Author Archives: PF

WLH3 RUN 24th March 2016 @ The Albany, Twickenham

HARES: Nut Sucker and Minge-&-Tonic wearing stupid bobble hats..
SCRIBE: Psychodelic
Miscellaneous Run Info:

The RA had given us really wet weather- sack him. I caught all at the first check… and again two Checks later I was still in touch, enough to observe the intrepid explorer Wacker crossing the busy road and stopping to pant away once off the bridge. He got it wrong.. Call Girl has never got it wrong in her life and her stationary motion exercises may be the reason- a new way of checking it out but what about the Trail.

After a rescue by the Hares, the Run was steaming along at a fast pace out of my sight. I have it on good authority that Contours lead the front runners astray on a plastic bottle trail instead of flour. He wasted drinking time with the delayed return of the Pack so he never made the Circle later.

The SCB route led to the Drink Stop with the help of Nut Sucker, passing three real ale pubs in town on the way. We were then presented with wine from a bag! Sacrilege. A miserable beer-less drink stop in the rain, so Dingo wanted revenge in the Circle with wine down-downs for the Hares.
There were quite a lot of lost souls tonight with Pope, Roadkill and Knickers all coming up with excuses for early returns. Even one hare (Minge & Tonic) got lost off her own Trail after the SCB split – she forgot its true direction at one Check on the fast runners loop towards the end, but she made it to the Pub. I absolved her sins there and then on the spot so no punishment!
Highlights of the Circle:
a) The Hares Nut Sucker and Minge-&-Tonic had kept ISIS at bay so were given beer Down-Downs instead of wine and many deemed this as unjust after the drink choice at the Run Drink Stop.
b) Visitors called into the middle were MickMac (he survived the latest Brussels terrorism) and Snitch Bitch (from St Louis, USA), still surviving here in London after two weeks.
c) USA Returners from 5 years ago Dum Buff and wife Con Tripper had drinks waiting but Periodical and Prince had got them lost somewhere, in another Pub. Look for the Returners elsewhere in the next three weeks.
d) The Virgin Kevin was chatted up by the Hares in the Pub before the Run, so after doing the wet run he earned his drink.
e) Prince showed off a fitting T-shirt before the Run (the first time for many months/ years) but failed to turn up for suitable punishment from the RA. Periodical had led him astray.
f) As New Zealand has decided to stick with the Union Jack on its flag, Man Magnet and Dingo (the two Aussie Sisters) were called on to celebrate this wonderful fact.
g) Wacker proceeded to present today’s RA Lick-a-Pile with a 100 Run mug and congratulated him on being sacked after 26 years in his Halliburton job! Did the Hash contribute to his demise? He has an RA job now but his income is not as great.
h) KC was punished for seducing Nut Sucker back to his house for beer, or so he claimed! They had enough energy to get to the Pub late. Healthy beer.
i) Foreskin’s clothes were immaculate because he is now retired and spends all his time doing washing as nothing else to do during the day! Get another life!
j) There were too many pairs of tight python trousers on display and even in over 70’s- so Pickled Fart, Pope and Rambo had to suffer some more expansion.

The Hope – Richmond 10 March 2016

West London Run MDXC
10 March MMXVI
The Hope – Richmond
Hare: Crap Nav
Scribe: More On

“When life is getting you down,
And you need a little hope.
Look deep down inside yourself,
And you’ll find the way to cope”

Crap Nav’s solution was to set a run, from the little Hope no less – a pub we haven’t visited in a long time. In fact, when we were gathering at the pub, most of those present were still reminiscing about the old days and the 30th anniversary the previous week.

Crap Nav, who lives in the vicinity and should know better, failed to check the Environmental Agency website, which had predicted severe flooding in Richmond. This was immediately apparent as we approached the River Thames near Twickenham Bridge, where there was a large lake and no visible towpath, but with Kaffir as a front runner, and with KC just managing to keep his head above water, the pack managed to follow bits of the river towards Richmond, at which point we crossed the bridge and followed some more bits of the river, towards Ham. Or some people did.

Once we crossed Richmond Bridge, there was a certain amount of peeling, as older members decided the beer on offer in the pub was more attractive than a trip to the Star and Garter, now that it’s no longer an old folks’ home.

