It’s all downhill now
That’s right the Mondays are getting longer from now on as we head towards summer. As usual to celebrate the shortest hashing day of the year Khyber Pass and his band of merry men set our Summer-Run-in-Winter at Ingleside Scout Camp. This means a 4pm start so that no one gets caught in the dark without a torch, and if you missed the 4.15 cut off time you did the short walk. It was easy to get to the start if you didn’t try to enter from Chiltern Rd like Bumcrack did – wrong, and pointed out on the run details as a no go. Your Scribe did have to clarify this with the Hares as last time he went to this venue in 1969 Chiltern Rd was the only way in – it also required one to use the old blitzwagon left onsite to travel the last half a K.
The trail took us into the hills with the mention of virgin territory – something which is getting more and more difficult to believe as we approach 50 years of exploring the environs of Sydney, and humanity encroaches or our bush. This “virgin territory” required clambering over boulders the size of The Devil’s Marbles to get to the summit, and the site of an old crucifixion?(“Jesus I can see your place from here”) Just as well Slick had stayed home all day in his jarmies so as not to damage his bod before going on holidays on Tuesday. Little Shit (who you can be sure hadn’t called the pack On) and Flying Scotsman were first to the top – according to Little Shit anyway. The whole pack made it to the top and enjoyed the view before the wheels started to fall off for a few. Your Choice pursued an on-back which he said took him “45kms out of his way towards Terrey Hills” – Nah! It wasn’t that far shirley? Scud went in for a little de-barking and came into the Bucket displaying blotches of red.
As the evening cooled down we adjourned inside the Scout Hall to the warmth of an open fire – Colonel Sanders was chief stoker tonight. When 40 of us sat down to lamb with roast vege salad it was easy to work out who had a real job and was missing – like Lightning and Hoarse Whisper – ‘cause this venue would have been a home game for them. XXXX was missing (he’s never worked) so all of the red wine went into glasses and then into a hashman.
The President called order for the Downs and the Hares Khyber Pass and Wraparound, plus chef Grape Ape got a beer for their troubles. Seems that 777’s wife dresses him and the President didn’t approve so a beer for him – someone needs to teach our new hashers how to drink. As an aside his missus can dress me any time. Bumcrack had to get the stuff-up award and a free beer and Goonshow received a down for claiming the meal “was the best fuckin’ meal of all times” –Really?
Joke time! Pee Dub took a dolly bird home and all she did was left a turd and a dainty hanky on his front lawn. Pilko has discovered a replacement system when your egg timer is broken. Jack the Ripper told one about……… bloody predictive text haven’t a clue what my note meant. Then Bumcrack approached the fire place, cigar in hand, and placed his scotch on the mantle-piece before telling us that a twat makes a good vase.
They came out of the woodwork for tonight’s Joint Run and mass photography extravaganza. The pack gathered at AB Oval except for Pedantic who was seen trying to short-cut the Military Rd snarl only to find himself lost 300meters from the start, in relatively unknown territory, with a broken in-car GPS.
The Harriettes had set a trail primarily on the Balmoral side of Mosman so it was either up or down or you needed one leg longer than the other and we went as far down as the beach. One understands that when one does the walkers trail set by the Harriettes that there’ll be plenty of girlies to socialise with and tonite was no different with newer members like Krud doing his fair share of fraternisation. I didn’t see much of the athletes although I assume that TITO was pushing Music Man pretty hard. A few more Photo Models like The Arbitrator turned up at the Bucket to enjoy the frivolity and with the Posh membership being asked to wear their 2600th t-shirts there was a sea of canaries.
We adjourned to the Mosman “Ari” for the On and it was obvious that most hashers were there for that Grand photographic event – the cover shot for the 50th Anniversary Commemorative mag. Ace photographers Next Week and All Fours assisted by choreographer Tic Toc managed to herd the crowd on to the verandah for the piccie. As I said they came out of the woodwork – King Arthur, San Francisco, Polyunsaturated, Jungle Jim(back on deck) and some Moochers led by Dr Jekyll resplendent in moon-boot (so that he had to sit on a chair right in centre front of the photo).
