Oxford Hash House Harriers

“Oh no. I forgot my horn.” beamed FBJ, but he was still smiling and looking forward to tonight’s trail even if his right hand would now be empty (at least for the early part of this evening). With Lockjaw and Ladybird at the ‘elm he, like the rest of us, was anticipating a trail from this poplar duo of such guile and cunning the like of which hadn’t been seen since last week. And through some woods too! Yer Scribe loves trees.
So close to the M40 and with the hares’ warning to take care crossing the busy road, we were a little worried, but of course it was just their little joke. On out and down and down and then a bit further down. And then a little bit further down. It was “Mind ankles!” all the way. We weren’t looking forward to the second half of the trail if it was going to be up, up and forever up. We did actually end up alongside the M40 before turning back, taking paths around the sides of hills where it would have been useful to have Ladybird’s advantage of having one leg shorter than the other to make it easier running across the slopes.
Speaking of shorter legs, Road Enema was suffering a bit with his torn calf muscle, but he was managing to keep up. Had he drunk a beer or two beforehand to dull the pain? No, only paracetomol. “I find an analgesic a more effective pain killer than alcohol.” he said, contradicting decades of accumulated ‘ash wisdom.
On on and one shortcut hop over a fence saw one unlucky hasher wading through some neck-high gorse: chest, nuts and legs getting scratched by the large thorns. Lockjaw shouted across to watch out for the sunbathing adders. Were there any adders? We ‘ad a look, but didn’t see any.
And how many false trails did Victoria find? Tree? Five? Ten? All credit to the hares that their trail kept the pack together so well that Victoria could actually *be* checking anyway, you would think think that he’d be happy at that, but no. After each false, he gave out a sigh, pressed on back to the check and grumbled at anyone who was half-bothered to listen. He was satisfied with his podium position at the finish though: it would mean a free beer at the circle later!
After the regroup, Fagend was all done in. “Is there much further to go?” she asked. ”I hope not.” replied Wha De Say. Listening to these two Scots pine for the on inn, Ladybird assured them that we were nearly there. And we were. What a trail! And it’s lovely to run through the woods. So many trees. Did I mention the trees?

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April 1, 2011

#629 Carpenters Arms, Appleford — Another Great Dipstick Design.

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — fbj @ 1:53 pm

Welcome to another edition of Grand Designs. This week Dipstick is planning to build a trail with a budget of 3 bags of flour, blueprints consisting of a black and white photocopy of a map stapled to an out-of-date train timetable and a timescale of 90 minutes. We join our erstwhile architect already behind schedule having left work an hour later than he’d planned and having to stop to buy his flour en route. In fact he’s so far behind schedule that the pack are beginning to think that Dipstick’s building his trail miles away in AppleTON, not Appleford!
There is no other option but for the pack to build a trail of their own. With bags of flour magically produced from various car boots, CS Gas volunteered to be the first in a relay of hares. On out and down to the junction that has the only footpath sign in the whole of Appleford. But how did Dipstick get the planning permission to lay a trail in a village with only one footpath? Well, here was the perfect opportunity to find out because he was running towards us! But of course he wasn’t going to tell us – that would have given the game away. And what game it was! Over the fields to Long Wittenham and then a sharp right into the middle of nowhere. The pack was getting a bit strung out by now and the back-markers were imploring Dipstick to let them know how long it was back to the pub and where was the shortcut. “It’s about 2 miles to go and we’ll be back at the pub by 9″. 9 o’clock?!!! Another hour to do 2 miles? Eventually he let on what we’d already guessed – it was an A-to-B, but where was the pick-up point? Over some more fields and we couldn’t help noticing that we were approaching housing estates.
Running into the outskirts of Didcot everyone eventually joined up together again when the front-runners took a wrong turn and on their way back to the check saw Wha De Say sprinting (yes, sprinting!) past. The flying scotsman had sensed the on inn and could practically smell the beer in Dipstick’s boot. The beer in the car boot, that is: not the beer that he’d spilt on his feet earlier.
After a brief stop, it was on on to the station where we paid out 75 quid for tickets to take us just one stop up the line. Of course we paid! It would have been illegal not to.
On the platform, while waiting for the train, old chuffer Shitstix reminisced about his not-so-misspent youth and the hours spent steam train spotting. “I’d still enjoy train spotting today, I think. It’s a bit like an illness that you never get over. I suppose you might say that the mallardy lingers on.”

