Run 1814, 19 July, Kam Tin

Are There No Rules???


As there are no rules on the hash. the story really starts when the two cripples. Geriatric and D Ram, were sauntering along the on-in by the nullah.  Whilst D Ram stopped for a comfort stop, Geriatric probed around in a lay-by under the bridge and discovered a couple of pallets of beverages, which had been done over by the local junkies looking for a quick high.  large cans allegedly containing 12% alco pop looked tempting, so we bagged a few tinnies as roadies for the next mile. The sweet strawberry flavour was bordering on disgusting, and it was decided that these would be perfect for down downs.

The GM’s revenge was just as sweet as the alco-pop, with me (Geriatric) seeming to get most of it, whilst being nominated as scribe. Now what I know, but the GM doesn’t apparently realise, is that old age plus beer plus alcopop does nothing for the memory of the last couple of hours, so recollections are somewhat dim.

At the start, hare One Hung Lo was reluctant to disclose anything about distance, estimated time or even the start direction, with effectively a starting check (is there a rule about this?). For the few who had arrived by MTR, it was fairly obvious that a directissima to the station could work, so after a couple of checks found the pack in the station forecourt to come across a precisely marked arrow going (compass wise) N,NE,N,N,W somehow indicating we should go through KSR and out the other side.  I did later query the hare on the kinky arrow with a hook on the end and he said “well thats the way my mind works”, so what does tell us?

Once clear of the MTR, trail wended southish, to muttering of “the 500 steps” {GB later claimed that there are 582 steps – who’s to argue with that). But up they did go, and along and up and down through checks and vicious splits, arriving back in 80 or so mins.  D RAM and the scribe decided to take the cautious approach along the ground level contour.

Meanwhile, back on trail, they went left after the 582 and down to the Tai Lam Tunnel Interchane, from whence, after a promisin start, it was an interminably long road run through Kam Tin, maybe 4km of hardtop, some said boring, and some even took a taxi back, Golden Balls not looking at you!

Meanwhile French newby Flo (Florent) had his hash baptism and seemed to like it. Let’s hope he doesn’t expect interminable hardtop next time.

Back at the bucket, Hard Up was sitting pretty with a few of the girls, a bucket of salad, and phone in hand trying to order pizza from an unmanned answering service.   A couple of local darkies seemed to have joined the bucket, but it wasn’t immediately clear if they were old members, or “just here for the beer” – it may have even been their stash of alcopops that we nicked. Howver, upon them lighting up, it became clear that they weren’t “of us”, and cleared off quick.

GM brought the circle to order, admonishing the few, leading up to my alcopop down downs, whereupon all other memories dissoved.  Another splendid hash and a good night was had by all. – Geriatric

Hare: One Hung Lo

Runners: QT, Serbian Bomber, Geriatric, D Ram, Tangerine Dream, Flo, Catch Of The Day, Penile Dementia, Golden Jelly, Mango Groove, G-Spot, Golden Balls, Liberace, Gaele Says No, Big Moany

Non-runners: Electrolux, Beer Tits, Phil, Luk Sup Gow

Run 1812, 5 July, Sheung Shui



“It’s 8.5 kilometres,” declared hare Mango Groove as he briefed us on a hot, humid night following a day of chucking rain. “I hope the flour’s still there – the chalk has probably gone. There’s toilet paper. Oh yes, and when I was in the shiggy the toilet paper ran out. But don’t worry, I set a nice white fixed rope to get you to the bottom of the hill. One trail only. It’s that way, but I’ll be surprised if you get more than 800 metres.”

This dire prediction seemed set to come true, as we jogged carefully through the park and out along the cycle track towards the industrial area. Finally, in the tunnel, an arrow was detected. On past the factory buildings, with nary a mark to be seen. The an arrow, and another, and another, and suddenly there was obvious trail winding through villages until we reached Man Kam To Road. Here, as the container trucks roared past, we lost trail again, suicidally crossing and recrossing this death trap boulevard. It was Penile Dementia who finally found trail up a nondescript road that seemed to lead to a yard but was actually a road, and east we headed on rising ground.

After a while it became clear that we had entered the western end of the military ridge road above Gallipoli Lines, or whatever the PLA call it now. This is a road of very steep switchbacks made slippery by slime mould and treacherous by rain. The non-grip brigade of G-Spot and Golden Jelly were reduced to waddling the downs like petrified ducks. We’d been on hardtop for ages and it was getting boring. Where was the promised shiggy?

