Report – Run 1560
Run of the Year
Or how I won the hash

By Golden Balls

As I weigh up the other hashers on the starting line, eyes narrowed in a steely glint, I realise that this is going to be my best chance of the year for a podium finish. The location (deepest Hung Shui Kiu), the hare (the notoriously reluctant Fartypants) and the weather (cold front fresh in that day) have all conspired to shrink the pack right down. The GM Plod is in Singapore, the RA Mango in the Philippines. Eunuch’s broken his ribs in a rather unfortunate incident at church when the parson mistook him for a choirboy. Bogbrush is toilet-trading. Salesman, newly elected GM of Sek Kong, won’t be seen again until his megalomania subsides. Moonie’s in his pod beneath the waves, Luk Sup Gow is on some company beano, Dram can’t afford the petrol and it’s too far to go for G-Spot. Various other excuses are proffered and rightly ridiculed. So there I stand, poised, eyeing up Stingray and One Eyed Jack. I’d have to be a right plonker to stuff this one up.
“Check it out!” yells Fartypants, who has, as usual, detailed Walky Talky to set the run for him, and the three of us set off eagerly into the mean streets of Hung Shui Kiu.

The real hare, recently

There’s some milling around outside the park, then One Eyed Jack calls from up some street or other and off we traipse. At the first check, the duo (as they shall henceforth be known) head towards the hills. I take the dark road to the left. Trail! I get the next check wrong and the duo pass me, ambling and nattering. “Mumble mumble of course mumble” – Estuary twang. “Rumble bumble rumble” – Border brogue. They take the easy paved option at the next check and I take the other option down the steep rubbly slope. Eureka! Ahead again. But the duo have broken into a trot as they peg me back. We’re running along a sound-barrier service road next to Yuen Long Highway, and arrive at the next check together. All three opt for the uphill option, but after 200 metres we encounter snarling dogs, so it’s back down. “Those stairs look good.” “Yes, stairs good,” grunt the duo. Meanwhile I duck back under the highway and spy a darkling trail. “I’m having that.” And so I pick up trail and bellow on on, but with two sets of sound barriers and a roaring highway between us I realise with glee that the duo can’t hear me. Time to make my move.
The rest of the run is a solitary tour of the boulevards and back alleys of Hung Shui Kiu and I get back after an hour of huffing and puffing to find the duo, Noddy-hatted, accusing me of short-cutting, while Walky Talky relates how they came back grumbling after they lost trail. Job done.
All that remains is for the non-running and morphined-up Eunuch to run a brief hilarious circle, doing his best not to laugh, before we all head for the daipaidong with Travis and Walky Talky’s doppelganger niece Alyzza in tow, to eat fine simple fare and toss back Tsingtao. A splendid evening. Run of the year, clearly.

Next week’s run: Golden Jelly