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October 17, 2010

Run 604, The Priory, Oxford, 13/10/10. Hare: Lockjaw.

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Big Stiffy, Blackbird Leys, Lockjaw, Priory, Road Enema, Salty Nuts, Shagger, Shit Stix, Spitfire, TomTom, Victoria, Warm and Fluffy, Webfart — Silent @ 3:15 pm

Hash from the Priory? – are you sure?

Interesting pub with the low leather sofas draped with sleeping dogs and babies with laptops, not to mention the numerous dustbins filled with who-knows-what and covers with ghostly sheets. And this was before the hashers arrived.
I found this pub by nearly rear-ending Silent who pulled in before me as I was tearing off towards the football stadium, expecting to find it on the far side (as indicated by the street map reference). Suddenly, Allah-Kazzam I was there. Magic!
We were greeted, on the way into the car park by a message in flour (how original!?) It read 4=on ENJOY, so either Lockjaw was encouraging foursomes or he had left us to it and scarpered (someone mentioned he had to attend some fancy do but I think he just saw the pub clientele and made excuses).
Still, the hospitality soon improved with Littlemoors very-own version of Tapas – help yourself apple tart on the bar (no I didn’t say help yourself to the happy tart by the bar Big Stiffy, you should know better!!) Anyway, eventually our new esteemed Grand Master – no actually – Shagger, called us on-out of the pub and presided over the circle inside an enormous marquee. Run 604 was off.
The trail, considering it was a dead hare – non-attending hare – was very good, though his absence seemed to make one or two very shy of checking out. The pack was so lethargic even Tom Tom had to start checking but she may have been put off by Lockjaws cunning false-trails and the ambiance of the local environment – say no more. There were interesting back check, half-moon shaped checks (which I couldn’t
t find defined anywhere on the hash rules section?) obvious checks – that hid behind the obvious – naturally challenging the average hasher’s brain, long check with apparently no flour and then he led us into the very lair of Blackbird Leys with nothing to go on and several gangs of youths sharing their colourful language with us. Yes it was the classic, give them an obvious trail on one side of the street and they’ll never spot the flour on the other side going back the way they came, ploy. Anyway we escaped with our lives and got to another half-moon check, which I’ve just decided means the flour only comes out under a full moon, so no wonder we couldn’t find the trail. Eventually we gave up and ran straight for the football stadium rising gracefully behind the trees – with all the elegance of an oil refinery – and then found the on-in trail.

Road Enema served up a veggie hot-pot and we enjoyed the bottled Spitfire. Next we were treated to a rousing speech by our new Religious Adviser; none other than Shit Stix (isn’t he the Hasherdabberer?). Un-accustomed as he is to public speaking – well I thought he wasn’t – he spouted forth with such rhetoric and eloquence that he must have had a mis-spent youth running for parliament or chief Buddha or something. Web Fart and warm & Fluffy we held-to-book for swinging – apparently – myself (Salty Nuts) for getting fruity at the bar, and Tom Tom for navigational misdemeanours! It was a fun and satisfyingly short circle – take note Victoria – and then on in to the bar.

PS. If you are wondering about the apparently unrelated pictures, they are completely unrelated to this hash. You may notice somewhat younger looking hashers – two of these photos are from 2005 ‘ish when the average number of hashers at each run was nearly sixty! Let’s make this the year of expansion – invite a friend along – and we can grow up from last year’s average of 24! All ideas for recruitment gratefully received. On On!

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September 21, 2010

#600 Stocks Bar, Abingdon

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Badger, bloody foreigners, C5, Copa Cum Bloody, curry, Finger Flasher, Free His Willy, Gadget, TT2, Twanky, Victoria, Web F@rt, WhaDeSay, Yes Please, Zebedee — Dr Slow Ride @ 6:06 am

Well, it seemed like a party at the time...

