Not Amor(hey!) but Aless(hey!)
As a result of the carpet-bombing style advertising campaign by the Seth Efricns a large pack gathered at St Ives to hear the now slimmed down S-Bends give the pre run spiel.
The trail would be in the Gordon Quarter of St Ives and your rank as a runner would determine how much bush trail you would get. The trail was well marked as commented by a few but I only noticed token dunny paper in the bush – I do hope the Hares retrieve said paper before the good burghers of St Ives plaster the North Shore Times with moans.
Lurch was dressed in tones of green tonight rather than his regulation blue and again he walked – the second time ever (ever is getting a bit of a work out). Changi and his guest cocked things up beautifully when they managed to get themselves on to Mona Vale Rd. – his explanation “it was all bush and no p@#sy” – he did manage to F@#k it(up) though. Your Choice finished back in the middle of the pack – must have been slowed up by his new glasses. Music Man gave his usual, unprintable, opinion of the run between beers at the Bucket.
The anticipation for the “One Night Only” On On was unbelievable but cracks were appearing – there was dissent between the Hares, and Little Shit was AWOL so there was no one to sort the chef out. Co-hare Copraphelia (and Committee members) ran between the kitchen and the diners with plates of …… and collected money whilst the other hare sat in all his glory at the head of the table. Scud had earlier in the day set the scene for the meal – “As I’ve said before I hope they are not just going to fill us up with tons of cheap pasta which costs nothing!!! And he got his wish (sic). San Remo spirals with Ragulatto pasta sauce times two – and no Chianti. Nuf said. For added interest some bastard used shrapnel to pay for his dinner.
When the President stood there was silence – amazing. Downs tonight for Hares S-Bends and Copraphelia and then visitor Son of Tampon Top. Scud received a congratulatory beer for finally winning a game of golf – first prize 20kgs of PMU spaghetti.
Pee Dub had to be forceful to hold his mantle as “first joke teller” and doesn’t he get worked up and hot and bothered when he tells lovey-dovey jokes.
S-Bends was nearly overrun by Trump supporters before he regaled us with a description on the Papal dress code. Wee Willy had hot nipples with breakfast, and Wombat found a very obliging blonde who helped him with his lost luggage. Pee Dub came back for a second round and some cross Nuns. Tic Toc as usual had the final say with a story of the ATO audit at Circumcision Central in St Ives.
A little credit goes to the Hares for setting the trail on Sunday evening after driving 4hrs back from the Orange Weekend Away.
It was a 7 bridges run, it was FLAT and the Hares were adamant that it was 8.2ks long but the condition of the finishers at the Bucket revealed that a sinister extra 3ks had crept in somewhere. Managing to get runners to go across Ryde Bridge was worthy of a medal and the distance it added knocked the stuffing out of the runners. Moishe arrived at the Bucket panting like a dog and immediately announced the 8.2ks as “very elastic”. Copra was “on fire”. Little Shit claimed he “ran so hard that his knees are now as crook as the Scribes” Goanna, with two strapped knees, took a step into space at one point but gathered himself together enough to hold his place in the middle of the pack. Pilko was the first walker to return and Khyber Pass and Wanker were the last ones in at 2hrs – must have walked from Orange – but they did find us at the pub.
The food deal at the Concord Hotel at 13bucks wasn’t to be sneezed at, and with a $7 beer was a nice even lobster. The grub was good too despite the buzzer thing being an issue again – or is it that some Poshmen can’t remember what they ordered 10 minutes after the order was placed??
The President took to the floor and had a bit of a false start but then the Hares were called for a Down – Plunger acted as consort to the now retiring Prince Phillip at one of his last gigs. According to the SMH when he finally retires in August his name will be formally changed to Handshake. Grape Ape gave a quick rap on the run and commented on the lack of checks – he obviously didn’t do the false trails and fell into the 8.2k category. We had S Bends and Not Nigel as returnees and Goon Show for admitting he was an SCB.
Humour came thick and fast with Pee Dub kicking off with a “tech joke”.
