Run 1932, 14 August, Lam Tsuen

Fennu de Shanyang – the Angry Goats


While most of Hong Kong looked foreward to Zhongyuan Jie, the Hungry Ghostfestival, in Tai Po it was the Angry Goats Festival, Fennu de Shanyang. A time to remember our animal friends and a time for a beer at Leafy Glade.


Confusion and bewilderment was in full flow even before the run as the start location was moved from place to place in order to keep the Goats at bay. The Ice Man close to tears as he raced back and forth with his load melting faster than an Arctic ice sheet.  A few pre-run beers had lubricated the major players so an ultra-smooth getaway saw the runners easing their progression into Lam Tsuen Valley and not a Goat in sight.

It all seemed far too easy as checks came and went in hardly the blink of an eye.

Could the hare be trusted or was really Walky Talky playing secretly for the Goats.

The widely anticipated ‘sting in the tale’ finally arrived and not at the end but in the middle, a game of two halves then?


This was the raging torrent of a river we had to cross. There was, to be fair, a small delicate rock to stand on in the middle, but….  With enough momentum moving forward and intricate dancing off the rock it was possible to clear the water – but a moment’s wavering or indecision in mid stream resulted in an inevitable reverse descent and a rather more than damp feeling around the lower legs.

So Walky Talky had not only ‘talked the talk’ but also ‘walked the walk’ and led us into near oblivion. It looked like maybe the Goats could vent their anger on the runners and trot away in triumph.

Now in this rather warm weather at present, a little bit of cooling of the feet and some refreshing splashing around in the icy waters of the Lam Tsuen River can be extremely invigorating and almost inspirational for attacking the second half of the run. So it was to be.

The run crossed the Lam Kam Road and as it neared the hare’s lair we were cruising. Picking up speed and style with every sniff of trail, there was no stopping the illustrious pack moving forward like a well oiled machine. The Tsing Tao was clearly clicking in.

Meanwhile the Bukkake Brigade – Mony, Jessica and Calvin – were gamely fording the river and dodging under the fallen trunks using their mobile phones as torches, returning with a smile and some typical gentlemanarsery by the Serb.

And that was that. Apart from a bit of erroneous assistance from a lone Goat disguised as a villager all went smoothly and Leafy Glade was reoccupied, packed tighter than an airport terminal on a Tuesday night.

Angry Goats??  **** ’em. MAGIC RUN.

Open the Gates of Hell !!!   Well not exactly. Just a few down downs from Eunuch and some new guy named as Mango Groove.

Next Weeks Run :      no eye deer — Stingray

Hare Walky Talky SP Back To The Future?

Runners Gaelle Says No, Canton Clap, Eunuch, Calvin, Jason, Matt, Geriatric, Auntie Septic, Golden Jelly, Dram, Golden Balls, Serbian Bomber, Creme Brulee, Mango Groove, One Eyed Jack, Moni, Jessica, Wandering Wanker, others?

Non-runner Fartypants

Run 1931, 7 August, Tai Mo Shan

Not so International Rescue

A brief account of N2TH3 Run number 1931 taking place on the evening of the 7 August, 2019 and including mention of Anarchy in the New Territories – Thunderbirds Are Go – Rare Sighting of Twrch Trwyth – Jaffa Cakes at Last


Our hare for the evening was Gaelle Says No. For some bizarre reason he decided to impose on my territory and set a trail on Tai Mo Shan. Luckily, he stayed off my next planned route and so I can still inflict this madness on set this magnificent trail for you all at a later date. Mango Groove had brought along a monster box of Luton’s best Jaffa cakes, and was anxious that Golden Balls should be present as he had missed out on the last Jaffafest by taking too long on trail.

Anarchy reigned at the start when we discovered we had no committee members at all, and, the hare was also missing. Gunpowder Plod (and his virgin visitor, Jason), Liberace, No Rough Stuff, Penile Dementia, Stingray, Back To The Future, Mango Groove, Eunuch, Batty Baby and I milled around in confusion. Should we start the run? What could the trail markings be?

Just then, Golden Balls arrived clutching a can of Asahi, having decided to go to the pub for a couple of hours while he waited for a medical appointment, and we quickly anointed him as our Glorious Leader. “Welcome to run number, I don’t know.” Mumble, mumble. Slurp, slurp. “Anyway…”

Fortunately, GB’s monologue was interrupted by the return of the hare, fresh from setting trail, who then explained the markings. Flour and chalk but no paper.

And so, with no more ado, apart from GB borrowing a spare torch from No Rough Stuff and taking 15 minutes to change, we set off.

We swiftly crossed route TW/SK and set off up the concrete road in the direction of the helipad. But, after a couple of hundred metres, we encountered a check. People disappeared into the woods, checking far to the left. People checked far ahead. When I thought I had checked quite far, I saw a light appearing in the far distance – Penile Dementia returning after checking very very far indeed. Mango checked to the right (but not quite so far, as he was nearly ensnared in a scary spider web and fled back to the check). Eunuch checked behind.