There was something festive about the hash last Wednesday, an air of anticipation and excitement that was hard to put one’s finger on. This made me cautious and alert to the dangers inherent in giving these misanthropes to much stimulation; to calm my nerves I decided to have a beer, just a pint…to start (as it is a special occasion). The smoke alarm on the ceiling beeped periodically and appeared to need a battery; but on closer inspection Web F@rt was sitting beneath it (‘curry detector,’ he said whilst pointing in the general direction of the instrument).

The crowd was unusually heavily populated with visitors, as well, which made up for notably sad absences. Florence (Firenze?), Zebedee, TT2, C5 and Twanky had ventured north from the bombed out Berkshire badlands and Yes Please, a backsliding OH3′er who has been away doing surveillance of the Vichy government was in to report her findings. There were even two yanks in attendance, showing up late as usual (this time only 70 years after the start of the Blitz…as part of the lend-lease program I feel justified in that observation); oversexed, overpaid, and over here for the trail were Free His Willy from Tidewater HHH and Copa Cum Bloody of New York HHH.

The special-ness of the hash even extended to the trail which required two, yes two, hares to ruin it. These were Finger Flasher and Victoria who sent us into the deteriorating weather and dimming light with only the vaguest hopes that we would ever find our way to the circle. And yet, after awhile, everyone found their way to FF’s house to admire the rustic nature of DIY architecture and landscaping and to serenade his suspicious neighbours.

Circle was a multi-denominational affair with religious advisors of the various sects (uh-huh-huh…I said ‘sex’) allowed to come up and present down downs. Arriving late from Galipoli, Gadget took his turn at the dais; this was not part of the ceremonial presentation of the sacrament so much as acceptance of the fact that he was going to bang on about something or other anyway so why not put him on the podium where he could be heckled. As usual, Whadesay? was the most eloquent and it was during his turn on the pulpit that I realised the somber occasion was indeed a commemoration of the 600th Run.

Somber indeed as one of our highly decorated veterans, Badger, succumbed to advanced age and the excitement of the evening.

As befits a hero of the realm, he was interred in a place of honour nearby:

The assembled were awarded decorations to remember the celebration and with that the meeting of the allied forces adjourned to enjoy a dinner of the national cuisine.

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August 9, 2010

Run 594, The Fox and Hounds, High Street, Uffington

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Cheating, Dipstick, Uffington, White Horse — Silent @ 10:57 pm

A packed coach of 28 hashers arrived from Botley P&R to the far flung outpost that is Uffington.
The 28 hashers were briefed by Dipstick and then their 56 legs proceeded to pound the pavements of Uffington in increasing-circles whilst pondering the white horse on the hill side and the likelihood that we’d be climbing up there by the end of the evening. Twenty-eight voices cried, almost in unison, “why are running all around Uffington instead of climbing yon ruddy great big hill up to the white horse?” but there was no reply since Dipstick was too busy trying to find out where his own trail went.
The 28 hashers duly followed Dipstick south-westwards towards the lights of Swindon with still no sign of the trail going anywhere near the white horse, eventually catching up with him where he’d gotten lost again.
At last! The 28 hashers began the ascent of White Horse Hill. Cheating cheated, Dipstick lost the beer stop, 3 hashers ran up to the beer stop at the trig point whilst the 24 remaining hashers ambushed the beer half the way up.

HASHER’S PROBLEMS

Some hashers seem to think that this is an advice column. Feel free to provide any answers to these reader’s problems:

We’re having issues with the pet cat in our shared house. We feed her plenty of cream which she obviously enjoys, especially with a little Irish whisky, but though she eagerly laps it all up she’s often a little sick afterwards, coughing up fur balls and something that looks almost, but not quite like coffee. Do you think that she could be allergic to the cream and should we just feed her the whiskey?

Mummy’s Boy, Botley

Hopeless, Marston.

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July 29, 2010

#593 Oxford, Iffley, and beyond

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Amnesia, dr slow ride, Mouthful, no proper beer, Oxford Hash House Harriers, Warm and Fluffy, Web F@rt, WhaDeSay, Wrist Action — Dr Slow Ride @ 6:26 pm

This is the sort of stuff I SHOULD be writing…Many thanks to Amnesia for stepping up and wresting the reins of scribe power from me. The only thing I have to add is that as I approached Amnesia, Wrist Action and Mouthful, Wristie was explaining to Amnesia how she had just grabbed the first thing “long and large” that she could find (I guess Mouthful must come by his name honestly).