S- Bends gets goose pimples when he sees a bride and Tic Toc who likes to talk about penises at breakfast whilst kneading knipples dug up a doozy at 8lb 5oz.
$14 steaks and $38 bottles of wine
Tonight was the annual Centre Point and White Shit pilgrimage to the stone-age suburb of Woolwich. I think this ritual is just to see how many Poshmen are prepared to pay 38 bucks for a bottle of house wine – de Bortelli what’s more!
The only bush around these parts is the glow-in-the-dark piece of dirt named after a famous bushranger and of course the Hares took advantage of it after the pack had circumnavigated Woolwich Dock and Clark’s Point Park. Following that the trail headed to Centre Point’s port Stop in the salubrious Pulpit Point estate – Hanoi Bill mentioned that the runners don’t drink port but then half of them stuffed-up the trail and missed it completely anyway. For the few that managed to stay On they were tempted when trail crossed the main drag and the long onbacks down to the Lane Cove River jerked a few chains.
So the pack’s return to the Bucket was very scrappy – runners in 35 mins before walkers, before real runners and real walkers – the hare distributed copies of the trail map to the short-cutters like Goon Show whose dulcet tones of displeasure at missing the port stop could be heard at Cockatoo Is. BTG let Bumcrack bolt away from him with a short walk map in Clark reserve so just dawdled straight to the Beer, the location of which rivalled that of Kitty Litter’s Birchgrove soiree a few weeks ago. As an aside Bumcrack was later seen in the middle of Gale St. wrestling with the zapper to Wombat’s car –he still had plenty of energy.
The On at the Woolwich Pier Hotel was a bit of a circus – with $14 steaks, everyman and his dog on the Hunters Hill peninsular was there for a cheap feed – note to self “don’t let dickhead staff put 10 people on the same buzzer” because the chef thinks “that’s a big group so they won’t be in a hurry” FFS. Most drank wine by the glass or expensive craft beer whilst rich bastards Druid and Tic Toc rounded up 19 bucks each to buy a bottle of red – any of the other brave investors had to use crowd-funding.
As the “10 on the same buzzer” were just tucking into their steaks in the quaint “Clubhouse” the Pres took to his feet for the Down Downs. As always Hares first – Centre Point and White Shit with CP being very critical of WS’s manners in not pushing his chair in to allow the big bloke passed. We had a visitor from Alberta – a Wombat-eer but The Wom disowned him ‘cause he was a lawyer. Jock the Sock stumbled to get his beer for who knows what.
When it came to humour Pee Dub christened his new glasses – Heston Blumenthal-esque – and Frank was dead for ducking. Wee Willy was m.i.a, so White Shit, with his new haircut stood in and Lee Trevino and Gary Player shared in the golfer’s jokes before French Connection had a hard-on and soft tits – Molly Meldrum just avoided an elbow in the head from an articulate Tic Toc but got a pash instead as TT romanced May Day.
TWO SIX OH OH
……….and none of you geniuses noticed that since the start of January the header to these posts has listed the Run No. in the 2900’s not the 2500’s.
What a surprise to see so many at the good ole Austrian Club – the website went down on Sunday night so the retirees amongst us who are so busy retiring that they don’t get a chance to check where the run is till Monday afternoon promptly shat themselves before making panic phones calls or sending urgent emails (Note: the On Sec definitely doesn’t sit glued to his inbox anytime especially on a Monday) – they obviously found where the run was.
Familiar territory for all and the Hares did a good job in containing the walk trail in a very small area. The runners on the other hand were extended out into Forestville with a jaunt through the shopping plaza before returning along the Curry St track to join up with the walk in Forestville Park. Runners and walkers arriving back at the bucket about the same time.
This being a Big celebration run meant that the Austrian Club would be a good choice as an On On venue – Big beers, Big schnitzels, Big strudel and a distinct lack of Big women. As one entered the club one was confronted with a microphone set up and mumbles of “there’s gunna be a performance”?
