Run No. . 991

Date: 14 September 2001

Where: Queens Crescent Car Park

Occasion:  Posh Duck’s Birthday

Hares: Shoeless, Halfpenny

Members: 48

Guests:  16

- Returnees : 0

- Visitors : 0

- Virgins : 5

The run started a little after the allotted time after a three-minute silence out of respect for all victims of the attacks in the US and their families.

Very much on my home turf, this run, with the first part of it set almost completely in my back garden i.e. Wessex Estate. Some intriguingly changed territory round the back of Portsdown Prison provided an entertaining scramble through the jungle, but I bailed out at Rochester Park since I knew where the in-trail headed, having spotted the flour earlier in the day. And, yes, there was a drinks stop at the Colbar, but how unwise of me to assume that Loose Change and I would be the first ones there. Degenital and Coo Chi Coo had managed to find the in-trail after about ten minutes, and various other shortcutting types were already getting stuck in and quaffing away. Shoeless had taken on the job of mine host, leaving Halfpenny sweeping at the back – she obviously drew the short straw there. After the drinks stop- where I lingered for far too long - it was just a few minutes to the run site – just as well, with all the beer sloshing around.

Frontarse asked for comments on the run and all thought it was excellent – and novel - use of familiar territory with clever checks that kept the pack together and good sweeping. Dirty Hacker was effusive in his praise – well, he would be, since he’d only walked as far as the beer stop on the in-trail. But before Frontarse could give the hares their well-deserved down-downs he was rudely interrupted by an irate Pitstop. He reminded the circle that he was the original co-hare for this run, but he had bumped into these two at Newton Circus at about 4 a.m. one morning to find that he had been ousted in a bloodless coup. “We don’t need you,” he was told in no uncertain terms. So he got a down down as well for being useless.

Shoeless announced the on on at the Handlebar, catering courtesy of the Red Lantern. See, if we don’t go to them, they start following us around.

Next week’s Run is Suzee Wong and Pandora’s Box, neither of whom were there, so the announcement was made by the still unnamed Gerald, who obviously has something to do with it too.

The visitors were Mouthpiece – gone home, lookalike Speedy Tits – and Margaret – gone home, lookalike Sooch. There was also Ice Dancer and Soufflé from KL and HMS Pussy from Egypt.

And we welcomed a new member – BA, who is apparently a Brit/Aussie reject. What did the BA stand for? he was asked. Born Again? British Ambassador? No – it’s because he’s a Bogus Australian, apparently.

Indianus called for the Mystery Whip, who was well laid. (In public? Is that allowed in Singapore? – Ed.) Sorry – who was Well Laid. In minimalist fashion, she swiftly charged Halfpenny for not knowing her own trail well enough and falling into holes all over the place. Then Indianus for showing true hasher’s mettle and running with a broken rib. Bully was chastised for short cutting. And finally Boo was dragged in for not updating the prescription on his glasses – he ran right past the drinks stop and had to be called back. All received down-downs.

The Mystery Mystery Whip was Degenital who had a self-referential charge against the hares for laying the in trail so near to the out-trail that enthusiastic checkers  - himself and Coo Chi Coo – found themselves at the end of the run slightly before the start.

Then he rounded on his partner in crime and gave us an account of how the wee one had trouble getting over a particular “debilitated” (?? – Ed.) fence. One leg over, balance on the top, swing the other one – how demure. Degenital stepped over it casually with no problem – also demure. But the real charge was against Lost and Found, who leapt wildly, got his feet entangled, tripped, screamed – and rebounded off a glass-encrusted wall. Not demure at all.

There was no Prick award as Corny Linguist had just arrived at the circle and thus didn’t have a charge. (Doesn’t normally stop him. – Ed.) So he keeps it till next week.

Indianus had some Milestones to present. Firstly she proudly produced a 55 runs tee shirt. Actually it was 550 runs – the curse of the missing 0s continues. This was for Squire and she gleefully helped him into it, remarking that he’d got so fat it would be far too small. Actually, I thought he looked quite hunky… (Yeah, but you’re desperate! – Ed.)