So without further introduction here’s the Amnesia version of events:

I am always wary of attending the Oxford hash; not that they are not a fine bunch but they seem to be a little quicker than I can manage these days and do tend to like a bit of road running, but as they were holding a Gispert Birthday Hash, I felt it was probably my duty to go. In any case hashers such as Wha De Say and Shagger attend regularly so I assumed they did have some provisions for slow old farts.

Having paid the £3 to park then have to walk the distance of a normal Bicester trail to get to the pub, all did not auger well, but when the landlord told me he had lager, Guinness or cider only, but the real ale would be on later; (is that later this evening or this year I wondered), I realised it may be a night to remember. The hash, sitting in the lager and cider garden, greeted me with their usual cynicism, but I sensed a touch of extra jollity in the their mood. It was only later when I realised Gadget had not arrived that I understood the reason!!

The hares, Webfart and Warm and Fluffy (Warm and Fluffy being one person not two)called the pack together for the Oxford customary briefing, normally long enough, in normal circumstances, for anyone to get another pint in, and we learnt in detail how difficult the trail was likely to be. Not that it needed an explanation as the husband and wife team immediately had a domestic as Webfart, sensing the repercussions, relinquished all responsibility, and allowed his beloved to take the blame. Now that, one may think, would be the normal action of any reasonably experienced male hasher, which Webfart is, but the fact that there was no caveat, allowing him to claim credit should the pack hail the trail as one of the greatest, was a bit of a worry. More concern arose when W&F decided to stand there silent, watching her GPS on her wrist until she acquired the right satellites before she could call the on.

Well off we went with rumours of 10 clicks in our ears. (10 clicks to me is calling our cat 3 and a third times but I went along with it!) . Actually I went along with it for not very long as when we got to the check (in fact the first check), there was a choice between hashing on the green and tree lined South Parks or the wheelie bin lines back streets of Cowley Road. Those immortal words from the Oxford H3 web site sprung to mind! “We hash in the towns and smog during the winter months, and out in the glorious Oxfordshire countryside during the summer.” Off into the park I went along with Dr Slow Ride. How wrong we were! The last I saw of any hasher after that was DSR disappearing over the park horizon at a great rate of knots, but as discovered soon after, in completely the wrong direction. My lifesaving kit of £5 in my back pocket bought me a proper pint in the Port Mahan before I walked the 200m to the beer stop (about 47 clicks I think) and awaited and awaited the return of the hardy. Upon their eventual return, hot sweaty, exhausted and complaining, we were served an excellent chilly before the down downs were started and quickly and rudely interrupted by natives with big sticks, ranting on about kids being asleep upstairs. Skid Marks would have been proud of them! Abandoning the down downs we decamped to the Angel and Lettuce or whatever the Oranges and Lemons is called now. I can never understand changing a perfectly good name of a pub to a crap one. ‘Angels and Lettuce say the bells of St Clements’ Click, click,click!!!

OnOn

Amnesia

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July 5, 2010

#589 Wytham (White Hart)

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: butchers, cricket, Dipstick, Gee Gee String, Oxford H3 Runs, Oxford Hash House Harriers, Road Enema, Sergeant Bilko, Victoria, Wytham — Dr Slow Ride @ 10:56 pm

Short editorial note: Writing the Hash Trash isn’t difficult, usually, and I would recommend it as an outlet, a form of therapy as it were. But, Dippy and Gee Gee are sucking the life out of the job. They are the living, breathing incarnation of a Carry On film, one speaking nothing but intentional innuendo and out the other all you get are perfectly innocently delivered double entendres. I am beginning to believe they were fraternal twins separated at birth…Blithering and Blathering would have been good names.

Don’t get me wrong, if you were just going to report they funny shit that was spoken at the hash then all you need do is follow these two around with a digital voice recorder and transcribe the results. But, if you write this crap for the shear love of talking bollocks then you find yourself outclassed rather quickly. It is disheartening.

