Run 1936, 11 September, Sheung Shui

The Usual Sheung Shui Shambles

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There is growing revulsion to sights like this

“It’s a short run, so don’t do the wimps ‘coz the rambos is less than 1km extra,” said Penile dementia while vaguely pointing at some strange hieroglyphics he’d chalked up on the floor.

A miserable turnout this week compared to last – it just goes to show that hashing is all about promising a cheap curry.

Not to worry though, we had the hash elite this week – no chicks of course as they are crap, instead we had the mighty Mango Groove, One Eyed “this photo of me at the top of Mt Fuji isn’t photoshopped, honest” Jack, beardy sensation Crème Brulee, Sole Man fresh from Korea, Liberace fresh from his rounds as a door to door sex man, Eunuch fresh from the beer fridge at the 7-11, and Golden Balls who was fresh from a taxi 5 mins after the run had actually started.

What a spanker of a run! The pack spent almost 15 mins on the first check, and eventually had to go back and ask the hare which way to go.

Thanking the hare for his kind words of direction (“It’s right at the first check, you fucking idiots!”) we all trotted off into the outer darkness of Fanling (Kai Leng and Chong Tsin Leng villages) where there was much weeping and gnashing of teeth.

First to get lost were One Eyed Jack and Eunuch – both fancying a short cut, but were rewarded by a dead end and a snarling dog. Next was Liberace, who after joining the rambos lost his shit when failing to find trail. That left the unlikely Franco-Lutono-Korean trinity of Creme Brulee, Mango and Sole Man to solve the one and only rambo check. “I solved it!” bragged Mango upon arriving home. “The trail came directly back to the wimps,” he explained to the pack who’d been waiting almost half an hour for his return.

Golden Balls on the other hand had turned up late in a taxi, had been given instructions by the hare on how to catch the pack up and due to leapfrogging the first check was catapulted to the front of the pack where he stayed for the duration of the run, oblivious to the bloody idiots behind him.

The circle included dancing girls, karate, lots of booze and some horrible T-shirts.
— Eunuch

Hare Penile Dementia

Runners Golden Balls, One Eyed Jack, Eunuch, Liberace, Mango Groove, Sole Man, Creme Brulee

Run 1935, 4 September, Sheung Tsuen

Too Tasty For Yer

To hare is human. To forgive this debacle impossible.

At least the third attempt by hare QT to perform in an area crying out for a decent run. If what we do in life echoes in eternity then the bones of run 1934 are indeed doomed to rattle on into eternity. Maybe even longer.

7.30pm. A reasonable crowd assembled in and around the pagoda at Sheung Tsuen Park. Unusual to see Golden Balls clutching a half empty bottle of Tsing Tao (that’s not unusual—Ed), but this was before the run. Several chest-puffing peacock-strutting septuagenarians heralded something as infrequent as a Dram wallet sighting…wait for it…a NEW RUNNER!!! In sports bra and figure-hugging bicycle shorts she cut a dashing figure. We’d need to be on our mettle to impress. Sadly Camilla didn’t drink and it was as obvious as the balls on a tall dog that by evenings end to her we’d still look like the fat balding ugly bastards we were. So it goes.

Off we set at break-neck speed down the road towards Kam Tin then plunged left into the villages and farms. A brief sighting of the infamous Sek Kong water pipe then around and around and around – back onto the same trail and around and around and around. For me the high point was the very satisfying shite taken half way around. Did anyone do the full run? I didn’t think so. Perhaps Jason and one or two others.

Radio 1 returned admitting she’s been daft enough to do the split where the right-hand option looped back on to the trail leading to the split. Not once but twice.

Back at the pagoda Golden Balls was clutching himself, a new bottle of Tsingtao and dreaming of sheep. He hadn’t run. He’d been SP. So it goes.

