Run 1777, 30 November, Hong Lok Yuen

The Curious Case of the Hare and the Missing Trail

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Circle underway with several runners still on trail

Inspired by the chaos of recent months, where Catch of the Day set a run but forgot to brief us about her nonstandard markings (two pink ribbons tied to a railing as a check), and Liberace set a run though locked gates and barbed wire entanglements, hare Luk Dim Boon made a spirited attempt to revive now infamous accolade:

“I hate this run very much…don’t do such stupid thing again”

He may very well have succeeded in reaching a new low, setting the run with the worst markings ever.

We had been pre-warned that the hare would be still out, setting trail, at 7:30. And, so it was. But the hare’s sending his domestic helper to give the briefing and guard the bags and perform a strip show was something new. Since I was recovering from recent (successful) surgery to remove a spare todger I would be a non-runner, able to guard the bags myself, and so we sent Juliet home.

At 7:30, I ran the pack through the hare’s briefing again (except for Vecro Lips who insisted she had been listening but could only repeat someone else’s comment, not the actual briefing). At 7:32 off the pack went. As they left, Catch of the Day was the first to call “Trail!”; possibly the only time she saw trail all night.

Latecomers, arriving in dribs and drabs over the next 10 minutes, included Cue, QT, One Eyed Jack, Salesman, Liberace (who got lost in his van looking for 11th street despite the hare’s clear instructions on how to find the start at 20th Street). Last to arrive for the run was Golden Balls, who failed to recognize the inherent irony in his approval of the pack’s setting off on time.

Being St Andrew’s day, Luk Dim Boon went with a Scottish theme for the evening, and provided no chalk to mark checks. He also tried to use as little chalk as possible for his trail markings. On the rare occasions when he did bother to mark the trail, the markings were so faint as to be missed by many of the runners.

Consequently, One Eyed Jack, Salesman and Catch Of The Day all returned to the start within 30 minutes, having failed to solve the first check. Bravely they all set off again, shortcutting towards the main gate.

Next to appear was the hare, Luk Dim Boon, checking to how the start went, before disappearing back onto his trail to wash away some more markings (he claims he was resetting it, having laid parts of it three days earlier). On his way out, he was observed picking up Catch Of The Day, and witnesses claim to have seen them enjoying sex in the back of his jag, before he dropped her further along the trail. They must have been going at it for some time, because COTD was the very last of the runners to return, nearly two and a half hours after the start.

Wimp trail was a jaunt around the villagesnorth of Hong Lok Yuen, while rambos went up a virgin shiggy trail to the top of Wo Hop Shek cemetery. Those that actually got to this part of the run said it was an excellent shiggy trail well marked. Trail then (apparently) went to Tai To Yan then down the gurkha road to Lam Tsuen.

First to return home, giving up on the run, was Cue, utterly failing to find his way out of the Hong Lok Yuen estate despite actually living there. Next back was Gunpowder Plod, claiming to have completed the wimps trail, although it was subsequently revealed that the hare had caught him returning from another direction completely. Following close behind were shortcutters D Ram, Geriatric, and Velcro.

While we waited for the rambos to drag their tardy arses back home, QT was generously offering sweets to one and all (hash beer Plod having forgotten to buy any crisps). Only after we had eaten QT’s sweets did someone have the sense to ask if they were his, at which point he revealed he had found them on the ground. D Ram was keen to point out that he was “no longer the oldest hasher” claiming that this mantle now belonged to geriatric. On further questioning, this was called into doubt. Who is older, D Ram or Geriatric? And Plod confessed that he is only nice to his wife when he is high on morphine.

Mango was the first of the rambos to return (but only if you count returning in a taxi as completing the run). Stingray received acclamation for being the first real rambo to return, but it seems that he too took a wrong turn somewhere with Golden Balls and they did a long-cut down to the bottom of Wo Hop Shek instead of following real trail. Gaele Says No was the next back, again, by a different route.

Around this time, the entertainment arrived. Luk Dim Boon had kindly organized a troupe of local dancers to perform their well-choreographed routine to Mandarin pop songs, prancing and twirling next to us, while we waited for more rambos to return. This greatly disturbed D Ram who until then had been chatting up some of the helpers walking dogs in the vicinity.

Finally, a little over two hours after the start, when Eunuch finally dragged himself back from the run, I decided that enough was enough and called the circle to order, although Salesman, Liberace and COTD were still out there. But this first attempt to start the circle was interrupted by Velcro, crying out that she had not yet collected hash cash.