Anarchy returned when check-hanger Stingray vandalized the check, adding lines pointing in the four ordinal points of the compass. Hashers returning to the check were incensed that they had run off in the wrong directions at a marked check. However, finally, we discovered trail leading off, a little further ahead and to the right. Gunpowder Plod never returned from checking left but was not sorely missed….

We wended our way through the forest until we chanced upon the helipad. Liberace was found by a short-cutting Gunpowder Plod on the road, miles beyond the last flour. A cunning trail was eventually found leading over the helipad fence which turned steeply downhill. Gunpowder Plod remembered that discretion is the better part of valour. “I will heroically search for a (another) shortcut,” he announced. No Rough Stuff, hashing in her tennis shoes, also disappeared around this time. No connection is implied or imputed.

Gunpowder Plod ran back to and down the road, attempting an interception but all he found was a short-cutting Golden Balls intent on the same manouever. GP let GB get on with it and returned to the helipad and then down what he thought would be a short interception path. Ha!

Suffering from a cold, and still somewhat weak after suffering food-poisoning the previous week, I lagged at the back, sweating like a pig profusely. Even so, I managed to catch up with Eunuch and Batty Baby, for a while. His recent stay in hospital must have really fucked him up set him aback.

At last, with legs like jelly, I climbed back up to the road. Here, somebody had kindly scrawled the word “shortcut”. And so, I did, along with Stingray and our trusty stalwart, Back To The Future.

As we trudged along the road, shortcutting back to the start, we were overtaken by Liberace. He had gone round and round but failed to find “twail”. But then, “finding twail” is not a concept that you would associate with Liberace.

Back at the start, also known as the finish, we waited for the last runner, Golden


Balls, to return. And we waited. And we waited. Eventually, after waiting an hour or so, and after devouring a sufficiency of Jaffa cakes, we decided to hold the circle anyway. Many down downs were awarded, including a downdown for members of our new Hash Trash Whatsapp group – “Refugees from Political Correctness”.


Circle concluded, Golden Balls still missing. Hashers pondered; had he had too much to drink before the run? Had his borrowed torch battery run out? Had he been kidnapped by wild boars to suckle their young? We decided somebody should go and look for him. Well, most of us; the hare had already buggered off home into the arms of his beloved Canton Clap.

Clearly this required the attention of International Rescue. With the air pounding to the Thunderbirds’ drum roll and fanfare, Back To The Future and I set out to find Golden Balls. But, as we crossed Route TW/SK, we found many flashing lights and emergency vehicles. The police, ambulance and fire brigade were all parked at the start of the concrete road. We were puzzled by this. Had GB already called for assistance?

BTTF interrogated the police and found out that they were there to rescue a group of lost students. We then spent 10 minutes trying to explain to the police that they were not suitably dressed (city shoes) to help us find GB. They offered us a lift to the helipad in their squad car but I turned it down so that we could listen for GB as we passed along the road. Our plan was to return to the shortcut marking, then search the trail from there, as this was the last place anyone (Stingray) had seen GB.

As we headed up the road shouting “GB! Are you?” we heard a muffled response in the distance. On, we continued, calling as we went. Finally, we found a dark figure staggering down the path towards us. We expected GB. We found Twrch Trwyth, the legendary Welsh boar. We taunted him with news that we had eaten all the Jaffa cakes, and he wailed and raged in despair. Oh! The curses he hurled against Mango.

As we made our way back, the police were waiting for us at the entrance to the road. They had kept an ambulance there too. Obviously they were over-excited to have some task other than riot control. We explained “Good news, we found him. His torch had run out. No, he doesn’t need the ambulance. No, we don’t need a lift in your car.”

We left the disappointed police behind and arrived back at the start. There, Twrch Trwyth was magically transformed back into hasher GB, when Mango revealed that he had saved some Jaffa cakes just for him. What a sweetheart.

Gunpowder Plod and Jason later swept up to the police group in Plod’s gleaming “Shaguar” (as Gaelle Says No describes it) and attempted to tempt the female members of the lost hiking group into the back seat. Their “men” folk dissuaded them so Plod shot off before the PoPo could find their breathalyzer.  Serbian Spammer Bomber Baron Diver von Porkies Mooseheime


Hare Gaelle Says No

Runners Liberace, Serbian Bomber, Back To The Future, Penile Dementia, Golden Balls, Batty Baby, Eunuch, Stingray, Gunpowder Plod, Mango Groove, Jason

Run 1930, 31 July, King’s Belly

Not the Most Dangerous in the World


On a day when a weak storm flapped its handbag at Hong Kong and the Observatory raised the T8 typhoon signal, ensuring a T8 hash took place at 4pm in Tseung Kwan O, NNT hare Liberace abandoned his planned run in Tsing Yi in favour of running the T8.

Then he came to Tai Po and set a “braveman” run for us from the King’s Belly. Hmmm. Looks like the Soho.

And it looks a bit damp. Like a squib.


Present Liberace, Fartypants, QT, Walky Talky, Luk Sup Gow, Eunuch, No Rough Stuff, Catch Of The Day