A speedy circle ensued and it was off to Tasty House for a curry and more beer. A great turnout that saw the reappearance of a sharp dressed Stringfellow with daughter Jasmine. Dram’s sparring partner Harold also joined the throng and was rumoured to have been something to do with the appearance of our new runner. But what do I know.  I doubt she’ll be back – well if she’s stranded in Hong Kong, perhaps.

With the help of Messers Vin Der Liu and Carl Sberg the evenings earlier farce was soon forgotten. A green aura of bonhomie prevailed and all was good. God was in his heaven.

As the clock struck midnight we fell into Stingray’s luxurious BMW and were driven home with the stars winking through the sunroof and the strains of some ’80s techno-shite on the stereo. Crisis? What crisis? ON ON — Fartypants

Hares QT, Golden Balls

Runners Eunuch, Liberace, Creme Brulee, Serbian Bomber, Stingray, Jason, Dram, Gunpowder Plod, G-Spot, Jasmine, Walky Talky, Fartypants, Mango Groove, Karina, Radio 1

Non-runners Harold, Stringfellow, Golden Jelly

Fujineers

A kung hei to all the hashers who summited Fuji on Monday, 2 September. Take a bow, Jessica, Josh, Dingaling, BJ, Electrolux, One Eyed Jack, Pushover and Catch Of The Day. Honorary mention to Geriatric who made a heroic attempt.

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RIP Mr Sheen

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The Hash received the sad news on Sunday 29 April that Mr Sheen, aka Jean-Marie Hanon, had died in his sleep. Luk Sup Gow reported: “Apparently he died suddenly at 8:00am this morning and was found with his nitro pill on the table, next to him. He had a heart condition and was probably that.”

Both Shek Kong and Northern New Territories hashes raised a glass on Sunday and Wednesday respectively to our most irascible yet kind-hearted hasher.

Messages

Oh my that’s terrible news. That’s caught me by surprise. Sheen was an avid hasher back in my days in Hong Kong between 1992 and 1997. Sheen left Hong Kong for Bangladesh manufacturing clothing and had a base for a long while in Thailand … as I recall. I remember doing the hash with him in Thailand and he was on the committee for the N2TH3 with myself, Mushroom and Mango back in the day. RIP Sheen. — Letch

Very sad news. It was a shame that he didn’t make it to our hash very often after he moved to Bangladesh – he certainly added a lot of humour and entertainment in the circle. — Go West

Condolences from UK to Mr. Sheen’s family. He was a loveable one-off Hash character – a curmudgeon with a twinkle in his eye as he dished out his caustic diatribes. Once met – never forgotten! Never let it be said that all Belgians are boring! — Loco

RIP JM — Niggled

I remember Mr Sheen as being very down to earth, he mastered the use of some very colourful hashing language and was very good at bantering too. Boo Hoo, sad news indeed. — Mushroom

I last met Mr Sheen in December 2014, in Pattaya, Thailand where he lived with his wife “On” (sp?) and son “Jack”. Myself and Beer Tits went out for a local Thai dinner with him, we visited his local bar and finally, with much reluctance, we all ended up in some dodgy dancing establishment. Unfortunately, he was now deaf as a post and the conversation was definitely one directional but we had a lovely evening. Our fond memories of him will live on. 

His “The Sheik” naming on maybe his first hash with a towel wrapped around his sweaty bald head (name was changed to Mr Sheen for obvious reasons), his neanderthal barking of down downs wandering around inside the circle, his knowledge of French wine, his wildly racist banter with his favourite “N”, Mango, wandering around cheese & wine parties wearing nothing but a wok, Bangladesh exploits at the FCC there, sharing a flat at the Heartbreak Hotel in Tai Mei Tuk, Chiang Mai Interhash, his in-depth conversations with Mushroom whilst both blind drunk, his poor attempt of slinging himself into the bush abyss at the infamous Catchment BBQ with Tin Tin & Mrs Doubtfire (only for his arse to be impaled on a tree at the bottom of the slope), his kindness whilst giving you shit, his single-handed attempts on being the whole Belgium Diplomatic Corp., his good sense of humour whilst holding that familiar dour expression, travelling to work in jeans and changing into his executive bow tie for his daily work, his tireless keyboard warfare on the whole of the internet (including Plod 😁) in multiple languages, the sheen off the top of his head on trail, his refusal to run up any slopes on trail, his love of classical music, hash at Fernando’s, his man love of the rotund couple (Desperate Dan & Zimmeeframe) in the dark years, etc, … a ripe old character.

