MUSINGS OF A BLONDE ON THE PATTAYA HASH 

Well, this run started as it tends to do, for me – with a last minute check on the web to locate the A site, leave desk piled up, charge to run only to arrive, usually, just as the pack are setting off.  The next step is to wriggle frantically into my Hash clothes, ignoring the cries of “Skin! Skin!” then struggle off in a generally vain attempt to catch the pack up, although, blissfully, now we’ve gone back to the summer start time, I don’t need to start running with my knickers in a twist or my shorts on backwards.  Yesterday was different though.  I managed to get to the run site early - despite the directions from Flying Frog who told me to turn left onto the 332 from the 331.  Frog, I thought it was only blondes who get left and right mixed up, and who leave out essential instructions from directions, because they think that the fact that they know where they are going will mysteriously communicate itself without speech, to the person they are giving the directions to.  However I was saved by Big Nosed Bastard on the mobile, who uttering a derisive snort, said “Nah!  That can’t be right!  The man’s off his head.  He must be Belgian or something”. 

Anyway I arrived in good time to discuss the politics of Thailand, digest to the latest football news (always a popular topic of conversation amongst the fairer sex) and listen to some so-called jokes from Teeny Weeny.  Why can’t a tampon talk?” he asked me.  Well, I was just beginning the obvious answer, “Because it is inanimate, doesn’t have any vocal cords and is made of cotton wool” when he interrupted me with his version, something to do with tampons thinking they are a cut above everyone else.  Very confusing. 

The run was lovely.  Impressive trails, good checks (AT LAST!!!), not too long and graced by a perfect evening with a nice breeze, clear blue skies and lots of greenery.  Delightful.   And three unusual things happened to me on this run.  One, I heard Jellobutt (apparently that’s Jellobutt with a capital B, everyone - yes, I know, ask him) call!!!  Or rather, I heard him call On!!  Suppose he didn’t want to overdo it.  I asked him if it was painful.  Secondly, I was actually near enough to Jellobutt to hear him call which is amazing in its own right.  Lastly, I came in before Big Nosed Bastard.  What is the world coming to!  He was, I must add, extremely quick to explain that he had been yakking to Drippy, no doubt about Formula One, football (again) or one of Drippy’s medical conditions. 

Unfortunately my joy was short lived – being ordered to scribe immediately cut short any hope I had of standing in the circle with a beer in each hand, private partying with my mates.  Come on Seaman Stains, what’s all this asking a working girl to be scribe? 

Not much memory of the circle of course, except for the new BLACK BUCKET!  As we all know by now, the bucket is really Bottomless Pit’s own true love.  So attached to it is he, that he can’t wait to get home and settle into it to watch TV.  Maybe, come this hot weather, the old bucket was too small to keep him cool.  Or maybe he has just re-decorated his living room and the old pink baby bath didn’t quite match his new black leather three-piece.  Basically all I remember is a series of large-arsed men, with their trousers down, plonked on the ice.  Is that why Bottledick (that’s Bottledick with a capital D, ladies and gentlemen) has such cold hands?  I do remember Sir Airhead though, fondly I might add, referring to yours truly as both a girl and a woman which makes a nice change from that ghastly reference to a certain part of a lady’s anatomy by way of a five-letter word (count, guys, count) beginning with c.  Sadly though, he has exposed himself as a sham.  Did you know, ladies and gentleman that written on that piece of cardboard he carries into the circle is NOTHING - yes nothing!  Everything he says is a mere figment of his fertile imagination which explains, I suspect how he is able to comment so effusively about the run. 

A glimpse into the future was had tonight, too, ladies and gentleman, by way of a blond, pony tailed returnee from somewhere wearing a hash T-shirt and combat shorts.  Is this, friends Romans and countrymen, the Karamba of 20 years hence? 

Anyway to finish off ……………………..  I cannot erase from my memory the sad spectacle of Ringworm, forlornly tramping round the A site looking for Big Nose Bastard’s car, the very vehicle in which he traveled to the run.  A tricky one for old Max, and unfair too, because BNB has bought a new car, and did not tell him.  Maybe he is still there, shaking his head in bewilderment. 

Thanks Hares Flying Frog and Lone Wolf and all the unsung heroes on the Monday Hash who keep the whole thing working, yes guys I know who you are, for another great evening. 

Nighty night, possums, see you next Monday. 

Love Knickerless xxxxxx