Run No. 948

Date: Friday, 24 November 2000

Where: Mandai Quarry

Hares: TI Joe and Machine

Members: 46              Guests: 17                 

Virgins: 1                    Visitors: 6                  Returnees: 3

Coo Chi Coo phoned me up during the week and asked me for a long word to describe my sesquipedalian tendencies. “Sesquipedalian,” says I. “Too long’ says he. “Polysyllabic,” I suggest. “No one will understand it,” is his reply. In the end, he decided that he would just say, “She likes long words,” as this is about the level of understanding of the hash. So now you know what he thinks of you.

I’m writing this somewhat after the event as I spent most of the weekend preparing for, or failing to recover from, a quiet little event known as the Dinner Dance, so my recollections of Friday night are slightly on the hazy side. I do remember a very scenic run with some quite testing hills and slides for the first hour and then I don’t recall very much (Usual reason? - Ed.) – no – because I couldn’t see a thing in the impenetrable jungle. Our little group of back markers was ably assisted by excellent sweeping from Machine – very necessary at this time of year - and got back to find a relieved TI Joe who thought he might have to come out to look for us and was a little compromised by several birthday libations by that time.

The parking area was enlivened by groups of interested Bangladeshi workers who found the free show of stripping a change in their nightly entertainment and stayed to gawp - which pleased the exhibitionists amongst us. And Astronut called the circle to order in good time, but the crowd was a bit restive and virtually as soon as he called in the hares started singing the song before the GM had a chance to call for opinions or state his own. “You’re bullying me. Don’t bully me any more,” whined the captain of finance.

TI Joe announced the on–on at the Community Centre in Upper Bukit Timah, but was warned that there might be a few people missing owing to Careless and Walkie Talkie’s clashing knees-up. This led to conversations along the lines of, “Well, my invitation must have got lost in the post!” from some poor souls  - whilst others smugly smiled.

Next week’s run was announced by Bangles. It’s at the Riding for the Disabled centre in Upper Thompson Road. I hope the hares have laid on a nice horse for me.

Retread virgin Asha Chellam was called in. Guess whose daughter? Yes. Sybil’s. Positively restrained compared to her mother. Visiting hashers were Oliver from Sabah, Dutch Cap from Holland, Hopalong, Olaf and Watch My Arse from the Harriets, and Wooden Eye. A gaggle of returnees – Blood Shit, Molly and Steptoe – rolled in.

Hare Whip TI Joe frogmarched Coo Chi Coo into the circle and cast around for a box to give the wee one some vertical lift. He then asked Faker to assist him in giving a graphic display of CCC being helped up the bank by some thoughtful lady hasher who gave him a hand. In fact, my spies tell me it was actually Alpha Bitch who gave him the requisite push. He then called in Careless – who was of course at the infamous party – which was the charge. A party on a Friday night? Shame!!! Ripper did lookalike duties.

Mystery Whip Stiff had a fairly gross charge concerning the new US craze at Thanksgiving for deep fried turkey balls – and yes – he did mean that kind of balls. Free Willy was called in and commented that they taste like a cross between liver and durian. I know Americans have no taste, but really! And then he hauled in Sybil for providing a free show for all the Bangladeshis. Lookalike was Iron Crotch. He went on to comment on the parade of male genitalia last week and got Wickless for exclaiming that the tiny little floppy one “looked fine to me!”

Mystery Mystery Whip, Gypsy, had noted Down Under. Dressed as elegantly as ever, she was equipped with a dinky little fan, but seemed intent on using it only to fan – er – down under. What was she trying to do, Gypsy wanted to know. Keep the flies away? And another good charge was against Ivy, who had exclaimed in horror to Gypsy at the beer truck that one of the foreign workers had helped himself to a free beer. Gypsy had turned round, eyes ablaze with righteous indignation and all prepared to wrestle the malefactor to the ground, only to see that it was actually Squire!

The Prick of the Week was Big Hammer, who got Faker. He said there was a variety of smells on the run, and all she could say was that it smelled like the committee’s arse. Now this sounded like a manufactured charge to me, and indeed I think I believed Faker’s heartfelt protests that she never mentioned the committee. Still, the Whip’s always right, so she had to do her down-down.

Bully had asked Foxtrot to present the Pussy of the week as – shhh! – he was going to that party. He gave it to Gypsy for hyping last week’s hash as the Hash Cash Jungle Bash then not even bothering to show up for his own run.  He apparently did what gypsies are wont to do and left his co-hares high and dry (actually muddy and wet) to set and sweep the run.

As you can see from the rapid proceedings, everyone was either rushing to that party or eager to get to the on-on. There was hardly even any AOB – although Ring Pull managed to pass on a charge against moi, courtesy of Ugly Bum, for getting a few thing wrong in last week’s newsletter, like her name, for one. (Some people are never satisfied – Ed.) So the circle wrapped up pretty quickly, and it was off to the on-on.. (And don’t mention to anyone that you went to that party later with Molester – Ed.) Good idea – I’ll keep that quiet.

I don’t know what you though about the Dinner Dance but I thought it went very well indeed. Obviously, the black and white bit was quite popular with me, and the decorations were very tasteful – not a word normally associated with hash goings on.. Everyone seemed to have made an effort to attempt to look sophisticated – except perhaps Gypsy, with his court jester hat and outsize bow-tie – but I think he was just trying to test Vietnam Rose’s resolve to refuse admission to anyone flouting the dress code.  The skits and the T-shirt parade were lots of fun, although I hear that Sara Lee decided that his video would be good entertainment for his bemused, innocent-civilian visitors at his and Doggie Style’s Thanksgiving party the next day, and received a slightly mixed and bemused response to the wildly flailing (fake) willies on display. Flailing willies are obviously an acquired taste. (I’m saying nothing – Ed.) And I got a crack on the cheek from a wildly flailing elbow on the dance floor which has now developed into a fairly interesting black eye. The band was great – and do remember they were doing it all for charity. Those who lasted until the fag end of the evening were treated to a new variety of the “How many people can you fit in a phone box?” game when about fifty hashers squeezed themselves into a hotel room for après-function drinkies thoughtfully provided by the D and D committee. In fact, a very successful bash, so well done the D and D committee all round, and thanks for your hard work and commitment. Good stuff – but what happened to my feather boa????

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