Officer GG was in especially good form at the White Hart in Wytham, serving up a hot steaming platter of “this lingerie salesman I know,” and “he needs to be ridden hard at least six days a week,” and “oooo! I’m picking up my new uniform this week with extra room for my stuff down here.” It’s simply more than my job is worth to try to compete with all that. I give up. The whole thing could have been finished before the first prelube pint. [End of editorial rant, bitching and moaning.]

Here is a dry report on some of the other details of the trail.

Co-hares Sargent Bilko & Victoria took us on a journey through the Wytham Wood Wilderness but the trail was almost undone at the first check. Most of the pack ran due north along the road, one or two back-checked and I looked off into a field. “Are you?” Road Enema inquired as I propped against the fence but I told him it just appeared to be a bunch of butchers tenderising a palm sized rolled roast. “That’s a bleeding cricket match, y’daft American! Fockinell!” he muttered as he dashed past me crying out, “Onon!”

Clearing the cricket pitch, we were treated immediately to a sprint straight up a 70% grade for at least 6 miles. Passing some concerned looking sherpas close to the tree line, several of us stopped by the Shaggermobile to catch our breath while the partial pressure of oxygen was still high enough to sustain our existence. Further sustenance was found in some wee brown bottles which we found in the vehicle before continuing our ascent.

Suddenly–blessedly–we trudged downhill through thick nettles and blackberry thorns and then just as suddenly back up the hill and repeat and repeat. Actually, the true trail was fairly clearly marked, but I am a strict adherent of the code “if you ain’t bleeding, you ain’t hashing,” or at least you ain’t shortcutting properly.

Too tired to properly bother sheep on the way back to the beer stop (quite a bit further away from the pub than has been allowed on some trails I could mention) we also skipped opportunities to make our juvenile jokes about the hot dogs and the stuffed potatos and any number of other naughty food-related quips we might readily churn out. Perhaps we all matured a bit due to the ordeals of this trail. As for myself, I came to realise that simply reporting the facts without embellishment is the one true way forward; to that end, I leave you with this photo of Gee Gee in her new uniform:

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June 10, 2010

#586 Little Milton (Lamb Inn)

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Dipstick, FBJ, Gee Gee String, Hotshot, Pony Express, Salty Nuts, short folks and river crossings, short-to-nonexistent circles, Tinkerbell, WhaDeSay — Dr Slow Ride @ 11:15 am

For want of a hare the trail was lost:

Okay, that’s sorted. We had 2 hares (Hot Shot and Pony Express) due in large part to the Herculean efforts of our esteemed hare raiser, spotted here doing, uh…erm…hmmm, well, something that he does from time-to-time:

For want of a trail the On-Inn was lost:

The overpopulation of hares resulted in a vigorous and stimulating trot through farmland, some gardens of stately homes, and across raging torrents. And, as if the streams caused by my urinary tract infection weren’t enough, we crossed rivers a couple of times, too:

Dippy, FBJ, GeeGee, Whadesay, Tinkerbell, and Salty braving the river crossing

For want of an On-Inn, the Circle was lost:

Wrist Action provided the treats as she scooped up our spiced and lubricated noodles with gusto and didn’t even bother to clean off the accumulated cheese. The On-Inn took place in a sheltered area of Little Milton and was a right socialable event, although no one felt comfortable discussing the ugliness spotted at the parish church a few meters away:

Cremation or barbeque? I hear it tastes a bit like pork.

For want of a Circle, the Hash was lost:

It has been a busy couple of weeks for the Oxford hashers and apparently they lost track of the inventory, using up all the Circle at the Canoe trip, on the Otmoor r”n, and in Milton Keynes. Fresh stocks have been back-ordered by the suppliers, but as soon as we have a tracking number for delivery we shall update you on the progress.

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June 3, 2010

Canoeing down the Wye.

Filed under: Hash Trash,Oxford Hash House Harriers — Tags: Canoes, Viking, Wye — fbj @ 11:57 am

10 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

10 green hash canoes floating on the Wye…

With the Gases running late, we all compared our Viking-themed clothing – mostly just hats, axes, shields and swords, but we looked pretty fearsome I can tell you.

I'm a Viking

I'm an 'orse, man

Finger Flasher was Faffmeister General as he arranged the cars to be filled with tents and camping gear ready for taking to the campsite. It seems that everybody except himself and Barbie Doll had ignored his request to travel light. Pillows, camp chairs, deck chairs, tables and a birthday cake were among the things that might have been left back home, but weren’t.

