I think it was the Greek tragedian Aeschylus (GM Athens Hash, BC 496 to BC 494) who said "Truth is the first casualty of war and hashing", and you may feel truth is a commodity there's damn little of in this write-up.
On the other hand, I can promise you a number of useful tips which were gleaned during the course of Monday's run. For example, my fellow eye surgery survivor Lone Wolf dispensed invaluable advice at the sign-up: "Don't waste money buying expensive binoculars. Simply stand closer to the object you wish to view."
It all started to go pear-shaped on Saturday when the Big Nosed Bastard & I were putting the finishing touches to the final reconnaissance of a forthcoming Bush run, only to stumble upon Fini & virgin sidekick Ferry Queen. "What the fuck are you doing here?" asked Fini in his best Queen's English, giving BNB an opening to demonstrate why there is a second B in his hash name. "We're the hares for tomorrow's Jungle", the Bastard replied.
Reverting to our friend Aeschylus, it is claimed that he was killed by a tortoise which fell out of the sky when dropped by an eagle, and I would imagine his expression and horizontal posture at the time were very similar to Fini's. Anyway, the ambulance arrived quite quickly, and Fini was whisked away to Banglamung Hospital to be treated for apoplexy.
So, all credit to the man for recovering in time to steal various sections of our run. As it emerged on the ice later, we did manage to grass him up over indelibly spray-painting 'FT' on a tree. This led to Hash Shit, so we'll call it quits. Remarkably generous when you consider the effort Big Nose & I put into planting out all that eucalyptus a dozen years ago, tending the tapioca, digging out the quarry in the centre to frustrate shortcutters, and ensuring the new road bridges and tunnels were completed on time, only to have the entire shooting match hijacked by a pocket-sized Belgian terrorist with a penchant for pink.
Wonderful to see Cabbage Knievel back in the fold after having a lump the size of Really Sadistic Bastard excised from his skull. Cabbage was in sparkling form - my FRB mole Katoy Anal Masturbator tells me he was leading the pack throughout the run in his flat cap, whippet by his side and a pair of ferrets down his trousers, and still had time to stop midway at Busker's for a couple of pints and a toad-in-the-hole. I understand from the same reliable source that Cabbage did veer off the trail at the end, but only because he chose to swim the length of the lake after the storm drain, before completing the final dash to the beer truck on a pogo stick.
Anyway, prior to all that, the A-site was the usual hive of inactivity on arrival, except of course for the Dog family limbering up in preparation for an arduous run.
As I like these reports to be educational, I asked Fucking Dog if he had any tips I could pass on to our readers. "Yes" he said, "Save on booze by drinking cold tea instead of whisky. The morning after, you can create the effects of a hangover by drinking a thimble full of washing up liquid and banging your head repeatedly on the wall."
Sir Chicken Fucker's contribution was "Don't buy expensive ribbed condoms - just buy an ordinary one and slip a handful of frozen peas inside it before you put it on."
Budding porn movie director Hellboy took time out from behind his camera to offer "Recreate the fun of a visit to a public swimming pool in your home by filling the bath with cold water, adding two bottles of bleach, then urinating into it before jumping in."
I mulled over these pearls of wisdom during the brief first circle, and then Fini led us out to the start of the run - a strange ritual increasingly practised by Belgian hares. Are they that short of paper? Anyway, into the woods we went, where Squeeze My Tube informed me that an empty aluminium cigar tube filled with angry wasps makes an inexpensive vibrator. Seaman Swallow aptly suggested: "Before attempting to remove stubborn Stains from a garment, always circle the Stains in permanent pen, so that when you remove the garment from the washing machine you can easily locate the area of the Stains and check that it has gone."
Out of the woods, across the tapioca, and down towards the infamous spray-painted tree, Dirty Harry asked me to be sure to include his seasonal tip: "Ladies, don't throw away those used tampons. Spray them with lacquer and they make attractive Christmas tree decorations."
Local knowledge notwithstanding, I did fall for one of the FTs where Drippy maliciously pushed me into a boggy hole (twice) whilst usefully observing that high blood pressure sufferers should simply cut themselves and bleed for a while, thus reducing the pressure in their veins.
As the Regent's School (which it feels as if I'm buying brick by brick) hove into view, I caught up with Miserable Cunt. His advice is to avoid bickering and petty arguments by immediately punching anyone with whom you disagree. As we ran through the twin tunnels under the Route 7 extension, Really Sadistic Bastard told me that putting just the right amount of gin in your goldfish bowl makes the fishes' eyes bulge and cause them to swim in an amusing manner.
And so on down the road embankment with a fine panorama of Pattaya, to the storm drain where Lord Lucan and Ball Ringer were lurking. They usefully remarked that you can fool the people next door into thinking you have more stairs than them by banging your feet twice on each step.
Back at the run site, Emperor Airhead said that if you're invited by vegetarians for dinner, you should point out that since you'd no doubt be made aware of their special dietary requirements, you need to tell them about yours, and ask for a nice juicy steak.
At the Circle, it was generally agreed it was a very good run despite the mandatory Hash Shit for vandalism. Returners were dealt with, latecomers sorted out, and Bottomless Pit's Geburtstag duly celebrated.
I can't remember much else about the Circle as Drippy was constantly bending my ear between what seemed an awful lot of trips to the ice. I do recall he said that he had a tip for the girls in that there was no point in them wasting money on a new dress for a first date, because all he'd be interested in would be seeing them starkers anyway.
I had to leave early as the SML had run out and my chauffeur had an assignation with some Lake Mabprachan hospitality staff, but I understand Stains led the circle in the traditional rendition of Silent Night before adjourning to the generous hospitality of The Winchester.
Oh yes, I forget - I asked General Kidney Wiper if he had any tips for weight watchers like me. "Yes", he said, "Avoid that devilish temptation to nibble at a chocolate bar in the cupboard or fridge by not buying the fucking thing in the first place, you fat bastard."
Rather rude I thought.
Ringworm