Here is a map showing locations of some of the WLH runs during 2016.  Clicking on a run location will allow you to view the trail for that run.

Hopefully this will be helpful if you are a hare trying to decide where to set your next trail.

Every principle of liberty enunciated in any civilized country on earth, with very few exceptions, was intended entirely for men, and when women tried to force the putting into practice of these principles, for women, then they discovered they had come into a very, very unpleasant situation indeed.– Emmeline Pankhurst
If we are to be totally honest with ourselves, it has to be admitted the Hash has not always been at the forefront in the battle against sexism and a run to celebrate the emancipation of women is an appropriate theme for Dingo’s first trail as GM. It goes some way to redress the balance and, hopefully, may also go some way towards remolding the attitude of certain male hashers on these issues to something that is more appropriate for the twenty first century. Let us hope that this run marks an end to sexism on the West London and the beginning of an enlightened new era.

The run was hosted from the Adam and Eve (Google Genesis 3 16 if you not see the irony in this) and on arrival at this pub I was greeted by the sight of numerous male hashers in bras and various other items of female attire and a number of harriettes bearing whips and various other instruments of corporal punishment. What this all had to do with the suffragette movement I am not too sure, perhaps our new GM had got the wrong end of the stick and got it into her pretty little blonde head that its leader had actually been called Emmeline Spankhurst. Most the whips and things were fun imitations, but the one Man Magnet was carrying was a real leather bull whip, straight out of Indiana Jones. It does make you wonder what she gets up to in her private life that she should even possess such a thing. Later in the evening I had an opportunity to test it with a dexterous crack across Dingo’s pert little Lycra clad bottom and the satisfying squeal of pain it evoked was testimony to it its authenticity!

The pack was cajoled out of the pub for the start of the run and the bra wearing hashers had their humiliation compounded with the addition of water filled balloons, a sort of poor man’s silicone implant, and we were promised no less than three drink stops. The trail weaved round St James Park and Buckingham palace to the bemusement of tourists and, as if we were not attracting enough attention as it were, we were soon accompanied by Boy Blunder wearing a long blonde wig and riding a bicycle behind which he towed a trailer bearing a PA system that blared out appalling pop music. This was later explained that this had been “girl power” music, though I am not sure what girl power is, perhaps it is a bit like horse power, but applied to washing machines and vacuum cleaners instead of cars and motor cycles. The other items on Blunder’s trailer were the materials for the drink stops, the first of which took place in St James Park. I do not know what the drink was, I have never seen or tasted anything like it before and hope never to do so again, it was an unnatural looking purple colour and tasted of pure saccharin, but we were assured that it contained alcohol so drunk it anyway. The second drink stop was even more sweet and sickly than the first; Love Deuce told me that these were the sort of drink that Harriettes liked, I was tempted to point out that we men do not share their metabolic need for sugar rushes to avert a hypoglycemic strop every five minutes but experience has taught me that logic and facts are both redundant in any discussion with the ladies so I kept a diplomatic silence and merely gave an understanding nod. For the final drink stop we ran across the front of the House of Commons, still a hive of activity and television crews for the historic debate on military intervention in Syria, which culminated in David Cameron becoming the first Prime Minister since Lord North to lose a vote on matter of war, to end up before the statue of Emmeline Pankhurst herself for the final drink stop in Victoria Tower Gardens behind the houses of Parliament. This drink stop was accompanied by chocolate brownies made by Dingo’s own fair hand which we tried to share with a charming young Community Support Officer stationed at the adjacent exit to the Common’s car park but she declined with that classic phrase “not when I am on duty”.

Back at the pub, as they prepared for the circle, I noticed a large plastic box filled with ice. Ha! I thought, this is what happens when you let the girlies run things, drinks with ice in them for down downs. They will be having little umbrellas in them next! Anyway, you can imagine my consternation when I ended up sitting in this box full of ice, clad in a mankini, for the most of the duration of the circle! My crime? Apparently I had, allegedly, commented once or twice, in passing, and by way of constructive criticism, on what a complete dog’s breakfast the web site had become since my self-defenestration from the committee. I have noticed in the past that the fairer sex do not always take kindly to criticism, however well intentioned, for example I have always believed that you should criticize women’s’ driving when appropriate, otherwise they will never improve, but it is surprising how ungrateful they can be in return.

The balloon implants soon become water bombs as the circle progressed and became more boisterous with the pub remaining surprisingly tolerant of our antics, down downs were awarded to various miscreants visitors and a vir*in, who when asked how she had enjoyed her first hash, replied that she had found it “all a bit weird”. What could she mean?

Things did not calm  down much after the circle was concluded, Tango appeared in dominatrix costume  wielding a spanking paddle; the combination of whips and alcohol was bound to  get some Hashers over excited, one of whom slapped On All Four’s bottom once too  often and she responded by giving him a swinging smack across the face that sent  him spinning like a top across the pub, but I will not embarrass the Hasher  further by naming him. All right, I will then, it was Sky Lark (not Eric for a  change).

In all one of the livelier Thursday evenings, so, now that we have expunged all trace of sexism from WLH3 what next? How about a wet T shirt run before the weather gets too cold?

On On, PF

For the second week running (with more to come next week) WLH3 spread its wings to the north west passage of London to Kenton, an area as yet to follow in the gentrified footsteps of some London neighbourhoods as evidenced in the complete absence of tapas bars or posh wines in the pub. Fortunately, the Scots that had swamped nearby Wembley the previous day for the footie had departed (bar Eric eventually turning up late). Predictably a number of the south west London WLH3 residents deemed this location to be too far and possibly too chavvy, despite the ease with which it could be located after a brief perusal of the TFL website, the station being all of 100 yards away.