Then it came. Trail went off road south to the trig point, and then – nothing. The pack came together at the top of the hill as the notes of a booming PLA disco rose up like a kite. Nothing on the trails north and south. Nothing on the road heading east. Finally Eunuch, Catch Of The Day, G-Spot and Golden Balls opted for the steep path downhill to the south, reasoning that that would be the direction home and Mango did say he ran out of toilet paper. But where was the fixed rope?

Meanwhile, at the trig point, Penile Dementia, Liberace and Golden Jelly continued to look for trail, and just as the four southerners reached the bottom of the hill Penile Dementia could be heard calling trail at the top. Three of them said “Sod that, I’m not going back up that hill.” But one turned round. Amazingly it was serial short-cutter Golden Balls.

At the top of the hill was Golden Jelly. Penile Dementia was already beyond sound or vision; Liberace had also disappeared, but not on trail. The two remainders cast around unsuccessfully for trail for quite some time, pushing through high vegetation to no avail. Finally Golden Jelly found it, a good two flour blobs back along the trail leading to the trig point. It was surmised that there had been a checkback at the trig that had been washed away.

Paper led steeply downhill through what looked like freshly trampled trail, then ran out. But here was the promised fixed white rope, a blessing on the difficult terrain. Suddenly GJ was attacked by bees and both hashers slid with alacrity down the fixed rope like it was a zip line. Probably the fastest 50-metre descent in the history of hashdom. And just to rub it in, on hitting the graves at the bottom the pair were welcomed by a snake, although it’s even money who was the most startled.

Out to villages and concrete paths through fields, the Jockey Club Road leading back to the start/finish in the park.

The short circle was dominated by Penile Dementia: five crashes, and the first hasher (of only three) to do the whole trail, the four short-cutters castigated with “Shame on you youngsters short-cutting while a 70-year-old finishes first!”

Then on to Chan Luk Gay for a rare on on. – Cock Of Space

Hare: Mango Groove

Runners: Penile Dementia, Golden Jelly, Golden Balls, Liberace, Eunuch, Catch Of The Day, G-Spot

Run 1811, 28 June, Chau Tau

The Blood-fest

The view from the top – sort of

A mosquito-infested pagoda at Chau Tau was the meeting place chosen by hare Golden Balls for this eve-of-handover-20th-anniversary run. Serial on-outer Bukkake (or “Bookakkke” as he now styles himself) was first to arrive at the blood-fest, along with Catch Of The Day, closely followed by Geriatric, Liberace (who was in for a fraught night), Eunuch, Mango Groove, Dingaling and Velcro Lips.

Golden Balls plodded in some time before 7.30, fresh from setting the trail (although “fresh” is perhaps not the most apt of words to describe his condition) and loudly deplored the absence of iced beer, Golden Jelly having not yet arrived with same. He seized Bookakke’s bottle of lukewarm water before instructing the assembled hashers to clear off along a narrow path heading east through Chau Tau adding, for good measure, that there was no wimp option.

The trail wound its way amongst alleys and lanes for a few hundred metres before joining Castle Peak Road and crossing to the south side of the highway and Kwu Tung. Before long, however, we were heading uphill on steps and then shiggy to the summit of Ki Lun Shan, from where spectacular views of Shenzhen were briefly taken in, before a steep descent of the hill’s northern face brought the hashers back down to the Kwu Tung road, under the highway to Castle Peak Road, and on home. A most enjoyable and well-marked one-hour-plus trail.

Back at the start, a courting couple occupied the pagoda, despite the presence of two iced eskies, crates of booze and several backpacks, and proceeded to look uneasy as the hare set up the finish. The hare took pity on them, offering beer, softies, snacks and even mosquito repellent before abandoning the venue to the canoodlers. Happily, in the ensuing melee (see below), they “melted away into the night”.

A most unfortunate accident befell Liberace during the pre-circle wind-down. It involved the mysterious sudden slamming of Golden Jelly’s open car door and an unexpected and wholly regrettable injury to Liberace’s pinkie. The men in the white van were summoned to the scene, Liberace taken on board accompanied by Golden Jelly, and the other hashers waved farewell to them before commencing the serious business of the circle.