Meanwhile, Wacker had picked up a large plank of plasterboard, and looked like Eric Sykes in the silent movie from the 1970s as he swayed about crashing into everything.

Back at the pub Lick a Pile eventually succeeded on organising a circle, but not before Mad Cow was heard complaining about the absence of water in the gents (when did he last wash his hands anyway?).

Rent Boy, who should have been the hare, but pulled out claiming that gout had stopped him from setting a run, was presented with an appropriate card, and Wacker was given advice on how to repair his ceiling. Martian Matron was rewarded for being a Rollback lookalike (Lick a Pile has a vivid imagination!) and Pope and Pickled Fart were penalised for failing to walk on water, Contour was accused of stripping in the street, and Crab Picker was heard calling for the RNLI on his mobile phone during the run.

And that was that. So thanks to Crap Nav for setting a run at short notice.

Run No 1548 -Battersea Park

Pub: Duchess
Hare: On All Fours
Write up by Skylark

Well it seems that West London Hash has been feeling a little left behind what with London H3’s slick quarterly magazine, enviable hare-line, and professional website, and so they should. So to try to rectify this they decided to recruit one of London H3’s top scribes to acclaim their glorious trail from The Duchess at Battersea. This decision they may regret.
For choosing a pub that was within sight of the dog’s home, it was quipped that the hare, All Fours, should be renamed to All Paws. Instead she was made to give her chalk talk on hands and knees. This we felt was unfair treatment for someone who had stepped in at the last minute to fill yet another gap in West London’s increasingly sparse looking hare-line.
With an encouraging spurt of imagination, All Fours took the trail straight through the Savona estate. Sadly in this 8km trail in which Pope counted only seven checks, the well of creativity quickly dried. The highlight for most was the part where the hare got lost on her own trail and ended up blindly following the blundering pack, marking trail behind them as she went. She did though finally get us to Battersea Park and we briefly got to see the pagoda, the river, and the Rosary gate. It was essentially a quick in-out, but maybe that’s what she’s used to.
In all fairness it was a well-timed run, with most of the pack getting back to the pub in about an hour. The Duchess, with its range of fine ales, good location and eye catching décor (that would be the tastefully framed nudes then) is a venue to be remembered. Dingo, a GM that always leads by example, certainly thought so as she had spent the entire trail propping up the bar and getting increasingly giggly on the pub’s wine selection. Even before the on-out she had jumped onto Pope’s lap for a quick bounce up and down and left him with a wet crotch (from spilt wine). Then during the circle she had attempted to fling herself upon a departing five-a-side team who had simply wanted to get away from that group of weirdos with their rude songs.
The evening ended with even more debauchery as Dingo was plied, rather unnecessarily, with shooter cocktails. The Slippery Nipples came out, followed by Sex on the Beach and Screaming Orgasms. The bar staff didn’t actually know how to mix a screaming orgasm, so Dingo ended up having a fake one. Well, we’re sure that wasn’t the first time.
My work here as scribe is done. In the interests of fairness the London H3’s edit hare has been included on the distribution list, so that if West London decide to protect the guilty by way of censorship or publication ban then it can instead be included in the next edition of On Paper. Well we do like to give a fair representation of our rival London kennels. Oh and don’t forget, London H3 are hosting a far superior away weekend to the Norfolk Broads in August. See their website for details.

Run No 1577 10 December 2015-Harlseden

Pub:-The Grand Junction Arms
Write up by Optimist

The Evening Standard front page advert said it all “Turn me on” (ad for New Beats Pill+ (wireless speaker)) and the
large pack gathering in The Grand Junction Arms clearly were in anticipation of Wacker’s trail set through the urbane delights of Harlesden, Park Royal and Willesden.

The Evening Standard also featured an article on Operation Kestrel with photos showing Met police officers searching for guns in Harlesden, this only added to the frisson.

On peering through the steamed up windows the rain was heavy and constant as it fell on the puddles gathering on the pavements and gullies. The words of Squeeze came to mind “And so it’s our assumption we’re really up the junction”.

The landlord cheerfully saying “enjoy your run” as we left our bags behind the bar. Unperturbed, undaunted and pumped up, with thoughts of “well its bound to ease off” the pack of eleven ran off into the night.

The sense of “lets get this over with asap” (too literally) was immediately evident with death by “petrol” on the agenda with the pack storming off across Acton Lane main road into a line of starting to move traffic, as the nearby traffic lights had just turned green. Dam it someone politely said.

