The Night of a Thousand Cervical Vertebrae
By G-Spot
By G-Spot
And so with the conviction that the hare would have to set a cracker as a statistical certainty a hardy bunch of hashers set out to find a pagoda whose location was indicated as poorly as ever on Centamap. At some time around 7.30 G-Spot and Vecro’s cars passed one another along some road or other, evidence already appearing of a number of additional vertebrae. A moment or 2 later a phone call from a completely lost V Lips (by now with an intolerable number of additional cervical vertebrae) wishing the hash well and forwarding her apologies for non attendance in Anglo-Saxon words of around 4 letters.
Eventual arrival at the gravel carpark revealed to me a gaggle of optimists including One Eyed Jack, Eunuch, Walky Talky, Mango Groove, Hard Up and erm… no that was it. There was however the strange aura that indicated the nearby presence of the hallowed GM. (Oh, apparently it’s a swift not an aura)
“It’s marked in flour, chalk & paper and starts here,” announced the hare, pointing at a check adorned with the word “start”. With these words the pack split up in four directions until a call of check was heard from beneath a lucky tree at the roadside. Once more hashers checked in all directions to no avail. Then the hare crept from the darkness and marked it straight on and the pack minus Eunuch followed that arrow. On and on in the direction of that arrow with no sign of marking until at last a call. Walkie Talkie crushed a calcareous dog turd beneth her purple Adidas and pronounced it “trail”, so onward they ran to, eventually, a road with a perpendicular chalk arrow. “We must have gone wrong. Never mind.”
The trail then ducked around shiggy lite and ponds until we were reunited with the hare grinning on a check near some dog borstal. Yours truly and OEJ were left behind by the youthful speed of Mango and WT until they were found, WT gnashing teeth and swearing having gone the wrong way in some rather long grass, only saved by the navigational facility of the neck extension, and then to Mango, hysterically jabbering as he cowered behind a tree having once more succumbed to his buffalophobia. “They’re looking at me!” he screamed. “And one of them is quite big. Don’t let them stampede!” A swift and unsentimental slap around the face from OEJ brought him out of the hallucination and we continued on trail past some big rocks.
The yellow brick road then lead us to the Kam Tin Steppe, a vast open grassed plain erratically populated by blobs of flour, across which we swept majestically, now accompanied by Eunuch
Bog paper then lured the pack onto a gravel road opening out into a desolate bit of dodgy development. Eventually more trail was found leading into some promising looking shiggy. “Hoorah!” went the cry of the FRBs only to be flattened by the chalked message “Reverse to home”. In his confusion Mango ran headlong into a swampy bit whereupon his shoes went George Michael (1) on him much to his chagrin and cervical extension.
As the pack retraced their steps, dejected and fuming, a side turning was spied and, as “Home” means any way you like (Hash Rule 2387 a (xxi)) the 200m direct shortcut to the bucket was taken. Cruelly the hopes of the pack were once more crushed – not just by the hunched figure of the returned GM – but the complete lack of a bloody bucket! The GM was joined in despondent hunching until the idea of nicking Eunuch’s pissless piss was hatched. The mirth induced by even pissless piss was greatly enhanced by tales of Salesman’s threat to “sort out that Eunuch”, and of course the arrival of the hare, who had been hiding on trail to gloat at the returning pack, only to have his fireworks pissed on by the shortcut. And with little further ado, bucketless and circleless, all flounced off in their chosen directions.
(1) Oh come on, you know the joke.
Clusterfuck – Run No. …Oh, Whatthehell
By Salesman
Could feel it in my bones since the day before – then the ominous clues and hints just continued to roll.
I was looking forward to an eclectic twist from our seasoned hares, and was not disappointed.
I received the location notification later than most. I glanced at the email on my mobile which said something about Kam Tin, fung shui tee, gravel car park where we had been before.
After an overshoot, and a visit to the tree house and carpark where we had run from before, at 8pm I eventually found the big gravel car park (very dark) – and spotted Eunuch’s car and a few other cars (too few…mmmm), and wandered o’er towards the pagoda where at once I came across our lonely, pouting host, Hard Up, who did not recognise me at first as she was sitting in a trance guarding a cardboard box containing few warm non-acloholic large tins of Oettinger beer.
She said, “They’ve gone, a few minutes ago (!) – you’ll catch them easily (!!)” …Mmm..
“Which direction?”, said I, stroking my imaginary pet trouser ferret, though I had no trousers.
“Down there,” said Hard Up, pointing in her delightfully upbeat, pert way.
“And then?”
“Turn left.”
“Not right?” I demonstrated with my free hand, facing the same direction as Hard Up, “but left, i.e. this is left, as in my my left hand is pointing left?”
“Yes”, said she, beginning to feel that perhaps I was being a little pedantic.
“Not straight on at this junction, then?”
“No, left”.
OK, I was now certain that it will be left at the first check or junction then.
Off I bounded, got to the village road junction, noticed a circle, and went left. No markings. …Mmmmm
So, I came back to the check and out of nowhere came Eunuch, brushing past me like I was not there, no hello, no eye contact or nothing. I said hello, and he said, “There’s no fucking markings, I’ve been up there and there and there”.
I told him Hard Up said most certainly it was left. Eunuch said, “You can go down there then if you want, I’ve been down there and there’s no markings,” etc. ….mmmm…
Then I spotted a fresh arrow marked straight ahead on the check (i.e. not left or right). I said, “What about that?”
Eunuch retorted, “There’s no fucking markings, Ive been up there and there and there.”I said, “But I expect weirdness from a Won Hung Lo run….come, let us go hashing together.”
To which Eunuch muttered, “You can blah, blah…” and then simply vanished. …..mmmkay…
I checked every direction for about 250m, whereupon I met a returning Gunpowder Plod. We ambled back On Home, and he mentioned that Eunuch had growled at him.
“Aha, so trail was right from the check then?” I asked.
“Er, dunno” said Plod, who had just ambled until he saw flour and followed for a while, then returned. …..mmmm-ora..
I jokingly (of course!) said that I had better abort or I might have to have it out with Eunuch for perceived poo-pooing of me. Plod said he will feature this threat of violence within the circle. Mmmm, thought I.
Then Tangerine Dream texted Plod to say she’s not coming (i.e. not bringing the blizzard cold piss). Big MMMMMmmmshitolammmmmmmm.
Hard Up repeated that the trail is left at the first check. …..Mmmm.
Ok, I’ll try again…but first….I shall just go and put my bag in the car…in case y’all gone when I get back…..mmmmmmmmmm
Clunk…..er …….brmm, brmmm………stop…..pangs of guilt….check for trail on road left of check…..nothing…..text to GM to say bye-bye, I’m aborting… (which he received 18 hours later)!
My first ever hash veto. Well done, Hares!