The hare (Funky Gibbon) admitted to letting his enthusiasm run away with him and admitted to a 5.5 mile trail which as it turned out was around 6 miles according to possessors of gadgets (that they had learned to use). The sky looked threatening (the hare already had received a soaking), but Wacker’s RA skills kept the rain clouds at bay as we stumbled out on a very humid evening back through South Kenton station from whence hashers had sallied forth a few minutes earlier. We were soon on to green top in the shape of Northwick Park, Wacker once again tried to second guess a hare by heading in the direction of Harrow on the Hill (after attempting to second guess the scribe the previous week in Pinner and losing 3 nil you would have thought he’d learned better), predictably the hare had other ideas as once again we went through a station (Northwick Park)in search of (for most) unknown territory. Sky Lark was totally upstaged in the FRB stakes by our latest recruit Misled who hurtled into unknown territory with great speed and enthusiasm and saved the more elderly members of the pack the chore of checking. After a certain amount of blacktop the pack once again found itself in open country where Wacker once again failed miserably to second guess the hare and thus missed the obvious direct route (along with other sheep like pack members) to a regroup at the pond on top of the hill. With a 6 mile trail in prospect shortcuts have to be found. Eventually the pack via commendable amounts of off road found themselves at Preston Road where a second P trail (already discovered by the scribe earlier as a better alternative) wound its way back to the pub via more parkland.

The pub landlord generously laid on platters of sandwiches (hoovered by the jackal like pack in a minute flat) and later on (after seeing the speed with which said food disappeared,)mini sausages, onion rings ,chips (for which there was no estate bottled balsamic vinegar to sprinkle on! )and roast potatoes. This being Kenton, canapés, tapas,dim sum , blinis, sushi etc  and other posh snack food were conspicuous by their absence along with Chablis, Sancerre and Cote de Beaune to wash them down with. We made do with beer (and yes they did have real ale)as we know our place in the pecking order of humanity.

After a decent interval the RA called the refreshed pack to order to punish various sinners and visitors. As is common with most RAs, the down down notes I am consulting look like they were scribbled by a drunken clerk in bad Mandarin so the list is prone to misinterpretation and my memory fogged by 5 pints of Youngs Special. After punishing the hare, Love Duece stood in for the departed virgin as approx the same age. Rollback was naturally flattered  to be deputed to represent a 70s porn star ,Mary Millington who was born in Kenton. Obviously Pyschedelic represented Kenton old boy ,Stuart Pearce (England footballer known as Pyscho). Knickers was punished for loading her plate with half the sandwiches claiming they were for sharing (total B*llox). Our Malaysian visitors were acknowledged. Lick a Pile, Man Magnet, Impossible and Sarah the Snail were punished for various illegible crimes and F**k**g  Shakespeare as a returner.

All in all a successful visit up the north west passage of London.  

On On, Mad Cow

The Queen’s Head, Pinner – Hare: Mad Cow

The date was 8/8. In the Dingo clubs (sorry, bingo clubs) of England, that is always “two fat ladies”. But in the absence of such, and having arrived early, I was able to observe a bit of intellectual repartee. As one does.

Martian Matron to Pope: Last time we were at this pub you broke your ankle, but before then your daughters gave us a great rendition of songs from Mathilda the Musical.

Psychodelic: (Sings Waltzing Matilda)

Pope: Mathilda not Matilda. Roald Dahl you know.

Psychodelic: Who’s Ronald Dahl?

And then I asked Crap Nav how old he was. He accused me of asking him a very personal question. But actually he was just trying to be grumpy and I didn’t think he was old enough. The same with Road Kill, who turned up wearing a grumpy old man t-shirt. A few people seem to be born grumpy, and we know who they are, but most have to develop the skills. Just look at Pope.

And then we set off. A new route around Pinner, with a fair amount of greenery, some children’s playgrounds, and a drink stop at which Pimms and canapés were served. For the uninitiated, what they call canapés in Pinner are what they call sandwiches everywhere else. But they were very tasty anyway, with a range of cheeses and patés which did us proud. A very competitive hasher wearing a Pacman shirt and Usain Bolt shorts seemed to be the first at every check. How Long still has a lot to learn about hashing, but he’s still young and not at all grumpy.

It was nice to welcome visitors during the run, since they were not there at the start. Tako Belle made an appearance, with young Godzilla, who was carried around most of the trail by Ryde, until Tablewhine took over for the short stretch back to the pub from the drink stop. And Captain Titanic, looking as dapper as ever, with a moustache that must have sold a thousand second-hand cars. Other visitors, who were there at the start, included M Diver from Tokyo and a return appearance of Hot ‘n Juicy from Cairo.

All of them were given down downs by Wacker, with Hot ‘n Juicy given special attention as she was celebrating the first day of the Eid al Fitr. Yorky Porky was included as an honorary Japanese and not a Moslem (difficult with that name). Man Magnet was rewarded for blocking the sewers of Kingston with the world’s largest fatberg. Dingo’s absence of geographical knowledge was noted – complaining that the next three runs are too close to each other, just because they are not in Richmond. Dingo is fast developing as a grump, and she’s only been GM for a short time. She’ll be up there with Pope before long. And Skylark, who was complaining about running in bongo bongo land, just because it’s not Thames Ditton. Not just grumpy, but offensive too, displaying an attitude that we simply don’t tolerate on the hash. The skinny white git.

Two visitors from what is left of Christchurch were welcomed. JFK was given a drink, and Becks was given a name for thinking that plastic bottles in a park looked like ‘Co6k or Twos’. Don’t ask me why – she’s a kiwi after all. And I seem to recall Blunder saying something about a boat trip from somewhere to somewhere, but not around the Baltic like Eurohash. Probably rowing around the lake in Regent’s Park. And that was it.

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