fall goeth before pride and Bag Lady's walking stick getting a little too stuck in the mud.
ON ON ON: The White Lion had definitely had a successful hunt - of all the party foods for a non-party we had lots of pork pies, sausage rolls, non-sausage rolls and hummus to dip the beta-carotene into, even if the rain still failed to stop in conjunction with the hunger we had worked up. Forget ye not to don the Tartan at the Bristol House next week for Burns Night Hash, wee bairns...
Run 631, January 10th 2018.
The Rising Sun, Backwell.
WHO: 24 hashers, 3 hounds and 1 visitor.
RUN REPORT: 2018, your number's up! The prospect of a Rewind-esque level of predictability was undoubtedly what drew in the crowds from near and afar, even if I made a bit of a hash up of both arriving in time for On Out briefing and believing the direction of the arrow pointing up Church Lane. It was after all a further 300 yards, give or take flour, until another arrow appeared in convoy with the distant On Ons echoing across the deeply shiggy fields beneath the civic amenity site, aka dump. Once out on Hillside (Woodbine was a lead's width from leading the pack at this point) the homing pigeon within tempted us into thinking of a very early On In via Kellways and its quagmires – but then who was the hare bayed by a pack of hounds? Instead a suitably gruelling ascent towards Backwell's peak performance (admittedly frequented in Summer, albeit when going downhill) was on the cards. Firstly seven eighths of the pack were bamboozled into calling the long On On to nowhere while not even half way up the hill (Brigadoon had already been driven enough to swear an oath on Rewind's blood, what with all that uphill), and then came the trip wire at the top that contained its own malevolence, snaring at least six of the non-sure-footed. Well, with such great responsibility was bound to come such great reward, even if the runners had to briefly search for a turnback in amongst the bovine DNA – what some christened the South West's biggest red light district in the distance was in fact Bristol Airport with the tarmac bumper to bumper, deciding not to roll the landing strip out for our arrival tonight. Instead we quickly devoured some innocent jelly babies and Liquorice Allsorts and began our wane towards the sunk Rising Sun via Long Lane (Google Earth admirably managed to get their van all the way down to the base of this in August 2011), followed by another splice of Rewind spicing things up. A helping hand plus arrow was needed to skip into the woods and back almost from whence we came (dropping crumbs rather than flour on the way in would have seemed a good brainchild), but at least a runway had actually been flattened out for us (even with DT-proof speed bumps) leading all the way down, down and a bit further down to Chelvey Batch. This essentially served to thin the pack out a lot (any fish hook would have taken one helluva commitment to not be rebelled against by this stage). Once out on more tarmac a semi-hidden arrow did at least serve to rein in one FRB, sending us through more shiggy and promoting me to BRB warden (and even a chance for some very early ASS proposals). Kellways and its twig flume did indeed beckon after a couple of fields empty of livestock – there appeared to only be footprints rather than bumprints so it seemed pride had gone before no fall tonight, and also no outdoor beer stop as seems this winter's wont. On in to the Rising Sun without its namesake.
CIRCLE: Only one place to start: the hare of all unpredictable hares. Only one apt follow up: centurion Houdini, who now has to find even more ways of getting a life (the toga looking every bit as dashing even if space is running out), and the trip hazard hashers got their own down downs too. Time to commandeer another alcove...
ON ON ON: Down and Dirty lent a helping oesophagus to the DIY chip butties in abundance, in time for another roaring trail from the White Lion next hash moon and a Haggis hash the wane after. Way to warm up for Litton Cheney...

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