He was 73 when he made his final On Home.

RIP Mr Sheen my good friend. — Luk Sup Gow

Very sad to hear about the demise of Mr. Sheen. Whilst he hashed with us in the 90s he kept us entertained (and sometimes shocked) by his dry wit and cantankerous manner, albeit always with a humourous glint in his eyes. Never a dull moment with Jean-Marie. He’ll be sadly missed. RIP. — Dram

First met Mr Sheen in January 1995, when I came along to the N2TH3. I didn’t run again until September that year and every time I met Mr Sheen in Tai Po he would ask why I wasn’t coming along and then call me a silly “N”. Also the first party I attended at BJ’s, I only went along to watch the FA cup final but it ended with Mr Sheen, myself and a few others playing Jenga. He knew I couldn’t handle my drink but kept giving me Tanduauy Rum so I kept knocking the tower over. That was my first experience of getting utterly plastered in Hong Kong. Mr Sheen was a true hasher, he would tell me about his exploits on the Pattaya Hash and he was a really smart person when we got talking. He dished out crap to others but he took it as well … remember when I covered his face in black shoe polish as my final revenge as RA? Myla and myself were delighted to know that he had settled back in Thailand and had a family … just a shame we didn’t see him again after he left Hong Kong. A special unique person … once met definitely not forgotten. RIP Jean Marie. — Mango Groove

Sorry to hear about Mr Sheen. He was an old curmudgeon and a great hasher. Now he joins that great hash circle as a trailblazer for the rest of us with his forlorn looks and dry wit albeit reinforced with the amber liquid. A real character who will no doubt look down with a wry smile.on the rest of us Earthlings. — Bogbrush

RIP Mr Sheen — Stingray

Mr Sheen belied his Belgian nationality by being a complete lunatic – I’ve not since ever met anyone quite like him and I don’t think I ever will. So sad that he’s passed – on on mate. — Eunuch

RIP Mr Sheen — Velcro Lips

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Run 1933, 21 August, Ho Sheung Heung

Covett Tactics

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Shameful behaviour

Hare Golden Jelly and SP Back To The Future cased out the Kwu Tung area, soon to be replaced by a crispy new town, for their run. “Boring start,” they intoned, pointing us southwards along the nullah from the start at the twinkling toilet block on the bubbly bicycle track next to the nullah.

The first mark was encountered a half mile down the track by visitor Moni, and the slouch turned into a shuffle, then a jog and finally a run at the kilometre mark, where there was a check. “Allow me with my peerless local knowledge to lead the way,” I proclaimed, setting off into the tree tunnel that led away from the nullah. Moni, Jessica and Calvin – visitors all – were the only ones to follow me. After a couple of minutes of arboreal gloom it was galling to hear trail called back down the nullah. Worse, my torch had shrivelled to the faintest of glows. Not really a glow. More like a couple of reluctant light rays trying to hide in the mud. Moni, Calvin and Jessica, with powerful beams emanating from the light sticks yours truly had provided them with, ran off behind me, leaving me to fumble my way myopically back to the light.

There was Catch Of The Day clanking past on crutches with Geriatric in pursuit. Ahead, Plod called trail out to Castle Peak Road. A right turn, then a pedestrian footbridge with a check. Serbian Bomber emerged from its stairs. Radio 1 and the crippled Creme Brulee wombled out from an alley. Mango could be heard plaintively calling Are Yoo. The three visitors popped out of somewhere. Plod called trail from a northerly direction. Off we all trooped into the maze that is Kwu Tung. It was all lit up. Then another gloomy arbour of almost pitch dark. I came out onto a road with Plod and Geriatric following and failed to notice an arrow heading south. Eunuch and Mango Groove emerged. Are yoo? I turned south again while they all rambled north. Trail, I called softly on seeing the arrow. Not softly enough, as a minute later Eunuch and Mango came storming past. We were in light again, but my world was reduced to finding arrows while trying to keep ahead of the opportunists Plod and Geriatric.