Bookakke’s latest on out (his fourth in four years), spectacularly upstaged by the Curious Incident of the Car Door in the Night Time, was celebrated with a degree of scepticism before the group dispersed into the darkness.  – A very jet-lagged “Bookakke”

Hare: Golden Balls

Runners: Geriatric, Eunuch, Liberace, Mango Groove, Dingaling, Bukkake, Catch Of The Day, Golden Jelly, Velcro Lips, Dingaling

Non-runners: Tangerine Dream, Ginger Moon


Run 1810, 21 June, Tin Shui Wai

Jumping the Shark – a Pre-Lube


Monday 19 June…Liberace and Mango Groove meet on a lesser gay hash. “Mango, you medium sized penis person, will you run on Wednesday?” asks Liberace.

“Yup, sure will Liberace, you sexy beast,” replies Mango.

Liberace scratches his head and sighs deeply. “It is in Tin Shui Wai. That fucking guy Eunuch has picked the furthest place possible. The weather looks terrible and we have no clear instructions.”

“Don’t worry my friend. I know Eunuch. He will get it sorted.  I am certain there are going to be tons of people there. The last time Eunuch set a run, from the Cow Patch, we had loads of runners. Even some young things showed up, exchange students I believe,” replies Mango, full of confidence.

“Well Mango, I can give you a lift on Wednesday but I may be a little late. Do you think you can buy the beer and I’ll pick you up outside Park n Shop in Fanling?” asks Liberace.

“No Problem.  Leave it with me,” replies Mango.


Fast forward to Wednesday 21 June, 6.15pm in Park n Shop.  “Right, that should be plenty. Seventy-two cans of beer, loads of soft drinks and plenty of potato chips,” says Mango proudly to himself as he piles all the goodies into a trolley and heads for the loading bay to meet Liberace.

“Mango, that seems like a lot of beer,” says Liberace as he helps Mango load the beer into the back of his van.

The drive out to Tin Shui Wai is a long one. As Liberace drives into the south Tin Shui Wai area he asks, “Mango do you have a location of where the start is?”

“No, problem. Eunuch sent one out this morning. I shall just call it up on my phone,” answers Mango as he attempts to show Liberace the attachment.

“Oh no! That fucking guy Eunuch didn’t send a proper map like everyone else. He sent us a satellite image of what looks like the top of a train,” moans Liberace as he pulls his van to a halt.

A short while later, after getting his bearings sorted, Liberace has worked out exactly where to go, and as he heads along a side road adjacent to the start a frantic call is received from the hare. “Are you coming tonight? I am here at the start ready to let the runners loose. I can’t hold them up much longer. They are super enthusiastic to get going,” explains Eunuch.

Within a few minutes Liberace and Mango are running across the road carrying as much beer as they can.  As they sight the playground only Dingaling and the hare, Eunuch, can be seen. “Oh you bugger, Eunuch. You started the pack off without us, now I have no chance of winning the hash tonight!” blubbers Mango as Liberace carefully places the beer into the eskies.

“Well actually, they haven’t started. This is it,” says Eunuch.

Liberace chuckles as he fondly recalls. “This is the same number of people that showed up for my run at Ma On Shan, many years ago. Just Eunuch, Antiseptic and Mango.”

Dingaling, who had been waiting a while wanted to get going, urges. “Come on Eunuch, tell us about the run, before the next rain band comes through.”

Eunuch begins to speak. “Well I had the most amazing run, ever. It was totally brilliant, hills, rivers, forests and a few temples but the rain came down and washed it all away.  So, I was forced to set only a short trail, sorry chaps.”

So off the pack heads.  At the first check, Liberace goes straight over the road, closely followed by Mango. Dingaling finds the correct trail, leftwards, heading into a small village full of lorry parks. The next check has the pack running in every direction possible as it appears that some of the markings were washed away with the recent rain shower. Eventually the three runners decide to head straight through, passing a building site where flour is again spotted. It looks like a short loop has been missed so they follow trail backwards before heading up onto and over a small hillside. What follows is some nice running with a few checks that are solved quickly by Liberace. Eunuch has cleverly placed a check back near the end of the ridge with correct trail heading down a slippery slope and into a very pretty tree-lined section. Another check back follows with trail leading out and onto the main road. A flat two kilometre run ensues before the runners arrive back at the start. According to Dingaling the run is 4.5 kilometres and 35 minutes, not bad given the terrible weather conditions.