The pack streamed down North Acton Road into and around a playing field, on through a trading estate and up Victoria Rd and right along the Canal.

Flushed as was inventor Alexander Cumming with enthusiasm, the pack continued to break checks with the speed of a rat up a drain pipe. Yeah right!

Pope called Man Magnet, Mam Magnet maybe his mind was at that moment just a stream of thoughts or his thinking had become obscured by clouds.

Passing Car Giant depot, turning left up Scrubbs Lane (away from Wormwood Scrubs and the Prison no visiting “Uncle” today) by as the rain continued we were all feeling very well scrubbed as we cut through to Harrow Rd.
In the wet the trail was becoming harder and harder to find, for the FRB’s and arriving pack the services of NCIS or CSI or Wacker the hare were badly needed!

The trail almost reaching Kensal Rise station before heading due West back towards Harlesden.

Back at the pub two bowls of Hash Chips appeared as emergency rations drizzled in red sauce and splashes of mayonnaise. Despite the shelter, sustenance and a selection of fine Youngs ales, Called Away (was), Thunderthighs and a Hasher in a blue WLH3 left before The Circle.
The remaining super hardcore hashers are hereby named in this WLH3 (despatch) write up, background music provided by Wet Wet Wet:
~~~~~~~ Wacker, Mad Cow, Pope, Sir Hump-a-lot, Nut Sucker, Optimist, KMA and Man Magnet ~~~~~~~

Mad Cow presided as RA.

On on

NB: Daryl Hannah sent her apologies.

WLH Run No.1560 Teddington 13 August 2015

Hare:-Pickled Fart

Write up by Kiss My A***

With darkening skies and threats of torrential rain, this looked to be an interesting hash – add to that the dubious benefit of having Rent Boy as co-hare and the potential for excitement bordered on the terminal. But the hare – Fickle Phart had stepped in to save the day – had stoked everyone’s passion with the promise of a drink stop, and one that was in spotting distance of the pub.

And what a pub it was – the famed Anglers, on Teddington Lock; purveyor of fine food and no less than 6 draught ales from the Fuller’s cellars (although only 4 were on that night, they did make up for it with a rather tasty craft ale). Also the possessor of a vast, decked and pergola’d garden, complete with built in barbecue and sun deck. All of which was utterly wasted on the hashers who were camped indoors admiring the ale.

We were reliably informed by a returning Rent Boy, that the entire trail would be flour as it was virtually all off-road, a fact confirmed by the hare with a promise it ‘wasn’t too long’. We set off in hope, casting dubious glances at the gathering darkness above.

And off-road it indeed was! Over the river into the park we trekked; through bushes and scrub, over moorland and through forest – this was proper hashing! No dull suburban streets or tame concrete walkways for this hash – there was mud, nettles, ducking under branches and scaling obstacles. Far too many checks for my liking, but it kept the pack together and allowed the SCBs to overtake the FRBs to the point that when we arrived at the riverside drink-stop (G & T’s – very nice!) there were more SCB’s than anything else! However, despite this anomaly, there was still booze left, but, as we could see the on-inn on the other side of the river, the lure of ale dragged off the ‘thirstier’ hashers to begin social drinking.

We had a stand-in/trial RA for the circle (editor – pls insert hash name here!) (how the feck am I supposed to know his fecking name if you don’t -Editor) who did a sterling job consider the conditions. It would appear the heavens chose the moment of our circle, to unload about 6 months of rain upon Teddington for the next few hours, so the exact details of some of the charges were somewhat lost to the elements. I know there was a charge for some visitors from overseas, a charge for the hare and co-hare, but for what escapes me.

All in all, it was decided it was a good trail, in difficult circumstances and a good time was had by all (except possible anybody who had to cycle home!).

On On!


Run number 1554 2 July 2015- The Swan Hampton Wick

Hared by Butt Plug

Write up By Pickled Fart

Hampton Wick is one of the best kept secrets of the Western London suburbs, buffered by parkland this charming village of congenial pubs and cosy restaurants lies less than a mile from Kingston Town centre but, separated from it, and, thankfully, the chavaratti it attracts, by the Thames.

In common with much of the local architecture, although probably Victorian built, the Swan is a mock-Tudor timber framed building in sympathy with the nearby Hampton Court Palace, complete with jettied upper floor and herringbone brickwork in the style of the period it emulates.