Whilst many wore their “giveaway shirt”, XXXX was resplendent in an all-white red wine magnet that looked like an outfit you’d wear to an Elvis Presley wedding – he reckons nothing else fits him. Ayatollah wore an Aussie-flag T-shirt – just to show up the Kiwis.
Early in the proceedings Pee Dub took to the floor for some humour – I was only ½ way through my schnitzel at this point. The Dub was struggling to read his script and admits he needs glasses – offers came thick and fast. So, someone’s wife was using the remote as a dildo. There was a chorus of “oh no!” from the bleachers.
Wee Willy made a stiff connection between a baby and a beamer.
Then the “performance” – Salt Petre was expecting the Hallelujah Chorus and Tooth Fairy thought a rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” would have been great but no, Smiley, Tic Toc and Music Man entertained us with “Factual Redhead”.
Phew! saved by the President. Downs tonight to Committee Hares Moishe and Plunger for starters. Then the punishment – Lurch, who admitted that for the first time ever (and ever is a f#&kin’ long time in Lurch’s case) he walked instead of running, and for Jack the Ripper whose Pacemaker must be long overdue for service as he “fell over a thousand times” tonight. Molly Meldrum was unlucky not to get a Down for his previous nights Logie win.
To finish the night Tic Toc told a true ANZAC story which slipped through our fingers.
Sort of a Joint Run
A very large group of Hashers from the Harriettes, Thirsty, Northern Beaches, and Larrikins joined the Posh as it was our turn to set the Joint Run – everybody standing on the footpath on an obscure corner in the middle of Drummoyne. Moishe, being our Hare of choice whispered something about the Bucket and then the Pack was off with Flying Scotsman as TM.
The trail was in territory well known to some like Little Shit (he thought so) and went as far as Abbotsford and Chiswick before looping back to Drummoyne Oval. The walkers did something a little shorter. The TM spent most of the run trying to make sense of the map and keeping the FRB’s on trail with the likes of Goon Show insisting in running against the grain.
At the Bucket Colonoscopy brought out the Larrikins contribution to the night just as the last hashers headed to the On.
With a monster crowd on hand it looked like Grape Ape’s favourite Leb diner was going to burst at the seams but then only 34 hashers fronted at the door. Appears lots of others drifted off elsewhere to eat – a shame.
Humour by Pee Dub and Wee Willy and I think a Harriette snuck a funny in too.
Wasn’t and Wouldn’t but did
This week’s Hares promised(in print what’s more) that there wasn’t going to be any of the great hashing which Jock and Calici dished up on last week’s trail. There wouldn’t be “muddy hills to slide down, fallen trees to climb over, creeks to traverse just a smooth workout through the parks and narrow streets of picturesque Balmain with gorgeous views along the water’s edge” but did in the end produce something a little out of the box(er paper bag) at the ON.
Balmain is concrete and dog shit territory and despite this the trail took us close to the water for most of the run –and a port stop in Elkington Park. As with most runs in Balmain one can quite easily be off trail (intentionally or otherwise) and cross paths with hashers like Goanna who is on his own off trail or Druid doing his own thing. Who knows where the trail went after the port stop but most were back at the Bucket just on the hour with the runners like Music Man and Flying Scotsman looking very sweaty despite not having competition from the guns Cinders and Benny the Swede. Molly Meldrum was minding the Bucket (and Cheese and bickies and dolmades to have with our beer) on one side of Ballast Point whilst the Hares Kitty Litter and 777 were setting up the ON over the other side of Ballast Point Park – the world’s most expensive public park after the government spent $45M buying it back from a developer – the Posh do like to inhabit the best real estate.
Everybody straggled over to the On site to find three rows of benches set up under a hi-tech thatched roof to take in the view of the city from the south west. Hi-tech thatched roofs aren’t quite the waterproof model like their forebears so the hare’s were lucky the forecast rain didn’t eventuate – no plan B either.