Trail went west. There was a check ambiguously marked. To me it looked straight on, although the arrow did seem to veer slightly to the right. Certainly not 90 degrees to the right, which was where trail lay. I jogged blithely on, convinced we were heading for the slopes of Pak Shek Au. And the markings had been few and far between, so it wasn’t a surprise I didn’t see any for a while. In fact I didn’t see any at all, and on reaching Pak Shek Au headed with disgruntled gait back to the check – 600 metres back.

Long story short. Zig zags through the old settlement. Utter disorientation. Rambo-wimp split – better do the wimps, I’m so far behind, and bereft of light. On the run-in I pass Catch Of The Day and Geriatric. Plod’s already back. And here comes the first rambo, Liberace, across the nullah bridge from Long Valley. I made the right decision.

Actually no. Liberace took a monster short cut by believing the trail would go in a particular direction even when there were no markings to follow. What kind of numbskull does that?

Twenty minutes later the lights of first rambos became visible, and then Mango Groove emerged onto the bridge followed by a slow-closing Eunuch. But wait! There’s a third light. It’s Calvin, Son of Bukkake, with a lightning-quick sprint to the finish – the sort that only veggie-scoffing 17-year-olds can produce – that saw him brush away the challenge of Eunuch and then dive past Mango at the bucket for a photo-finish victory. We had to take him aside and threaten him with a battycreasing if he carries on this unseemly competitiveness.

Rambo trail was around 10km. Runners dribbed in, then drabbed. Drink was drunk. There was some sort of brawling ceremony and then we all went home. — Golden Balls

Hares Golden Jelly, Back To The Future

Runners Liberace, Eunuch, Auntie Septic, Travis, Radio 1, Catch Of The Day, Moni, Calvin, Jessica, One Eyed Jack, QT, Creme Brulee, Gunpowder Plod, Serbian Bomber, Mango Groove, Geriatric, Golden Balls

Run 1932, 14 August, Lam Tsuen

Fennu de Shanyang – the Angry Goats

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While most of Hong Kong looked foreward to Zhongyuan Jie, the Hungry Ghostfestival, in Tai Po it was the Angry Goats Festival, Fennu de Shanyang. A time to remember our animal friends and a time for a beer at Leafy Glade.

 

Confusion and bewilderment was in full flow even before the run as the start location was moved from place to place in order to keep the Goats at bay. The Ice Man close to tears as he raced back and forth with his load melting faster than an Arctic ice sheet.  A few pre-run beers had lubricated the major players so an ultra-smooth getaway saw the runners easing their progression into Lam Tsuen Valley and not a Goat in sight.

It all seemed far too easy as checks came and went in hardly the blink of an eye.

Could the hare be trusted or was really Walky Talky playing secretly for the Goats.

The widely anticipated ‘sting in the tale’ finally arrived and not at the end but in the middle, a game of two halves then?

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This was the raging torrent of a river we had to cross. There was, to be fair, a small delicate rock to stand on in the middle, but….  With enough momentum moving forward and intricate dancing off the rock it was possible to clear the water – but a moment’s wavering or indecision in mid stream resulted in an inevitable reverse descent and a rather more than damp feeling around the lower legs.

So Walky Talky had not only ‘talked the talk’ but also ‘walked the walk’ and led us into near oblivion. It looked like maybe the Goats could vent their anger on the runners and trot away in triumph.

Now in this rather warm weather at present, a little bit of cooling of the feet and some refreshing splashing around in the icy waters of the Lam Tsuen River can be extremely invigorating and almost inspirational for attacking the second half of the run. So it was to be.