Our Hare, Butt Plug, is famous, not only for his prowess in laying interesting off-road trails, but also for his legendary drink stops. As the heat of this warm July day subsided to a comfortable running temperature a sizeable pack assembled, including our lovely GM, back from a month in her native Australia, where she displayed an exceptional prowess in the Iron Man competition that is belied by her vivacious charm and elfin good looks.

So we have our GM back, a great Hare, a fine evening, a great location and a large pack, so what could possibly go wrong?

I shall give you a clue;

It’s lonesome away from your kindred and all,
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call,
But there’s nothing so lonesome, so dull or so drear…

Yes, I think you have got it, the pub had no beer. Well nothing any self-respecting Hasher would call a beer, their three real ale taps were as dry as the proverbial witch’s tit, leaving just a selection of bottles and lager. The landlord, new to this establishment, pleaded that he had underestimated the additional demand generated by the Hampton Court flower show which was taking place at the time.

As an aside, on Googling the above song to get the words, I stumbled upon the information that it had been rated, by the Australasian performing rights society, as that countries fifth most popular and successful song (it did not say where that Rolf Harris classic, “Two Little Boys”, came in the ratings). It was even translated into other languages, there was a Dutch version released called “Café zonder bier”. And a German version called “Ich steh an der Bar und ich habe kein Geld”. It requires only a smattering of that language to realize that the title, and chorus, line has been changed to “I am standing at the bar and I have no money” in the German version, presumably because the sheer incompetence entailed in a pub running out of beer is something that would be unimaginably to the Teutonic mind and certainly not be considered an appropriate subject for humour.

Anyway, I digress from the task in hand, writing up this run. The trail took us to the river and in a loop around the Home Park and, with the use of some cunning live haring, exiting it again by means of the same gate before crossing the road to Bushy Park where skittish young deer started from our feet as we weaved our way through the bracken.

At a certain point, a table appeared, in the middle of Bush Park, groaning under the weight of cheeses, pitta bread, charcuterie, quails eggs and a selection of red and white wines with which to wash it all down. The humble drink stop of the past is consigned to history, this was a full blown buffet that would do credit to a top hotel. By what black art the hare conjured this all up in the middle of a deer park no one could guess but that did not them descending on it with the customary lack of restraint displayed by hasher when they encounter food and alcohol.

Back at the Swan Whacker presided over a lively circle where a handful of visitors were welcomed, including an attractive young Jordanian Harriette and her partner, I did try to make a mental note of the visitors’ Hash names for this account, and even enquired as to her name, in response to which she thrust her shapely bosom into my face to reveal it stitched across the chest of her T shirt, but for some reason I not take it in. The circle concluded with the Hare getting a well-deserved pint of lager and then we all decamped to the Foresters across the road which had more real ale taps than you could shake a stick at and without the badge reversed on a single one.

On On


Run no 1514 -Kingston 25 August 2014

Hare Lick O’Pile

Write up by Pickled Fart

Mention Kingston upon Thames as a run location and it immediately conjures up images of the Wych Elm, a cosy little local pub nestling in its leafy Northern suburbs, where the beer is expensive enough to discourage the lower echelons of society from crossing its portals and Richmond Park, in all its verdant glory and with endless possibilities for pretty off road trails, is only a short jog away. This Hare however was determined to show us an altogether grimier side to the Royal Borough. The P trail led us in the opposite direction from the park, to a vast Weatherspoon’s beer supermarket, located in one of the less salubrious parts of Kingston town centre and about a mile from the nearest blade of grass. Officially this establishment is called the King’s Tun, but it is more commonly referred to amongst the local drinking classes as simply “The Day Centre “.

