It’s late at night. I arrive back home late after judiciously visiting a few watering holes on the way. I aim for the chair in the front porch as is my wont – “Cannot Lod. Shoes very dirty.” I am told. The garden hose rapidly appears as if from nowhere and my legs are vigorously scrubbed before the offending shoes are tackled and removed. This reveals feet bedecked in black (for ease in washing) socks covered in a generous layer of muddy soil. The voice becomes pained and reprimanding. I have gone too far this time. “Shoes full of stones Lod. Not velly good......” (She is wondering how she can once again get them to look like the new shoes Bam Bam is always mistaking them for.) My feet are eventually revealed like two large soggy white prunes as the hose slowly sweeps the muddy water away. How this came about and why I am telling you will shortly be revealed.
It started well enough. We were on a long bus ride to a distant A site found by our hares Ball Ringer and Bell End. The A site would be extremely small as hashers were warned to find parking elsewhere. This must be a good omen. If two experienced hares accepted deficiencies in the A site it must mean the run would be exceptionally good.
Now Ball Ringer, is a man to whom I can relate. Not only does he have an excellent low arm running style and try to opt out of household chores but he appreciates that haring is a privilege and is conscientious about it. Each run is meticulously planned for a minimum of six months and as his amusing last run report revealed he would spend a similar time writing the run report were it allowed. When you put time and effort into a run you want others to appreciate it so you drop a few reminders to your fellow runners. This run must be very good for this fine man has been dropping hints that it should not be missed throughout the six months.
I get ahead of myself. I was on the bus really looking forward to the event. The jungle hash is a tight run ship. Well organised and you don’t have things like being given run reports to write because that is the duty of the next hares. My anticipation was heightened when I noticed that this week Split Beaver’s pre run preparation included downing a can of Chang on the bus. We old men can’t do such things and get away with it! This week I was bound to finish ahead of at least one other runner.
At the A site I noted that the amount of water nearby was reminiscent of a flood plain but was not concerned, Ball Ringer was the hare. The run would be good. After the visitors were introduced and the new shoes down downed to Bam Bam’s great delight, our hare came on to give his instructions. The delivery was authoritative and to the point. Checks were red, false trails pink and back checks blue. The warning was equally clear. “Follow the paper” Go off paper at your peril, he warned. There would be ample checks to slow the fast runners, no need to short cut and there would be no more than 150m after checks without paper.
Did I see Lord Lucan collecting cell phones? Did that mean excessive water? Maybe a little water but Ball Ringer is the hare. Excessive would not be an appropriate word for a Ball Ringer run.
The run started well but here I should break off to explain that the hares for the next run Wank King and ?? were both missing out on this venture and I didn’t know that our joint GM Rumpled Foreskin would ask me to be the scribe, so my concentration was on staying on my feet, not on anything else. But the run definitely started out well, of that much I am sure. I can remember at this stage commenting to a fellow runner how well the route was marked. The comment “Of course this is a Ball Ringer run” came back.
The water was deeper and more prevalent than I’d expected but I do recall that the early checks were broken so I saw no pink FT marks. I also remember a very good back check early on that seemed to be keeping us all together. GI Joe benefitted from that one, putting us all on the correct route with good loud calls and for the only time in the day I was near the front. What happened? Where did I go wrong? The FRBs and their followers went past me and the run became strung out. There were mutterings at the back that calling was poor from the front but perhaps they were too far ahead. At this stage I was close to some good company Rumpled Foreskin, Hobbit, Shooting Star, Split Beaver and That’s the One come to mind, but landing in a sinking mud almost waist deep slowed me up further. Hobbit had clearly suffered the same fate as I slowly crawled out I saw this meticulous man washing as much as he could off before continuing with his run.
I’d been pleased to be a little in front of Split Beaver (the Chang drinker) at the halfway stage as I’d predicted but thanks to some clever corner cutting by Shooting Star the man got ahead and I couldn’t close the distance. Now here I must come clean. I allowed myself to forget our hare’s stern warning. I tried to stay on paper but I was also watching the runners in front. Somewhere along the way I apparently missed a back check and ended up rerunning part of the course. For some time That’s the One and I seemed to be the very last ones on the course (no sign of any walkers today – most unusual), but as we neared Shooting Star, Split Beaver and Hobbit, all looking lost I could hear Steptoe fighting his way through the swamp and shiggy. It sounded as though he was in battle with a crocodile with the latter coming off worse. He eventually appeared but the two us then lost the others in the tapioca and returned home off paper following their calls. Thanks Steptoe it’s not good to stay on your own off trail.
I was convinced we were the last ones back, but no, some considerable time later that notorious short cutter, Lord Lucan limped in and much later than that a group of walkers including Banka Blower, Turd Burglar, Marro and Stakeout walked in claiming to be the only ones to have done the proper course as they had to solve and break the last three checks apparently left by all the runners. Later still Really Sadistic Bastard arrived with female company and the hint of a smile on his face claiming that he too had completed the full course. By this time rumours were abounding that Burl Ives was apparently putting a bid for a name change to Night Dyke II but he finally appeared in style with female companion just before the circle ended having been rescued by a couple of local Thai motor cyclists. When he was asked to comment on the run I found it had left him speechless.
You may want to consider when whether Burl Ives and RSB were gentlemen looking after Thai ladies or whether the ladies were taking care of them, but I imagine such thoughts to be beneath you. You may wonder too why it took so many of the late arrivals an uncharacteristically long time to complete the course when they stayed on paper or you may think that more than a few were, like me, guilty of failing to follow our stalwart hare’s instructions to the letter and so also got lost. Again I am sure these thoughts are beneath you.
On On Robbing Bastard
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