A few minutes later, the circle did get going despite some hashers (special snowflakes) worries that the missing three would be upset (triggered) by our starting without them. Nonsense. It’s happened to me enough times. We are not going to turn the circle into a “safe space”.

The hare was awarded multiple down downs for setting such a crappy run and for generally being a complete fuckwit. As the hare drank from a “yard” provided by Plod (to be precise, the hare called it a yard; the rest of us called it a foot-long) we began to understand just why the hare’s distance-based instruction that “If you run 80 metres and you don’t find trail, then you’re off trail” may have been one of the most meaningless instructions ever.

The hare was also awarded a down down for the fact that every single runner of the larger than usual pack had their own version of the trail they had followed. No two runners had managed to follow the same route. Not on the wimps, and not on the rambos. It is quite possible that not one runner actually managed to find and follow the true trail for the whole run. From this, I have deduced that the hare did not set a complete run, and, in fact, he only set half a trail and decided to bluff his way through by telling the pack that they just failed to follow his run instructions. You can call me Sherlock.

Halfway through the circle, Salesman then Liberace and finally Catch of the Day returned. Liberace couldn’t join the circle at first, due to a highly localised incident of volcanism. This was in stark contrast to COTD who did join the circle immediately, deliriously happy but tremble-kneed and barely able to stand unsupported, after her in-run “lift” from the hare.

Other down downs awarded during the circle included:

  • D Ram for talking non-stop like an old washer woman while (not) following trail;
  • Golden Balls for spying on the hare;
  • Golden Balls for taking advantage of D Ram’s obtaining trail tips from locals and for not correcting the wrongly marked check when he changed direction because of these tips (D Ram would have shared this down down except he had disappeared, probably to help “walk a dog”);
  • Plod (hash beer) for providing a magic beer can (sealed but only half-full and foul when opened);
  • D Ram for writing yet more letters of complaint to the SCMP;
  • Plod for new shoes;
  • Luk Dim Boon for smoking a fat Cuban cigar, Golden Balls for looking like Castro, and Mango for looking like Che Guevara;
  • Luk Dim Boon for finally getting it up (does this mean he needs to be renamed?);
  • Gaele Says No for excessive athleticism;
  • Golden Balls for dressing up like a pirate;
  • Myself (Serbian Spammer Bomber Baron Diver von Mooseheime) for only having one todger, the second having been surgically removed;
  • Catch Of The Day for attempted assassination of the GM (attempted drowning by making me laugh while I was drinking a down down from Plod’s “yard”); and
  • Many, many, many other down downs too.

Switching hats from hare to RA, Luk Dim Boon also awarded many, many down downs. The first of these turned out to be a mistake when LDB called out Geriatric as a visitor only to discover that this was his second consecutive week in attendance and, furthermore, Geriatric was wearing N2TH3 gear. Beer and medication mixed together means that I have no recollection of the RA’s other down downs. I do remember circle going on for quite a long time (over one and a half hours) with the 18-strong circle from time to time devolving into a lot of private circles (usually involving either Velcro or Mango).

Finally the GM and RA were awarded down downs for holding an excessively long circle.

The hare has threatened to set another run in the near future. I despair. Somebody please educate him on how to follow trail rather than just following the other runners, then we can hope he might actually use some chalk, flour and paper when setting trail. – Serbian Bomber

Run 1776, 23 November, Sai Kung

The Times They Are a-Changing

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The stamp of authority

With Populist candidates sweeping the worlds elections it was no surprise to see Serbian Bomber, the peoples champion, take control of the NT Hash.

JUST TRY A SIP … SERBIAN IN POWER

No time waiting for the late comers and slow parkers, just get the show on the road. The cold winds of change blow the pack down the hill to Hiram’s Highway. Velcro Lips was to be the Statue of Liberty, shining a light into the lions den, she looked like the Goddess of Democracy.

SIP … Serbian had it all under control.

The hare, Plod, never one to use the old boring conventional chalk and flour for his markings, no he used pink string, yellow string, police string …

Moonie and Gayle Says No scurried around up and down the Victoria line, pity the trail was going along the Central line but they enjoyed themselves, anything goes these days. The Kowloon Hash Veterans are the inner circle of the Serbian regime, no surprise when Geriatric confidently leads the pack and even One Eyed Jack refuses to short cut.

Past Sai Kung Sports College – are the students studying hashing or just followers of Serbians tweets?