The pack set off in twilight through the Eden Vale and Bentall’s shopping centres, crossing Kingston Bridge, only to cross back again on the other side of the road.  The trail led us past the town hall and the eponymous King’s Stone on which the Saxon Kings of Mercia were crowned and Kingston’s famous “Fatberg”, now proudly  displayed on its own plinth in the market square. As the evening grew darker so did the trail,  Waitrose, John Lewis and Bentall’s gave way to Cost Cutters, Iceland and Sports Direct, as the trail weaved around the low rent side of town, through shabby, dimly lit shopping arcades which had seen better days, where Pit Bull terriers strained at leashes attached to faceless hoodies and wretched figures ravaged by self-neglect and alcohol abuse (no, not Rambo this time) shuffled past skulking mange ridden urban foxes rummaging through abandoned Kentucky Fried Chicken containers in the shadows. Then the trail led us out of the town centre altogether, assiduously giving what little greenery there was a wide berth,  past a few burnt out cars, to the sprawling Cambridge Road Council Estate, now euphemistically known as Social Housing. One of those monstrosities dreamt up by the architects and planners of the nineteen-sixties that won awards from just about everyone except those condemned to live in them. We picked our way through its labyrinths, carefully avoiding the used syringes and discarded cans of super strength lager and other such detritus of the social underclasses.  It was with some relieve that we crossed, literally and metaphorically, to the right side of the tracks and the marginally better neighbourhood on the other side, by means of the underpass beneath Norbiton station, as we did so a certain harriette was heard to opine on how well the Hare had kept the pack together thus far into the trail. Displaying my customary diplomacy I refrained from pointing out that it was not so much the Hare’s skill in trail laying that had kept the pack huddled together, as their fear of the environment through which he had just taken us. The trail taunted us by taking us to within fifty yards of Richmond Park before veering away from it towards the drink stop at that well-known local beauty spot, the Sainsbury’s Car Park, where we were treated to some strange Eastern European spirit with a taste vaguely reminiscent of battery acid.

Back at the pub the staff had thoughtfully reserved a section for the Hash which they had blocked off from the rest of the hoi polio, who frequent such establishments, with a barricade of chairs. Within this alcove an inner barrier of chairs symbolically blocked off the Richmond Clique from the ordinary Hashers who had not been elevated to their rarefied world, or had been defenestrated from it; a clique within a clique as it were.   

A circle was eventually organised, if that is not a misuse of the word, the Hare received his customary down down, as did Knob Job visiting from Madrid and Not Contagious for wearing a rather fetching Ebola T shirt.  I was called to the fore because I had posted a comment on the web site that the pub was frequented by scantily clad girls getting tanked up on cheap alcopops before venturing into the local night clubs and I received a down down of a cheap alcopop, that stuff called Wckd that I have seen advertised, but had never before tried, and never will again, even three pints of Guinness could not wash away the sickly chemical aftertaste of saccharin it left behind.                      

Next week WLH3 are in Wimbledon, and, before that conjures up any images of cosy little local pubs nestling on the fringes of Wimbledon Common, with the promise of pretty off road trails, the pub is the Prince of Wales, a vast beer supermarket in a less salubrious part of Wimbledon town centre and in the opposite direction from the Common, and about a mile from the nearest blade of grass.

On On


2 August – Queen Tribute Band – The Bohemians Biography – Putney

One not to miss – at the Half Moon Putney

Get your tickets  here, do get in quick – it will sell out. Meet at the Pub from 6.30pm.

Blurb below

They have performed all over the UK, Europe and the World at football stadiums, festivals, theatres and other prestigious venues. The Bohemians in their majestic magnificence receive standing ovations in response to their electrifying representation of a Queen Live Concert.

Rob Comber’s outrageous stage antics and personality makes him the perfect Freddie. Christopher Gregory’s Red Special enables him to get as close as possible to Brian May’s inimitable style. Wayne Bourne hammers the tubs like drummer Roger Taylor, and Kevin Goodwin provides that unmistakable Queen backline on bass.

Their high-energy two hour show with full Staging, Lighting, Backdrops and Pyrotechnics has earned them the reputation of being the World’s most exciting Queen Tribute act.

The Bohemians set includes all the piano driven hit singles: Killer Queen; Somebody To Love; Don’t Stop Me Now; You’re My Best Friend; We Are The Champions and the amazing award winning Bohemian Rhapsody. These hits are balanced with the Guitar led anthems; Tie Your Mother Down; Hammer To Fall; One Vision; I Want It All; We Will Rock You and the Acoustic vocal tracks 39 and the unforgettable Love of my Life. The Bohemians ability to recreate Queen live is something truly special.

Richmond 4th of July

