Several days after the last BV H3 run, Clepto, Pearl n Dean and Bandit were having a quiet drink and discussing the country’s economic and social problems. They reckoned that the economic downturn was due to the Worthy Winchester H3 ‘s hash cash flow problem (it flows straight into Publicans' pockets) and that the social degradation was due to Berks H3's Down Downs corrupting the nation’s youth.

Suddenly Pearl n Dean had his annual brainwave; he usually has it about Easter time but due to the cosmic upheaval brought about by the Eclipse, this year’s gem of brilliance was delayed until now.

"Why don’t we have a BVH3 run report" he said; (blimey! can we stand the suspense of waiting another 12 months for his next brilliant brainwave offering to the world).

"What a good idea" said Clepto, "Bandit you can write it".

Now Bandit has a memory span of about 3 minutes, that’s his excuse for not remembering when it’s his turn to buy the next round of drinks. He couldn’t even remember where the last run was let alone who took part and what happened.

"Can’t somebody else write it" he begged "What about Fruit & Nut or one of the other regulars like Chicane, Hampshire Man or Fill the Farmer. But it was no use, Clepto had spoken and he doesn’t take no for an answer; he takes £10 notes but as Bandit was broke he was well and truly lumbered with the task.

 

Run 33 Bourne Valley Hash House Harriers - The Coronation Arms, St Mary Bourne

Here we were in the heart of the Bourne Valley and now that the home base of BVH3, The White Hart at Stoke, has closed down it seems that the Coronation Arms has taken its place.

It may be just a coincidence that not long after we adopted The White Hart as our Pub it closed down or it could be that we gave it such a bad reputation it lost all its custom;

"The White Hart? Oh no Darling we can’t go there, it’s full of those nasty Hashing types, all sweat and flour".

Lets hope the same fate doesn’t befall the Coronation or else we’ll find ourselves moving steadily down the valley, from one Pub to the next, closing them down as we go.

It was a good turnout on a fine evening just right for hashing and hounds had arrived from all over the area -Winchester, Hursley, Newbury, Berks, North Hants, Andover and Salisbury — why there were even a couple of blokes from Africa. The hares (Clepto and Pearl n Dean) returned from laying the trail rubbing their red and sore legs; they either had a dose of the Bourne Valley Pox or the trail was covered in Stinging Nettles.

After a delayed start (why not change the start time from 7.00 to 7.10?) we were off and the usual FRBs led us up and up to the high ground where we had a good view of the valley below.

If I had known in advance that I would be writing this report I would have taken a few notes on the trail, because what happened next is just a blank. I vaguely remember the Nettles, Nora Batty’s gaudy long socks or were they colourful Long Johns, Licks (?) twisting his ankle and the Worthy Wichester bunch talking about their last trail which took them through someone’s swimming pool.

Towards the end of the trail we took a detour through Shandy Man’s garden. Garden? It was more like a jungle as we battled our way through the undergrowth, snakes and piles of discarded beer cans and bottles. Were we offered a refreshing beer stop? Not on your life, all we got was a delousing squirt from a garden hose that left us smelling of weedkiller.

But even that smell didn’t last long as we were invited to wash it off in the local river, where some swine removed the pile of rubbish posing as a bridge forcing us all to have our monthly bath 2 weeks early.

Back at the Pub Hamlet wore the hashyclava   like a second skin, if he keeps it much longer it will be. We supped our refreshing drinks looking forward to our free buffet, Sausage and Chips — yummy. There is a lot of confusion over the so-called free buffet. Why do we have to run the trail and pay £2 to get it, why can’t we just turn up at the Pub after the run has finished and claim our free meal?

Hoggy did the Down Downs in his usual crazy style assisted at the end by GBH who concocted a potion guaranteed to clear out a constipated elephant, only in this case it was Hamlet who received it. If he had any sense he would have removed the hashyclava and wrapped it around his behind as a nappy — boy! would he have needed it.