We got out onto the water a little later than anticipated, but there were soon plenty of rapids to waken us up. Did I say “rapids”? The rapids could more accurately be described as torpids, I think. We were in far more danger of grounding on the riverbed than capsizing! In fact, the riverbank was far more perilous – as the Gases found out. Having been briefed at the start that if the boat starts to tip one way, you should lean the other to try to avoid capsizing, the Gases didn’t seem to move at all and the inert Gases toppled into the water. To be fair, Mrs Gas did consider leaning in towards the bank as instructed but didn’t fancy a tree trunk smacking her in the face for her troubles, so the water was the only way to go. Mind you, as it was raining anyway, they didn’t get much wetter than they already were.

10 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But then Wee Joker had to go and wreck her neck.

There’ll be 9 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

Hardcore emerged from her tent with a horned head and furry shoulders . Not, as it turned out, how she looks before she showers, shaves and puts on her make-up, but her Viking costume for the day.

Partly because it was Full Term’s birthday, but mostly because the sun was finally out, we broke open the cava at the first bend. And that was followed by yet another treacherous piece of riverbank where a drunken tree leapt out in front of the sober FBJ and La Crease and overturned them. A minor drama turned into a crisis when we couldn’t find their beer nor La Crease’s helmet that also fell out, but at least today the sun could dry us out.

On on to a narrow gap under a tree that Shagger and Mummy’s Boy decided to take sideways, causing everyone else to pile up and crash into them. Whisper hopped across the boats and cadged a lift in the canoe of Wrist Action and Mouthful, but after a later stretch of rapids/torpid/shallows, they came a bit too close to the bank and Whisper leapt out and ran off to find a stick. Wrist Action exercised all of her authority, running up and down the beach while Whisper ignored her. Eventually she (Whisper, that is) managed to follow the sound of Pyro’s whistling and get back aboard and we were back on our way.

On on to the campsite, but not the campsite that we passed that had the showers and toilets, oh no. Our campsite was a 100 metres further on with a standpipe and 2 portaloos. However, the lack of facilities was made up for by the fact that we could make up a camp fire! “Woohoo!” cheered the harriettes!

After Full Term’s birthday cake and champagne, we set off for our evening meal. The pub was quite a bit further away than anyone had realised and it was a cosy little place, full of candles to create that cosy atmosphere. Or was that because they had a powercut? Despite the lack of electricity, they were still serving food. The chef was cooking on gas as we were served with roast chickens (for meat eaters) and chilli (for the veggies) and huuuuge amounts of vegetables. A marvellous, never-ending feast, it was.

Back to the campsite and a load of drunks building the camp fire! Hotshot’s military survival training came to the fore as he got the fire going. Blowing on the lit kindling is a good way of starting things, but cider-fuelled Finger Flasher’s breath was enough to set the fire roaring! It’s a good job that the wind didn’t blow the flames towards him – he’d have gone up like a Molotov Cocktail.

9 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But then Big Stiffy had to go and knack his back.

There’ll be 8 green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

Why were the tent-carrying cars taking so long this morning? We filled in time with a game of I Spy. “I spy with my little eye, something beginning with W.” “Wye?” “No, W.”

There were far less landing places today and the first opportunity to have a wee break was opposite a stately home and the riverside path there provided a perfect viewing gallery for the visitors to watch Shitstix having a pee up against the wall. And we saw loads of wildlife today: swans and cygnets, geese and goslings, ducks and ducklings, herons, jumping fish, crows chasing off a buzzard, and not forgetting the water ‘otter at breakfast.

And then it was suddenly over. About an hour earlier than expected, we came into Hereford and our finish point. It was good timing in that it was just about the right time to finish, but a pity that we had to end at all.

8 green hash canoes started on the Wye,

But all too soon, we reached the landing beach.

There’ll be no green hash canoes floating on the Wye.

[Pause to wipe a tear from my eye. ]

No green hash canoes starting on the Wye,

But have no fear, we’ll be back another year

And there’ll be 10 more hash canoes floating down the Wye.

Tintin

Shagger

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