The run crossed the Lam Kam Road and as it neared the hare’s lair we were cruising. Picking up speed and style with every sniff of trail, there was no stopping the illustrious pack moving forward like a well oiled machine. The Tsing Tao was clearly clicking in.

Meanwhile the Bukkake Brigade – Mony, Jessica and Calvin – were gamely fording the river and dodging under the fallen trunks using their mobile phones as torches, returning with a smile and some typical gentlemanarsery by the Serb.

And that was that. Apart from a bit of erroneous assistance from a lone Goat disguised as a villager all went smoothly and Leafy Glade was reoccupied, packed tighter than an airport terminal on a Tuesday night.

Angry Goats??  **** ’em. MAGIC RUN.

Open the Gates of Hell !!!   Well not exactly. Just a few down downs from Eunuch and some new guy named as Mango Groove.

Next Weeks Run: No Eye Deer — Stingray

Hare Walky Talky SP Back To The Future

Runners Gaelle Says No, Canton Clap, Eunuch, Calvin, Jason, Matt, Geriatric, Auntie Septic, Golden Jelly, Dram, Golden Balls, Serbian Bomber, Creme Brulee, Mango Groove, One Eyed Jack, Moni, Jessica, Wandering Wanker, Stingray, Liberace, Gunpowder Plod

Non-runner Fartypants

Run 1931, 7 August, Tai Mo Shan

Not so International Rescue

A brief account of N2TH3 Run number 1931 taking place on the evening of the 7 August, 2019 and including mention of Anarchy in the New Territories – Thunderbirds Are Go – Rare Sighting of Twrch Trwyth – Jaffa Cakes at Last

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Our hare for the evening was Gaelle Says No. For some bizarre reason he decided to impose on my territory and set a trail on Tai Mo Shan. Luckily, he stayed off my next planned route and so I can still inflict this madness on set this magnificent trail for you all at a later date. Mango Groove had brought along a monster box of Luton’s best Jaffa cakes, and was anxious that Golden Balls should be present as he had missed out on the last Jaffafest by taking too long on trail.

Anarchy reigned at the start when we discovered we had no committee members at all, and, the hare was also missing. Gunpowder Plod (and his virgin visitor, Jason), Liberace, No Rough Stuff, Penile Dementia, Stingray, Back To The Future, Mango Groove, Eunuch, Batty Baby and I milled around in confusion. Should we start the run? What could the trail markings be?

Just then, Golden Balls arrived clutching a can of Asahi, having decided to go to the pub for a couple of hours while he waited for a medical appointment, and we quickly anointed him as our Glorious Leader. “Welcome to run number, I don’t know.” Mumble, mumble. Slurp, slurp. “Anyway…”

Fortunately, GB’s monologue was interrupted by the return of the hare, fresh from setting trail, who then explained the markings. Flour and chalk but no paper.

And so, with no more ado, apart from GB borrowing a spare torch from No Rough Stuff and taking 15 minutes to change, we set off.

We swiftly crossed route TW/SK and set off up the concrete road in the direction of the helipad. But, after a couple of hundred metres, we encountered a check. People disappeared into the woods, checking far to the left. People checked far ahead. When I thought I had checked quite far, I saw a light appearing in the far distance – Penile Dementia returning after checking very very far indeed. Mango checked to the right (but not quite so far, as he was nearly ensnared in a scary spider web and fled back to the check). Eunuch checked behind.

Anarchy returned when check-hanger Stingray vandalized the check, adding lines pointing in the four ordinal points of the compass. Hashers returning to the check were incensed that they had run off in the wrong directions at a marked check. However, finally, we discovered trail leading off, a little further ahead and to the right. Gunpowder Plod never returned from checking left but was not sorely missed….