We sat there, taking in the view, like sitting ducks consuming our Kebab in a paper bag with a dolmades – I’m only guessing that the guardians of good food and wine were so overcome by the view that there wasn’t a riot by said foodies. Just maybe they were aware the kebabs were after all from the cabbies kebab van at the Speedway servo on Victoria Road so they were “hatted” – or “turbaned” at least.
With the Pres absent Scud took the floor and dished out Downs to the Hares (who can’t drink for shit), visitor “Rod of Gladesville”, and punishment for Payling. Simmo getting his own back this week, charged Payling for sitting outside Jack the Ripper’s house for half an hour tonight before it dawned on him that JTR had said he didn’t need a lift – something dopey about these Mosmanians. Sitting in the background Pedantic managed to fly his birthday under the radar.
Before Pee Dub could start the humour E-Shit chimed in with one about a Lezo-in-lift in Dubai. Tonight was also one for jokes from on high as Pee Dub mounted the Dias or at least climbed the step ladder to get light to read his script and dished up crabs and lobster with scones. Wee Willy at ground level critiqued his Chinese private eye and Tic Toc was struggling with his Sudoku.
If you had a raffle ticket and you won the draw you got to take home left-overs.
4 P’s and leeches
If next week’s run around Balmain doesn’t, according to next week’s Hares, have all of the wonderful features of our jaunt through Middle Cove then it won’t go down in the annals of the Posh like Jock’s run will.
A very large pack of 56 Hashletes(including 4 Yanks and 4 Yankettes) gathered in the industrial depths of East(ish) Chatswood on yet another rainy day in Sydney. Those donning wet weather attire only managed to get wetter on the inside from sweat as it stayed dry for the run tonight. According to Hare Jock the Sock there would be some back alley trail, easy bush, difficult bush, and not so difficult bush – Right!
So, after we’d traversed Salad Servers and various other factories we arrive at the bush and even the various TM’s and locals can’t find any trail down Scott’s Ck. Those in the know reckoned there was a sewer line track “down there somewhere”. You know what a sewer line track is – it’s a rough road built along a creek so that a sewer line can be constructed and serviced. It also allows engineers to observe the lids blowing off inspection openings and spewing raw sewerage into the creek during heavy rain. That’s just the way the old MWS&DB did things.
Yep, we did find our way down to what was a road sometime last millennium – it was now a track which Jock the Sock had carved out of dense bush. 2ks of great hash trail – lots of shiggy thanks to all of the rain, rope descents, climbing over fallen trees, creek crossings and sliding down muddy slopes – and memories. A bloody great procession with lots of social interaction and even Superglue at the back of the pack with the plebs. Tic Toc and Little Shit succumbed to the 4 P’s and their torches failed – great.
For reasons beyond the average Poshman, runners (er walkers really) dropped off this wonderful expedition and short-cut their way home but not our dedicated Yank visitors who were determined to collect as many leeches on their bodies as they possibly could. A short steep climb out of the bush on to the road and On Home after someone made an executive decision not to seek out the not so difficult bush. The majority of hashers were at the bucket well after the hour. For those desperates and SCB’s who were trying to break into the Scribes van to retrieve the hash wine, the driver’s side window was open.
The On was at a little canteen where Jock had convinced the owner to not go home at 3pm but hang around and feed the hoards – I sense co-Hare Calici Virus’s MO here. A good feed of fish or osso bucco, and dessert.
Whilst Lightning was merrily flicking leeches onto the café floor the Pres called order and began dispensing Downs. Firstly, the Hares Jock the Sock and Calici Virus. Next up, all of the visitors who had to be called in groups as there were so many of them. From Foothills H3 in California we had : First to go Down, Butter Buns, Ben Herrpees, Swiss Piss, On yer Knees Bitch, Good Tail, Magic, and Magic User. In group 2 was Lost Jewels from Lakeside H3 in Melbourne, and Plunger’s brother Bright Spark from Nowra H3. Then, a little punishment was meted out – Simmo for arriving one hour early to pick up passenger Payling tonight – Aw yeah! Daylight saving has finished, and Arbitrator back after having a total ground up body rebuild.