SIP … Serbian is the teacher.

Back on Plod’s roof the canopy is about to take off into the wind but the short cutters are only interested in taking off the sausages from the barbecue, where Jam The Vag wields the tongs. Mango Groove and Eunuch return in tears, no longer the dynamic duo of yesteryear.

SIP … this is the Serbian era.

The GM2 down downs circle the circle, no one is spared from Eunuch’s wrath.

The RA2, blown away by the noise and commotion, thinks he must have stepped into Macdonalds by mistake. Stingray lays the blame squarely at the feet of the Kowloon infiltrators but there’s not a moment’s peace, even for Gods messenger.

SIP … Serbian calls on his last disciple.

Hare Raiser Mango tries to put forward some drivel about future runs and penalties, free kicks and yellow cards but no one cares, theres no run yet for next week but Serbian has his finger on the pulse and all will be well.

SIP … Although not actually present, Serbian and his mystical powers have triumphed and crushed all opposition … LIBS is gone … LONG LIVE THE KING. – Stingray

Run 1775, Ha Hang, 16 November

Report No. 1

“I hate this run very much…don’t do such stupid thing again”

(Liberace, run 1766, 14 September 2016)

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Well the run this week was our AGM. Must say Liberace has been an outstanding GM this year, leading the circle with his unique sense of humour, not forgetting his exploits as hare for five runs this year as well as his 53 runs attended. Anyway, he was pre-advised by several members of the N2TH3 to set a very short run, a very simple run and a very forgettable run as it was our AGM and nobody wants to be out on trail forever. Liberace took this advice on board and then did his usual stuff, hence the title of the report, the now infamous quote made by our GM upon finishing Catch Of The Day’s Run in Tsuen Wan back in September.

Starting at Stingray and M&M’s pad in Ha Hang Village off Ting Kok Road, the pack set off promptly at 7.40 pm after Liberace had given us a set of instructions. Thinking that this was just going to be an easy 20-minute run, the pack sped off and across Ting Kok Road into the industrial estate. Dingaling figured that it should just be a little jog along the waterfront park and back and most of us agreed that indeed we were not even going to get a sweat on. As we ran along and onto the first check most of us went straight as Dram and Velcro had called trail, but our plans of a waterfront park jog were blown to pieces when we came upon a check back, eventually finding trail heading left and around a fenced off area.   At this point, Mango became a little worried that we might get arrested as technically we were trespassing; however One Eyed Jack soon put his worries to bed by telling him to stop being a twat and there is no possible way anything could go wrong at this point. Well One Eyed Jack your Nostradamus-like prediction was soon to be shot to pieces….

So off we all went, Eunuch in front and the rest of us grouped nicely together behind. A straight long road led right up to a locked gate. This was the first of two gates and proved easy to negotiate as we simply had to climb over it. A short run followed onto a second locked gate that was over eight foot in height with barbed wire on the top. “There is no bloody way we are getting over that!” the pack shouted. Over it no, but under maybe. Sighting a small gap at the bottom of the gate Eunuch made it look very easy as he went under, running off in the distance without giving a toss for his fellow brethren. The rest of us just looked at this now very slim Eunuch happily trotting away leading a few to remark “wish I could be like him, the skinny twat.” Mango then decided that he must have lost the 20 pounds excess gained from his mother’s West Indian cooking and had a go at going under the gate as well. Poor thing he tried going under head first, only to scream “My bum is stuck, can someone call the fire services!” Dingaling took control and after dragging Mango out advised that he should put his legs in and then go through. This approach worked and soon Velcro, Penile Dementia, Dram and Plod followed suit, but a few chubbers, including One Eyed Jack (a.k.a Nostradamus) and Serbian Bomber, had to take a very long detour around before returning back onto Ting Kok Road again.

As we ran along the jogging path, another check led us over the road onto the rambo / wimps split. The rambo trail was a short shiggy trail up, around and back to the wall above Ting Kok Road. Eunuch and Dingaling tried to turn their lights off in the hope of jumping out of the bushes and scaring the next hasher to come along…but nobody else followed, making them both look like a right pair of tits. The rambo and wimp trails joined up near some graves and continued going straight. Dram, Plod and One Eyed Jack quickly found trail off a check back before heading left into another village. It was here that we came across a very sweet looking wild boar that Plod tried to befriend. After trying to communicate with the poor little thing Serbian Bomber and Penile Dementia soon found trail leading deep into the village and around and back onto Tin Kok Road, again. At this point the pack had got pretty strung out as we had almost another three-kilometre run home. Back on Stingray’s roof, Golden Balls had now arrived making some ridiculous excuse for being late.

