A Tale Of Too Shiggy
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t: the Salesman school of haring, of which Liberace is a leading exponent. It goes like this. Put yourself down as hare. Don’t do a recce. A few hours before the run starts, set off into the hills with only the vaguest idea of what you’re going to do. Blag, cheat and short-circuit your way back to the start, employing whatever means you can to swindle your way into the hare book.
We should have guessed something was up when we saw a stressed looking Liberace running along Ping Che Road at 7.15, away from the start at Ng Chow Road South, which, confusingly, is north of Ng Chow Road. After a lot of confusion on the Ng Chow roads everybody found the right pagoda and the hare appeared to give his briefing. “It’s a Liberace run,” he said disarmingly, “so when you see written instructions it’s very important that you follow them.” This sounded ominous. But a Liberace run is nothing if not an adventure, so off the 10-strong pack trotted, south along Ping Che Road. For 1.5 kilometres. The east along Sha Tau Kok Road. For 2 kilometres. What? Interminable road running? Where’s our trademark shiggy?
At last trail went into the side roads to the north and then after another couple of kilometres it started to go up the edge of a massive hole in the hillside. Fixed rope sections led to steel staircases linking scaffolded platforms. Up, up. And away from the construction site or landfill and up another steep hill with a fixed rope and into – shiggy.
It was clear that no trail had existed here prior to this day and there was some exhilarating shiggy bashing as we headed vaguely west along bobbles in the ridge line. And then came the dreaded “instructions”. Go back to the start, they ordained. So we all trudged back through the shiggy (after Penile Dementia had insisted on a few snaps at the trig point) and back down the hill like some demented Dukes of York, and back along all that tarmac to the start. If there was a high point, it was listening to the panicked squealing of Luk Dim Boon, who lost trail in the shiggy on the way back. “Help! I can’t find the trail! I’m lost. It’s just getting denser and denser. It’s above my head. Where is everybody? Help!” Eventually Penile Dementia went to his aid after those of us in earshot had had a good chuckle.
Back at the pagoda Liberace had salvaged a wheelchair from a rubbish tip and was sitting in it, presumably in anticipation of the lashing he was about to receive. His explanation – that he’d spent two hours looking in vain for a way off the ridge, hadn’t brought a torch, and when it started getting dark had no alternative but to retrace his steps – did little to mollify an incandescent GM, who dressed up as a witch for the roasting of the hare. Virgin hasher Jacky looked bemused at the goings-on, and in the general raucousness of the circle was given a name that no 15-year-old should have to take home to his mum, and which we won’t be mentioning on this blog, oh no, never mind the fact that he’s my nephew.
A great evening’s hashing despite the hare’s snafu.