Tonight’s humour was larger than the number of visitors. Pee Dub led off as usual, with a dud shitty old joke. Wee Willy dropped the baton again (I was wrong to assume that his wife’s return from holidays had improved the quality). Tic Toc blew up a crematorium where the Goldstein brothers were begging. Hanoi Bill insisted he was fine, and Darwin Don’s wife doesn’t like cyclones.
Th…th…that’s all Folks
It may not be the end of the world but it was the end of summer hashing as we know it till next October – which by the way is after this Committee’s reign. Trail was set at Nth Head, a not too uncommon venue, but the ON ON was to be half a suburb away – we’ll wait to see how that works!
The first disaster of the night was Co-Hare Ayatollah losing his favourite secateurs whilst preparing trail – in a National Park? The old rock wall posed a few problems for the Hares – no random holes through to the other side like days of old but instead the powers that be (theirs not ours) have manufactured 2 only openings which limited things a bit. That really wasn’t the problem – it was the Hares lack of willingness to let 45 old farts too close to the cliff edge which limited their choices.
There were the various versions of quality of trail. Bumcrack’s version was tainted by the fact he gave Polish Joke the map to lead the short walkers around. Flying Scotsman said “there were no arrows” whilst Superglue who was standing next to him said “bullshit there was”. Goon Show reckoned it “was the worst marked summer trail this year” – but then maybe his judgement of trails is as good as his judgement of red wine.
Wrappa provided horse’s doovers in the form of leftovers from the previous days Hash Cruise which went down a treat until the nibblies were interrupted when Simmo kicked the olives over.
So, the move to the other end of Manly for the On – surprisingly I don’t think we lost a soul. Honolulu Grill always seems to do the right thing by the Hash and tonight was no different although I noticed that Polish Joke and BTG were sitting close to the door in case the management recognised them as personae non grata Moochers and they needed a quick exit. I do think in future at all restaurant nights we should let Little Shit go into the establishment in advance to sort out the host before we arrived. Have you seen him operate? – walks straight in tells the management what HE wants and gets HIS meal pronto – having him on OUR side in future might speed things up for everyone. The usual fare (steak, salmon, and linguini) and it was good as well – bread with chips for entre and chips with ice cream for dessert – “that’s the way they do things in Manly” said co-hare Capt Bligh.
Most of the local punters had had enough of us so the President took to the floor. 777, on the way back from the dunny, tried to crash the proceedings but was completely ignored by the hierarchy.
First up we had Hares Ayatollah and Capt Bligh – the captain dragged the anchor (err.. chain) with his drinking skills. Polish Joke drank as a representative of the Moochers and was immediately called on for a joke but held off – Goanna got a year older and Wrappa was the Harbour Cruise Captain’s pick. Wee Willy also drank for no Hash gear.
With Pee Dub AWOL and Tic Toc in NZ dealing with the sheep the humour was a little different tonite. Polish Joke came good with an Italian joke which was plate lickin’ good. Kitty Litter plagiarised another hasher’s joke without the proper acknowledgement. JTR tossed in a quickie, and now that his wife is home from holidays Wee Willy’s jokes have improved outa sight – even had a pictorial.
On On(to winter)
Clayton’s Summer Run.
With a large contingent away on the Bike ride it was surprising to see a pack of over 40 assemble at an old haunt – just goes to show who really counts.
With the pack milling around one couldn’t help but notice Jock the Sock heading off on trail early – why does he need a head start he’s a local? Turns out he needed the extra time to go home for a shower before arriving at the Bucket, perfectly coiffured, to drink with us sweaty plebs.
What can you say about a trail in this area that hasn’t already been said – except as Pee Dub put it “it was arse-about-face” – the pavement was the first part and the bush was in the fading light. Benny the Swede had smartened up his act this week – didn’t “inadvertently” short-cut and arrived at the Bucket cursing those that had. Wrappa, another local complimented the Hare on a “1 hour run”. Molly Meldrum walked from the city to the run as a warm-up so took Darwin Don for a 30 minute 94th Birthday jaunt. Little Shit must have gotten lost because the bulk of the runners were in well before him. Grape Ape just did his own thing and arrived back when we were all at the pub.