You can’t go far wrong in leafy Richmond on one of the warmest days so far. Well, some hares could, but luckily Nutsucker (co-hare FF) realized this natural potential and laid the trail mostly off-road. That said, the hare did manage to trick most of the pack into following a few false trails before we finally made our way down to the river. Then it was on up the hill and into Richmond Park. And what a glorious trail – across the open plains, on into the woods, sun filtering through the trees, deer in the distance, fresh breeze. And just as everyone’s pace seemed to be slowing down to a ramble a perfectly-timed and -placed drink stop. This being the 4th July we were “treated” to Budweiser, wine, something else liquid with little bits in, doughnuts and pretzels. Influenced by the American service culture, all of three hashers served these refreshments across an impromptu bar counter that was a mighty fallen tree.

It was also at this point that we noticed the pack was considerably smaller than it had been at the start. The hare made a late appearance, but visitor Little pair (locally now known as Small tits) and five others apparently independently got lost on entering the park. Luckily (for some) they managed to find their way back to the The Dukes Head, which with its dilapidated exterior did not quite blend in with the genteel surroundings.

Back to the American theme: Most people’s idea of “Wear or bring something typically American” (as encouraged in the weekly email) clearly extended no further than wearing a hash t-shirt from a US kennel. And that was those who bothered. Best effort goes to Dingo for draping the American flag round shoulders in the style of a US sprinter having just won the 100 m in the Olympics. Apparently the flag was stolen, down down for that. Other down downs were many and funny.

On on

More For Less

Notting Hill 27th of June

On arriving at the pub I found a gloomy scene, Pope and Periodical sitting there on bar stools with a disconsolate look. When asking why everyone was so jolly, Eeyore, (or was it Periodical) replied, “the pub has no ale”. “That doesn’t make sense” I said “its a perfectly decent Notting Hill pub”. “No” said Eeyore “its a Sam Smiths pub”. I enquired as to whether the sad donkey could drink a lager or Sam Smiths bitter instead, “No” said Eeyore “I’d rather have nothing, and then head off for a decent pint somewhere else”. So the donkey and the Pope sat gloomily staring into space with the sort of look you might find on a small child who has just been subject to some tragic event. The look reminded me a lot in fact, of the time many years ago when the dog ate my sister’s Easter egg. We didn’t get much chocolate as kids, so this was nothing short of tragedy, but I digress.

Anyway, the pub started to fill with hashers, and on setting the pack off, I reminded the pack that it had been 8 long years since we had run in Notting Hill, and for good reason, as we were all so scarred by the last occasion when Eric truly messed up his trail beyond all recognition of anything resembling a trail. Ended up with him dropping flour as we ran north in a straight line out of town and the pack following immediately behind him at a distance of around 10 yards. The majority of the pack, having left their brains back a the pub, assumed that they were on trail, not realising the flour was so fresh it had barely fallen on the ground. A mutiny then ensued.

Anyway I digress again.

So sad again it was then that, our hare, Love Deuce had employed a co-hare named Eric. It was fair to say that things weren’t looking up at that stage. I didn’t dare look to see the level of dejection that must have descended on Pope and the donkey.

Anyway the trail set off, we had a bizarrely smallish pack, we stopped at Hugh Grant’s house at which point Plug wore some large underpants, while we mocked up a scene from Notting Hill the movie, casting Eric as Hugh and Plug as the Rhys. We ran around a lot of streets. Eric was relieved of the rucksack containing the drink stop, “just in case” said the GM. Some wearisome hashers caught a scent of home so cut the trail short. What a mistake that proved to be!

Out of the gloomy surrounds came a very green Holland Park, a summer evening, a sunken garden, Peacocks, live opera music and vodka jelly shots. Who would have thought it – a late entry for drink stop of the year? The depleted pack set ravenously about the jelly shots, forgetting that this was a form of alcohol rather than food. After consuming at least 9 each, the trail home proved interesting. Scaryoke started to get blurred vision, and we were all a lot more jolly back at the pub than we were when we left it.

Of course, those who had cut the trail or turned up late were greener than the green jelly shots with envy, at having missed such a superb event. Luckily for them there were plenty shots left. Down downs followed and were very funny, but I can’t remember much about them other than Plug complaining that the Hugh Grant pants he’d been given were too cheap for Notting Hill and defining a new hashing sin called “pantage abuse”.

On On

Stay Over