That was the easy bit of the night – placing your food order and getting a beer was a fraught exercise so your correspondent went down the road to Chargrill Charlies for a $15 schnitzel and veg – bugger the beer.
Just for those Pommie rockers amongst you, the 70’s hit-makers Racey, Paper Lace, and the Rubettes will be on at Anita’s theatre in Thirroul on November 17.
Don’t mention the war
A sizable pack gathered on Sword Beach@Castle Cove which was a slight geographic mistake as Sword Beach is actually around @Deepwater (for those a little short on wartime history Sword Beach was the landing place for the Canadians at Normandy).
The numbers are starting to drop slowly as the wusses amongst the hash start to head to the warm climes. The move seems a little later than usual but then we also had Simmo back from Italy and Salt Petre, braving temps lower than 25deg to venture out, back from Japan. Anyway, a still goodly-sized pack ran and walked the “real estate trail” of Roseville Chase and Castle Cove with Echo Point Park and the golf course the only greenery. Hare Wombat, dressed as Florence Nightingale, (he said he was the Pope?) dished out 40yo port by the thimble full, from an altar at the real Sword Beach. The pack dribbled back to the Bucket with the short walkers beating the clock by 15 minutes. Lightning and Cinders moved away from the drinking group but were still over heard discussing the merits of a “great run” – 8.3kms by all accounts.
Meanwhile, the reptilienne chefs from the Canadian underground were preparing Hitler’s Last Supper in the kitchen and before their efforts could be applauded they disappeared into the mist. When all were seated in the foxhole Pee Dub closed the lid to keep out the cold. Seems Hitler had a good feed the night before the allies beat the shit out of him at Normandy – Kransky, mash with vegies in it(probably has a German name), sauerkraut, vegie paddle pops(they probably have a German name too) and apple strudel with ice cream. The corps would have also dined on amazing chocolate-bird seed healthy thingos which WC had provided but Pee Dub bought them to the table when 90% of the troops had charged off – two-legged mice had a feast during the week. The imbibing would have been a grand affair also except that XXXX confiscated the best bottle of red then proceeded to throw it all over the serving table.
The President, who was loud in the confined space, called for order then dispensed the Downs. The Hares Wombat and Pee Dub, Salt Petre for managing the El Camino walk in Japan without uttering a word (of Spanish), Tic Toc for jamming his finger down the neck of Wombat’s $400 bottle of port, and finally Kitty Litter (the Canuck-in-gloves-on-a-warm-night) for trying to do his trick of outsmarting the public transport system (again) last week at VIVID, and spitting the dummy as a result.
Before the humour began Molly Meldrum asked Pee Dub not to fuck up a good run with a bad joke and the Hare obliged with one about Merv and Sheryl and the RM Williams boots – you had to be there. Jack the Ripper, who was firing tonight, knows a circus owner who employed a dolly bird and a golfer with a long tongue as lion tamers. Tic Toc brought up the tail end with a frau (did someone mention the war) married to a Yank and living in Lexington – you really did have to be there for that one.
95…96…97…98 – but who’s counting?