In the time we had been out on the run, the corner of Stingray’s roof had been turned into some type of polling station, similar to that seen in a dodgy African country where the outcome of the election is known before the vote itself. It was impressive, there were a couple of large pieces of paper with pending committee positions waiting to be filled in and a voting box, complete with pens and pieces of paper. Mango was infuriated by this horrible sight in front of him so he grabbed a marker pen and wrote “Bog Brush” over everything. Stingray was having none of this, told Mango off, grabbed the pen and then wrote “Trump” over Liberace’s carefully prepared chart. Poor Libs, undeterred by this bad behaviour, grabbed a clean white piece of paper and re-did everything, making sure his spelling was correct following Velcro Lips’ guidance. A quick circle then followed, and then time for the main event. Various positions were appointed before anointing of the new GM. Following the guidelines set forth by the Hong Kong SAR, Liberace decided that he would allow the assembled hash to vote from three pre-selected candidates, namely Serbian Bomber, One Eyed Jack and Dingaling.

One by one each member was called upon “one man-one vote” Liberace called as we voted. Now that was all well and good, but answer this riddle …if there are fourteen attendees, then how come after counting there were seventeen votes? Well actually this weeks scribe knows the answer, Plod voted three times for One Eyed Jack and someone else also voted twice for One Eyed Jack. Looks like One Eyed Jack had been slipping a few members a ten dollar note…anything for power. As the votes were counted live, it soon became apparent that it was going to be very close between Serbian Bomber and One Eyed Jack, with Serbian Bomber holding on to be the first ever democratically elected GM of the N2TH3. Poor Dingaling received no votes, not a sausage, even his wife Overdue didn’t vote for him. Don’t feel too bad Dingaling, if you are a fan of the Eurovision Song Contest, you will see the United Kingdom always gets no votes as well.

Food followed with a delicious spread of chilli, Thai curry, rice and bananas that was kindly prepared by M&M. It wasn’t long before the food and beer were consumed and it was time for bed. As we all left, we kindly shook hands with M&M and gave Stingray a quick peck on his left cheek. Finally, it must be said that this was another eventful run, a very memorable AGM planned and executed to imperfection by Liberace, and for those of you not coming along, seriously you are missing out on so much.

– Mango Groove

Report No. 2

No Country for Fat Men

For his final run as GM, Liberace was also the hare.

You assume, as soon as you read that Liberace was setting trail, that there was some cock-up along the way. And you would be correct. There was a size requirement for the run. But we only discovered this part-way through.

Things started as normal. We assembled on the roof of Stingray’s gaff, one by one slipping in unnoticed by the locals. The jokes were flying back and forth. But, beneath the humour, our inner voices questioned, “Would we all make it back? With Liberace as the hare, would there be some suicidal run alongside the highway, or a crawl through a tunnel of thorns, a mad trail down a cliff-face?” And the most worrisome thought, “What was the risk of being the next GM?”

Liberace’s briefing seemed pretty standard. The usual markings. The usual banter. And so we sortied out, into the quiet of the night.

At first, trail was easy, down into Tai Po industrial estate but then after a false trail south towards the waterfront, trail turned east and arrived at a locked gate. We ducked through a hole in the fence right next to the gate. So far, so good. Looking back along the trail, I was reassured to see the hare following.

We reached another eight-foot locked gate, with trail on the far side. A few hashers scrambled over, but others hesitated until somebody found a concrete drainage channel that cut under the fence.

Then we reached a third locked gate, leading out (if it was open) onto a road. Eight foot high, with barbed wire along the top. No hole in the fence and more barbed wire along the top. A drainage channel that was only 6 inches wide. With some struggle most of the hash was able to wriggle through a small gap beneath the gate. Even Velcro Lips managed to squeeze her boobs under it (I watched closely in case she needed assistance). Finally, there was me, One-Eyed Jack and the buffoon of a hare remaining. One-Eyed Jack went first and squeezed his belly through, but then his ribcage got hooked up on the lower bar of the gate. He could not pass this way. I didn’t even try. If OEJ could not do it, there was no way my big-boned body would fit. Fortunately GoldenBalls was not running.