And then she produced a 100 runs shirt with all the right numbers. In fact, she explained, this was a recycled one of Warlike Talkie’s – a vintage collector’s item. Indianus had rooted through her pile of giveaways before she went to Dubai last month like a bag lady at a jumble sale and managed to rescue it. Boo complained about recycling, to which her response was that Boo recycles the same tee shirts every year for his runs – so what’s wrong with that? Who was to be the lucky recipient? It was the straight-from-the-office Corny Linguist, who protested mightily. He hadn’t run, he wasn’t dressed for it, he was only there for the beer, whinge, whinge. All of this at a sprint as he was being chased round the circle by Frontarse. Frontarse decided on putting it to the vote and Corny was forced to do a strip, removing his shirt, shoes and socks but mercifully stopping at his trousers. He had obviously been sniffing glue or something as he continued bounding round the circle like a demented puppy before diving into the shirt held by Indianus and Halfpenny.

Time for AOB. Coo Chi Coo was first in with a charge close to my heart. Hands up if you don’t know how to spell the Col in Colbar, demanded. No hands to be seen. Well, Crooning Shit was overheard explaining to someone that it was spelt Colebar. Heresy! (And obviously he doesn’t read your circle report. – Ed.) Yet more heresy! In case any of you lot are wondering about the provenance of the name, it’s actually short for Colonial Bar.

Halfpenny got her own back at the intellectually challenged types who had managed to miss the entire run – the early beer-stoppers Degenital, Coo Chi Coo and Lost and Found.

She also pointed out that different people react to hash rituals in different ways. Most people avoid the ice like anything but this one visitor rushed over to it and put his knee on it. This was the aptly named Ice Dancer.

Then she entered the realms of fantasy. “Everybody knows,” she intoned, “that Aussie girls are sophisticated and sexy.” (I think she was being ironic. – Ed.) Well, the circle crowed in derision, anyway. She wanted to draw attention to the fact that Nicole Kidman is now single, and some lust crazed hashers are obviously so desperate to meet her that they’re trying to join the acting profession. Yes, Shoeless and Roofing Shit somehow managed to wangle themselves jobs as extras on a film and are off on the Orient Express. They justly got iced for this.

Indianus came in to update the barrel sponsorship for the 1000th run.  Loose Change - ½, Astronut and Poser – 1, and special thanks to Jason who has also pledged a barrel. Mandarin Lau doesn’t drink beer, but has kindly pledged the same amount in soft drinks. Lookalike Boo.

More AOB from Fanny Flasher, who started off disconcertingly by rewriting world geography and referring to Scotland as an island. (The English often wish it was! – Ed.) And it’s apparently peopled by inventive engineers who have worked out a way of harnessing energy from the waves. She described them as jewels. Or was it joules? (Or Jules? – Ed.) All a bit technical for me, I’m afraid, but representative Hibernians Bagels, Cornet Linguist and Aye Aye were the recipients of the last beers.

The on on at the Handlebar proved to be out of the ordinary. Firstly, there was another function going on there as well – the publican’s wife’s birthday – and chairs were as rare as hen’s teeth, so people stood around balancing plates and risking life and limb as marauding Harleys roared through the bar, a de rigueur activity in this biker bar. People were particularly in danger from a slightly compromised Pontianak who lurched in – if it’s possible to lurch on a butch bike. He got pretty close anyway. And after copious amounts of beer and curry, some befuddled hashers had the jolly idea of having a go on the surfing machine in the garden. Shoeless managed to tumble off the board before it had even started moving. Gerald managed rather better and showed heroic stamina by having several goes even though bleeding from both knees. (Must be a hash name in that, surely? - Ed.) And so the evening lurched to a late conclusion with everyone having had a rollicking good time. Thanks to the hares all round.

On On!

Black Widow

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