We wended our way through the forest until we chanced upon the helipad. Liberace was found by a short-cutting Gunpowder Plod on the road, miles beyond the last flour. A cunning trail was eventually found leading over the helipad fence which turned steeply downhill. Gunpowder Plod remembered that discretion is the better part of valour. “I will heroically search for a (another) shortcut,” he announced. No Rough Stuff, hashing in her tennis shoes, also disappeared around this time. No connection is implied or imputed.

Gunpowder Plod ran back to and down the road, attempting an interception but all he found was a short-cutting Golden Balls intent on the same manouever. GP let GB get on with it and returned to the helipad and then down what he thought would be a short interception path. Ha!

Suffering from a cold, and still somewhat weak after suffering food-poisoning the previous week, I lagged at the back, sweating like a pig profusely. Even so, I managed to catch up with Eunuch and Batty Baby, for a while. His recent stay in hospital must have really fucked him up set him aback.

At last, with legs like jelly, I climbed back up to the road. Here, somebody had kindly scrawled the word “shortcut”. And so, I did, along with Stingray and our trusty stalwart, Back To The Future.

As we trudged along the road, shortcutting back to the start, we were overtaken by Liberace. He had gone round and round but failed to find “twail”. But then, “finding twail” is not a concept that you would associate with Liberace.

Back at the start, also known as the finish, we waited for the last runner, Golden

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Balls, to return. And we waited. And we waited. Eventually, after waiting an hour or so, and after devouring a sufficiency of Jaffa cakes, we decided to hold the circle anyway. Many down downs were awarded, including a downdown for members of our new Hash Trash Whatsapp group – “Refugees from Political Correctness”.

 

Circle concluded, Golden Balls still missing. Hashers pondered; had he had too much to drink before the run? Had his borrowed torch battery run out? Had he been kidnapped by wild boars to suckle their young? We decided somebody should go and look for him. Well, most of us; the hare had already buggered off home into the arms of his beloved Canton Clap.

Clearly this required the attention of International Rescue. With the air pounding to the Thunderbirds’ drum roll and fanfare, Back To The Future and I set out to find Golden Balls. But, as we crossed Route TW/SK, we found many flashing lights and emergency vehicles. The police, ambulance and fire brigade were all parked at the start of the concrete road. We were puzzled by this. Had GB already called for assistance?

BTTF interrogated the police and found out that they were there to rescue a group of lost students. We then spent 10 minutes trying to explain to the police that they were not suitably dressed (city shoes) to help us find GB. They offered us a lift to the helipad in their squad car but I turned it down so that we could listen for GB as we passed along the road. Our plan was to return to the shortcut marking, then search the trail from there, as this was the last place anyone (Stingray) had seen GB.

As we headed up the road shouting “GB! Are you?” we heard a muffled response in the distance. On, we continued, calling as we went. Finally, we found a dark figure staggering down the path towards us. We expected GB. We found Twrch Trwyth, the legendary Welsh boar. We taunted him with news that we had eaten all the Jaffa cakes, and he wailed and raged in despair. Oh! The curses he hurled against Mango.

As we made our way back, the police were waiting for us at the entrance to the road. They had kept an ambulance there too. Obviously they were over-excited to have some task other than riot control. We explained “Good news, we found him. His torch had run out. No, he doesn’t need the ambulance. No, we don’t need a lift in your car.”

We left the disappointed police behind and arrived back at the start. There, Twrch Trwyth was magically transformed back into hasher GB, when Mango revealed that he had saved some Jaffa cakes just for him. What a sweetheart.

Gunpowder Plod and Jason later swept up to the police group in Plod’s gleaming “Shaguar” (as Gaelle Says No describes it) and attempted to tempt the female members of the lost hiking group into the back seat. Their “men” folk dissuaded them so Plod shot off before the PoPo could find their breathalyzer.  Serbian Spammer Bomber Baron Diver von Porkies Mooseheime

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Hare Gaelle Says No

Runners Liberace, Serbian Bomber, Back To The Future, Penile Dementia, Golden Balls, Batty Baby, Eunuch, Stingray, Gunpowder Plod, Mango Groove, Jason