We seized Liberace, and after applying some “enhanced” interrogation techniques, he broke. The gates were open when he set the trail, but he had wondered if they would be locked later. If we ran back the way we had come (almost all the way back to the start) then we could find our way back to the trail… run back to the junction to Sam Mun Tsai… Keep going along the cycle path towards Tai Mei Tuk… Run past the check that would lead along the village, keep going towards Tai Mei Tuk… Run over the T and keep going towards Tai Mei Tuk to join the run back.

So off I went, OEJ trailing behind, to rejoin the runners.

As I went, I encountered the “gallant” D-Ram escorting Velcro back the start. I think he was trying to persuade her that they needed to go back underneath the gate, but she insisted they go back the quick way, straight along the road.

They told me that I was on the wrong side of the road – and so I crossed over and found the arrows. Then I was surprised as Ginger Moon came speeding up from behind. He accompanied me, past the check into the village and onto the markings for the return trail. He then helped me to scout on beyond this, to meet up with the hashers and rescue them from any angry villagers (no wonder Velcro Lips turned back instead of entering the village).

Following the trail backwards, we reached the public toilets and ducked inside to take a quick whizz. Ginger emerged just as the first hashers ran by, while I hid inside until the coast was clear.

Quickly I caught up with the front of the pack and ran with Mango down the road. But instead of crossing the road to the safety of the path, Mango insisted on running on the wrong side of the dual carriageway, directly facing the oncoming traffic. When a traffic light brought traffic to a temporary halt I sprinted to the next possible crossing point and got out of the way. I had no idea Mango was cousin to the lemming.

When we got back to Stingray’s des-res I discovered that Liberace’s gateway fiasco had added an extra 2km to my run – 7km compared to the Rambos’ 5km.

I can’t remember much from Liberace’s final circle due to the shock and trauma of the subsequent voting for GM. I remember Golden Balls being down-downed for not being able to find the start (despite a map and clear markings). Mango and Dingaling for taking to the bushes on the rambo trail to lurk in ambush, but being disappointed when nobody passed by. Mango appointing Bogbrush to every committee position, which seemed fairly sensible to me. But then this was voided, and Liberace started over.

Despite my pleas for mercy, I was included in the list of candidates as number 1 along with One-Eyed Jack (2) and Dingaling (3). Somehow 12 people cast 15 votes – 8 for me, 6 for OEJ, 0 for Stingray and 1 for number 4.

So it seems I am now your GM. I will try not to let my plans for world domination interfere with the schedule of the runs. Hahahahaha. Today the hash, tomorrow the world…

Lesser committee members: Eunuch as GM2, Luk Dim Boon as RA, Stingray as RA2, Mango Groove as hare raiser (I’ve looked in the mirror but I can’t see any more hare on my head so I think he needs to try harder), Velcro as hash cash and hash trash, Liberace as hash beer and Golden Balls as hash webbie.

OnOn

– Serbian Spammer Bomber Baron Diver von Mooseheime

Run 1772, Lo Wu, 26 October

Village People

The Village People, Bock Off and FOYC

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The GM really is gay

We gathered on the bridge over Ng Tung River near Lo Wu Correctional Institute: Catch Of The Day, One Eyed Jack, Luk Dim Boon, Liberace, Eunuch, Screw, Screwless and Velcro Lips. Initially absent, the hare Golden Jelly turned up accompanied by a rather flustered looking Golden Balls clutching a bag of flour. The pack was told that the run was not too long as the lovely Golden Jelly was feeling unwell. Unfortunately her co-hare GB had tried to help set the markings but instead had f***ked some of them up, particularly the first very confusing check just metres from the start.

The pack was told to stay together for the first 10 minutes of the run, as during this time we would encounter a group of unfriendly dogs. Off we went, sticks and stones in hand, but – no dogs and no trail to be found! Three checks in GB, running at the head of the pack, exhorted everyone to keep together, but Liberace led Velcro and know-it-all One Eyed Jack up the road heading north as GB indicated to the others to follow him along a dark track. When the “front runners” eventually got back on trail, they found the pack hiding near the prison with torches off, giggling like schoolgirls. It turned out the dog story was just a ruse and we were to run around the perimeter of the prison under CCTV cameras know doubt being monitored for prison breaks. The very last bit of the perimeter track took us into the prison and out past the bewildered guard at the gate, who was not very pleased and told us to Bock Off, the first of many such incidents during the run.