Back at the buckets, Eunuch tries desperately to explain what his “real run” would have been like. As he finishes, Mango looks at him and smiles. “Not to worry. You now have a run sorted for your scheduled Saturday run, in December,” he says.

“I hate the Saturday run. No, I mean, the Jumping the Shark run. Ever since that episode in Happy Days when Arthur Fonzarelli water-ski-jumped over some small fish in a pond, he became the main character. He was no longer the walk-on star who we all loved. It was the end of Happy Days and this Saturday run thing will be the end of us, it really will.” blubbers Eunuch.

“Stop being a poof, Eunuch. Sounds like you had a good run, all you need is an on-on and your quids in,” replies Mango as he heads for the immensely overstocked bucket. There is a lot of ice-cold beer but who is going to drink it? Dingaling, Liberace and Eunuch are all driving and Mango doesn’t drink much…oops, someone messed up with the beer calculation this evening.

Talk at the bucket centres around the impending closure of Carnegie’s, another institution soon to be lost. A circle (well, more of a triangle) soon follows, led by Eunuch but eventually becoming a free for all. Once we have all had our fill, the remaining beer is stocked into Eunuch’s vehicle and off home we head.  Good effort Eunuch…we all love you really and we all look forward to your “Jumping the Shark Run.”  – Mango Groove

Hare: Eunuch

Runners: Dingaling, Liberace, Mango Groove

Run 1809, 14 June, Fanling Playground

The Illiterates Strike Back


I have come to realise that it would be a mistake to let most of our hashers loose with an Ikea self-assembly furniture kit. There would be screws and bolts and even panels left over and plaintive cries of “Why is it looking so wonky?”

This was illustrated by this week’s run, where author Bukkake and prize-winning poet (yes, really) Serbian Spammer Bomber Baron Diver von Mooseheime waited forlornly at the start with hare, Moonie. Of our other writers, Golden Balls was otherwise occupied and Gunpowder Plod was laid up with syphilis (or so I heard). Nobody else had read the hare’s clear and precise instructions and so they all waited in the wrong place. Even those who, like Velcro Lips, had replied to it.

In the correct location, we waited as 7:30 approached and left and nobody else arrived. Eventually, I asked our hare to brief us. With the pack (of two) crowding round him, Moonie explained that the trail was marked in chalk (arrows, on-on arrows, checks, and a solitary check back, and… (wait for it) … orange dyed flour  with one blob for trail and two blobs for on on. The hare’s instructions took a further turn for the bizarre, as he explained that he had not actually completed the trail and that after 8km (with no wimp/rambo split) he had given up. We should look for two concrete blocks and there we should turn to the right and make our way back to the out trail then follow it, in reverse, to home.

Throughout the briefing, I kept a sharp lookout for any more hashers arriving, but none were to be seen.

Assuming that the others had been put off by the rain showers, Bukkake and I set off. Since there were only two of us, we quickly made a pact to cooperate at all of the checks; whoever found trail at the check would then wait for the other to catch up before pursuing trail.

Little did I realise how I would suffer for this, as I had to stand and wait after solving each and every check, while Bukkake ran back from checking in the wrong direction. Of course, Bukkake had a different take on this, muttering about running all the extra distance…

After 4km, as we solved the check back, there was a sudden thunder of feet as those illiterates Eunuch, Mango, and Oranguwank caught up, asking if G-Spot had passed us. Velcro Lips and Dram had also turned up, although I’m not sure where they ran (except to be certain that it was somewhere that was not the trail).

Between villages, Eunuch solved a check quickly, climbing out of the valley while the rest of us blundered around, trying to find out how he had got up there. Finally, one of the locals called us over and showed us where Eunuch had gone.

As we climbed a short hill, I soon found myself trailing in the rear. A check marked the crest and I heard Mango calling trail to the left and so I followed. Bukkake was just ahead of me, also calling trail. Eunuch caught up from behind after he had lost trail, bitterly complaining about how nobody called trail.

Descending back towards Fanling, we all missed a small arrow marking a trail off to the left. At the wrong end of the village Bukkake turned left casting for trail but turned back without seeing anything. We cast backwards until we found the missed turn-off and followed trail until we found ourselves running past an arrow at the very spot where Bukkake had just a minute before given up (how does he ever spot the dragonflies?)