98 is the number of light installations there are for this year’s VIVID but there are only 81 in the city so if you feel you were short-changed it was probably because the Hares set trail during the day and never saw one of them. For a quick peek at some of the other installs pop down to Chatswoo where there are 6 more
So the plan on day 4 of the show was to commandeer a ferry at Jeffery St Wharf, abandon ship at Darling Harbour, then maraud our way thru Barangaroo, The Rocks, Circular Quay and the Botanical Gardens before fighting the Chinese hoards to run back across the SHB. At least we were the first Hash to put down chalk so the trails for the Larrikins on Tuesday and Thirsty on Thursday would be decidedly messy. With 2.5 million people expected to see VIVID in 20 days it was a good chance it could be a bit of a shit-fight to run through the crowd. Goon Show was first to run foul of Constable Plod when he was stopped and told not to run as there was a chance he could be inadvertently tripped up by a punter. Little Shit, who was by his side, ignored the directive and galloped off only to kiss the concrete 50 metres on. The Botanical Gardens was voted “best of show” by those who made it that far. Duckweave who succumbed to the traffic tonite did reverse trail over the SHB and decided he’d go back some other time to see the lights. Darwin Don and Molly Meldrum, who’d been shoe shopping, ensconced themselves at the Custom’s House pub before the old bloke trotted to the Bucket – said he “burned Molly off on the downhill”. Bumcrack on the other hand “Opal-ed” it back on a ferry – twice in a day means he got his $2.50 worth. The pack dribbled back into the Bucket so in order to speed up the feeding process at the On the Hares were selling lottery tickets. Fat lot of good that did as the chef was from the “Northbridge Pub School of feeding a crowd a la carte” – you know? – all the burgers first, then all the fish and chips next, then the calamari, and on…… Darwin thanked his lucky stars that he didn’t order salmon this time.
As we had The Lounge Bar to ourselves the President wasn’t competing with the public as he gave Downs to the Hares, Yakkity Yak and Copraphelia (this guy is popping up regularly) and somehow Flying Scotsman got a guernsey for herding the hash. That was probably because when the TM arrived at the Bucket he’d brushed off the pack as too hard. Hanoi Bill and Darwin Don, the irrepressible old – fart travellers, both got bon voyage Downs – travel safely.
When it came to humour, Pee Dub’s Korean mate makes Kippahs from black A-cup bras. Then there was the one about a headless dolly bird – some Yank comedienne, only today, had to apologise for a similar funny. Tic Toc struggled through another Ramadan funny with Jack and Adam in the desert.
(Totally) Anti Pasta
The Posh, to a man, were particularly vociferous tonight about last week’s Pasta Dinner – say no more. We were at Balgowlah Golf Club tonight and there had been an offer to play a round of golf with Kitty Litter before the run but then Kitty discovered that he would finish on the course at 5pm and that meant he’d have to sit around drinking beers till Hash time – and the problem with that is?
From this start point we either head to the hills of Clontarf, or we go into the Chez Merde Blanc Zone of North Balgowlah – which we did. The “Angel of Smithfield”, Goanna, must have had his wings clipped as he didn’t make it to the run till Bucket time, but the large pack was generally favourable in their remarks of the trail. There were however grumblings amongst the elite athletes about the mind-numbing performance of Flying Scotsman these days. A request has been submitted to the Committee asking that FS’s pacemaker be turned down a notch.
The meal tonight was prepared by Guest Chef Louis Baumann, of Louis’s Fairway bistro fame, who dished up Swiss stew/Irish goulash with salad, and finger lickin’ sticky date pudding (of some ethnic background). Darwin Don had seconds from a new clean plate thereby adding to someone’s washing up task.
The President whispered something about order. The Hare and sub-Hare, Lost Patrol and Duckweave were so busy talking that they nearly missed their call to the floor and a free drink. The chef also received a drink as thanks – funnily enough Franco didn’t get one last week. Then WC was welcomed back with the offer of a returnees drink but instead he started on the story of how he single-handedly force up the price of health insurance by having a list of health related catastrophes as long as Smiley’s broken arm. Calici Virus commented that it sounded like an organ recital. It was a Home Game for a rarely seen San Francisco but he managed fly under the down-down radar of acknowledgement.
The humour was from the usual culprits. Pee Dub with one about a Victorian, and a Brokenhillian who didn’t give a F@#k. S-Bends farted, and Tic Toc got touchy-feely with Pee Dub and a handful of tit, before Pee Dub returned to the floor to tell us about Barbie the house-keeper.
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.