The food arrangements are never consistent at the Northbridge Hotel except they are always SLOW – we should have all brought little lunch to tide us over while we waited to be served. Monday is a 241 deal but the staff were happy to just charge half-price – go figure? So all our orders are on number 89 – they still haven’t worked out the grief this causes. The way it panned out was hamburgers first, steak sandwiches next, then fish and chips, a few renegade schnitzels, and finally Darwin’s salmon steak. If one’s burger went AWOL on the first round one had to wait till the end for a remake. As it was there were 3 Vege Burgers with no owners – really? Wombat wondered if it was easier to get a f#*k instead. Copra appointed himself to Moan duty. Pee Dub was noticeably quite about the slowness of things, but must have deemed at $8.50 a meal there was no justifiable room for a whinge.
With the President away Copra was seconded to Announcement duty – he quickly flicked the job to yours truly – mustabin moaned out. Downs tonite for the Hare Superglue and Darwin Don for his 94th birthday. We all drank a Down celebrating the life of Moonbeams. With the help of modern technology Molly was able to give us an update on the Bike ride which began in Tamworth on Saturday. Calici had been riding constantly for 60 hrs and was approaching the South Australian border, Moishe was 100kms behind and the first Harriette was a further 50kms back. Pee Dub had a few one-liners tonite, and Wee Willy proved what we all knew – he is still going through the list of jokes they send you when you first connect to the internet. Slick was not MID tonite.
No Sugar Babies
Despite the very high probability that it was going to bucket down tonight 50 odd(approximate not weird) athletes assembled at Balls Head to see if E-Shit’s hype was justified or was it going to be a cock-up of monstrous proportions if it did rain. Being that its summertime and bush is a bit scarce in them there parts co-hare Wee Willy had to keep E-Shit on the straight and narrow more or less.
Of course the ragged rabble ran around the myriad of tracks in the Balls Head Reserve before the trail was off to the coal loader and the light at the end of the tunnel. Walkers of renown Jack the Ripper, Wanker, Prince Phillip, and Slick (Slick did request that he not be named and shamed again) were seen to be running, and passing others, on this part of the trail but that was to be of little use when they had another 3kms to go to get to Smoothey Park and the furthest point on the trail.
Naturally the lead runners would cock-up the extra loop on the runners trail at this point and as a result were at the bucket way before they should have been – I smell Benny the Swede in there somewhere…. And they all blamed one another for cocking it up.
The Bucket was held at a clearing overlooking the city and harbour and as Darwin Don said “the Abos would have sold ring side seats at this spot to see the First Fleet arrive”.
Grape Ape was running all over the food again tonight and it was Same Same with special bbq sauce and bird seed salad plus a bar of choccie to have with fruit salad. As dinner was being served Jock the Sock appeared out of the scrub, looking like a dirty old perve, to be last man in – didn’t think anyone knew he was MIA.
To cries of “fuck off E-Shit” the President handed out drinks to the two Hares. Poor old Wee Willy gets tainted by association. We then had a slight lull in proceedings as Flying Scotsman, the locum Hash Flash, got people staged for a pic. Then there were drinks for Wrappa as a returnee, Darwin Don for doing a complete strip as part of an act at Nash Hash in Ballarat, Goanna for parking in the “spastic spot” and parking another spastic in, and finally good to see Jungle Jim back, and for his trip to Port Douglas two years too early for the next Nash Hash.
Humour consisted of a quadrophony (that’s 4 jokes) from Pee Dub, and Wee Willy read a joke emailed in by an the absent Tic Toc. Tic Toc had to be there for that one.
With many Poshmen away on their bike ride its gunna be slim pickin’s at the Northbridge Hotel next week.