The wimps were directed towards the hills whilst the rambos were directed towards a village where they were told repeatedly to Bock Off by a series of pissed off villagers (the village people). One of them also came to the start of the run to be unpleasant and complain to the lovely GJ about the heinous crime of chalking his village. When GJ suggested that he could join the run – she was told to Bock Off too.

Meanwhile the wimps were told not to mark any of the checks on the hill for the rambos who would be following shortly after. None of the checks were marked but still the rambos figured out the run and soon caught up the wimps. Screw and Screwless meanwhile lay down among the graves… Up the hill we went to the Crest Hill ridge, encountering two bamboo snakes on the way. COTD and the GM were racing each other but as COTD fell in a hole in the shiggy the gallant GM jumped over her and ran on victoriously. Until he got to a check at the old army lookout and as usual didn’t check far enough after initially going the correct way. Down on the bridge the hare could see the lights milling around on the peak, including that of the unfortunate One Eyed Jack who had been directed by Liberace to check down the military road, which he did. A long way down. Eventually, after trundling around the lookout, we eventually found trail where Libs had sworn there was none, an almost weekly occurence, down a nice shiggy path. At the bottom trail led out to the Lo Wu border police post and then down the nullah back to the bridge, where GB had set it across the metal bridge that parallels the road bridge so he could laugh at us as we went by – but only Luk Dim Boon fell for it.

The GM held an hilarious circle as always, punishing all the “f***ng guys” for their misdemeanours. RA2 COTD, who was obviously upset by the rude and angry encounters with the locals in the nearby village that the pack had run through, then took centre stage. She explained how the village people kept appearing around every corner in the village to shout and be rude. As she ranted on about the experience, at each mention of “village people” the pack burst into a chorus of YMCA, complete with arm alphabets, much to the bemusement of the RA.

The down down beer was the remainder of the COTD-and-Screwless-brewed Bock Off from Sunday’s Oktoberfest. The stock had been stored in the fridge at GJ’s family farm in anticipation of the run, but had been sadly depleted by one of the farm workers who was obviously completely barking mad, having necked bottle after bottle of the the treacly black brew.

We said a fond farewell and FOYC to both Screw and Screwless with gallons of Bock Off. The couple enjoyed their send-off but were rather nervous when the GM asked them what day and when they were leaving – particularly as he and his white van were booked to take them to the airport the very next day! – Velcro Lips

 

 

Run 1771, Fanling Cow Pat, 19 October

Ruination!

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As the Observatory rainstorm warnings cycled through amber to red to black in the wake of Typhoon Blah the rain became biblical. Images of flooded streets, floating cars and roaring mountain cataracts engulfed the internet as Hong Kong braced for another typhoon later in the week, prompting a lesser hash from Sai Kung that runs on Saturdays to issue the Facebook proclamation “Whether or not Typhoon HAIMA hits HK on Friday/Saturday, HK will be hit by yet more heavy rain which will ruin the hash. Both GMs have accordingly agreed to POSTPONE Run No 120 by 1 week to 29 October.” In contrast, Luk Sup Gow reported on the Northern New Territories emails: “The hare, Eunuch, has just called to say that the hash is still on tonight, at the Cow Pat. It is not cancelled because of rain, unlike some lesser hash, and you will get wet. ‘It is flooded everywhere and it is f**king brilliant!’, where his exact words.”

The man responsible for all this, the RA Penile Dementia, responded with a truly unintelligible directive: “The hare, Eunuch, your should be cancelled because of  back rain, sign in on.” Academics have been asked to decypher.

And so five hashers – Dram, Catch Of The Day, Liberace, One Eyed Jack and G-Spot – assembled for the run. And the rain stopped. And the run was goodly with mud and steepness of Bird Hill and falling over and freshness and clean air and the smell of wet grass. And Golden Balls arrived late and set off, boosting the pack to six, exactly the same number as the Little Sai Wan, a bizarre sort of cross-harbour sodden symmetry unhinged by a soppy song.

The circle was short, the craic was long, the GM’s attempts to round up a quorum for an on-on quite rightly being shouted down. What’s not to like about crowding round an esky on a pavement drinking beer, especially when the long-striding Julian comes marching up, brolly furled, and asks if we’re the Fanling branch of the hash. Or when Pierre (let us call the Gallic rambler), on holiday in Hong Kong because Google told him October is a fine dry month, joins the rabble round the bucket.

Rain will ruin the hash … not!

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Oh, and the weather on Saturday was gorgeous …