As we ran on and I had to stop to let cars squeeze past on the narrow road, I soon found myself on my own, out of sight of the other runners. Never mind, I thought. Soon be back.

As I continued onwards, I observed the transition from chalk arrows to the promised orange-dyed flour markings; both trail and on-on markings. Since they had missed the briefing, none of the other runners (except Bukkake) knew to look for orange. And Bukkake was blindly chasing after the other runners.

As I passed the two concrete blocks, I remembered to turn and ran down hill, quickly reconnecting with the out trail. There I found the hare, Moonie, marking arrows back to home. “Am I the last?” I asked, puzzled as to why he was still marking arrows even after I passed.

“No, mate.” he replied. “You’re the first.”

Refusing to let this go to my head, I headed swiftly for home, only to find almost everyone there waiting (short-cutting bastards). The sole remaining runner out there, G-Spot, was suffering déjà vu as he kept looping back to checks that he had already run through.

Down downs included (amongst others):

Hare – for setting a crap trail and (second down down) for not completing it.

Eunuch – for complete fuckwittery – he had actually been shopping next to the start while Moonie and I were waiting there and had walked past without stopping, on his way to the incorrect start.

Eunuch – for offering a lift to Mango despite knowing that Mango lives next to the start

Mango – for offering Eunuch a map to the (wrong) start

Nearly everybody – for failing to read the email instructions to find the start

Velcro – for replying to the run instructions without actually reading them

Everybody except the GM and the hare – for short-cutting

Dram – for being the same age as Donald Trump

Velcro – for being Buckethead (she wanted to be fish fingers)

Finally, for the sceptics, here’s one I wrote after a walk through the New Forest in the South of England, back when I was single and lonely:

Shocked man

Autumn Ache

I wander alone

Through swirling

Gold of sunbeams and

Autumn leaves

Drifting down

From the trees.


I hear the wind

Whispering through the

Branches above.


Calling to me,

From wherever you are,

From whoever you are,

Telling me of your love.


How will all this seem,

Next year

When you are here

To share all this

With me?

– Serbian Bomber


Hare: Moonie

Runners: Bukkake, Serbian Bomber, Velcro Lips, Dram, Eunuch, Mango Groove, G-Spot, Oranguwank

Run 1808, 7 June, Tit Hang

The Gobee-tween


Geriatric was first to arrive at the start, Golden Jelly’s place in darkest Tit Hang, having ridden in on a Gobee bike from Sheung Shui Station – and fallen off en route. He was joined by Eunuch, Mango Groove, Liberace, … and of course Golden Balls and Bukkake, who also live on-site.

The hare, fitting her haring duties in between trips to Guizhou and Kazakhstan, managed to find some fresh trail in the hashed-out Tit Hang terrain. Trail went south through the dragon fruit farm then cut right through new shiggy before joining the path linking the graves on the hillside. This was an easily navigable path courtesy of a recent hill fire that had also revealed long-abandoned trails. Months ago I had chopped a trail from the last grave through bracken up to the ridge, so I headed straight for this trail, convinced it would be correct, only to see everybody else following trail contouring around the hillside in the opposite direction. Having attained the ridge I followed it in the direction the pack had gone, meeting them at the trig point as they ascended from the other side. Hash craft!

Trail went along the ridge then cut down another newly revealed track towards the farm, then down some steps to Ma Tso Lung. After a bit of road running we hit another new stretch of shiggy as we ascended the (much higher) ridge to the north. From here it was a simple switchback ridge run towards Lok Ma Chau, descending on home through a sort of hidden valley.

At the finish GB produced his fine whisky collection for the circle (nominate your single malt of choice for your down downs) while Golden Jelly produced a tasty chicken curry.

Geriatric abandoned the Gobee bike outside the house. So it was the next morning I decided to ride it to Sheung Shui. But I only made it as far as the bins at Chau Tau because the saddle post kept slipping down and couldn’t be tightened, making me look like some chubby oversized child on a small chopper bike. I abandoned it at the bins, where it remained for another two weeks. Wonder which sucker picked it up…                  – Golden Balls


Hare: Golden Jelly

Runners: Geriatric, Bukkake, Golden Balls, Liberace, Eunuch, Mango Groove