The Most Revolting Downdown in the World

It was Golden Balls’ birthday and he’d announced sausages. He’d also set the run from San Tin football ground, a strangely deserted facility awash with floodlights but bizarrely lacking in changing rooms or toilets. It was a bit of a crib of a G-Spot run set for Shek Kong on St Patrick’s day, but with some new bits. He’d also enlisted the help of Jelly to set the run, citing a “chocolate leg”. And so the pack of about 10 set off while GB fried up the sausages…

…and Luk Sup Gow, G-Spot and Salesman (all injured) scooted off to Palm Springs to get beer and ice – yes, there’d been another N2TH3 brain fart and nobody had brought the eskies.

The pack went out along a wooded path, down through some farmland and past a gated compound into the hills. Some burnt hillside, a fixed-rope climb and the ridge that drops down into the PLA barracks were tackled before a paved stretch, and then trail doubled back into the old tank-track wastelands, now gone to weed and being fenced off by developers. Moonie and Eunuch were back in around 50 minutes and the rest of the pack, including the visiting Garoupa, not too long after that.

A short, entertaining circle was distinguished by the incompetence of the esky-rescue mission. Yes, we had beer and softies. Yes we had ice. Yes, we had salty snacks to go with GB’s sausages. But did we have cups? No. In fact the only receptacle of any sort was the oily plate on which the cooked sausages had reposed, releasing their greasy cargo, while waiting to be made into hot dogs. In a perverse display of misplaced machismo, the pack opted to drink, Kowloon-style, from the greasy plate – without wiping it down! The result: a vile oily film floating on the ale, a noisome, noxious concoction that coated the mouth and has gone down in the annals as the worst downtown in the world! 

Northern New Territories Hash – always pushing the envelope. But in a cavalier show of gallantry, the ladies present were permitted to drink from a thimble.

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