Hmmmm, looks like a good turnout, I thought to myself as, delayed by traffic, I made it to the A by the skin of my teeth. There must have been about thirty people there, and Priscilla the hare, resplendent in gleaming white shirt, was already giving the pack its marching orders. There was the usual circle of hashers not listening properly, and the odd one or two beginners wondering what a T was. And then……
“How long is the run?” someone shouted.
After the previous week’s hash, when the last couple of people to arrive back at the B took a bit less than four hours, this was a moot point. One of those victims, Dr Evil, was not present today, but Nurse F@cker was standing next to the hare, hopping from one foot to the other and uttering little anxious squeaks. By the time he’d got back from Bobbledick’s historically inept run it was so late that people had even stopped complaining about the markings, and all that was left of the food was cold chicken’s feet and rice balls. “Fifty seven minutes.” Nurse F@cker almost fainted with relief. A very good estimate, as it turned out; the front runners were back in fifty-five.
As we left the park we saw Priscilla sitting on a park bench, with a huge sheaf of A4 paper on his lap, getting back to writing his report on the last week’s run. (To be published early in 2010). And so we were off, up to Queen’s Road East and over the bridge to the first check. The trail led without difficulty up steps to Shiu Fai Terrace, and from there to Bowen Road. On on to the right and Wanchai Gap Road. At this point Bobbledick was heard to say, “Why didn’t he put a check at the junction?”
Hmmmm. Enough said.
Grinding up Wanchai Gap Road to the top…here there was an open check that flummoxed the pack until trail was found by the newly-renamed Inky Anus leading up Combe Road. At Magazine Gap another check had us running down towards Central, until the FRB’s call came from Stubbs Road leading down to Wanchai Gap once more. From there we rejoined the Wimps and ran along the Wanchai Park shiggy until the steps down to Bowen Road, and thence back along to Wanchai Gap Road and the On Home. (the map)
Having started off at the front of the hash, and as usual seen the pack slowly progress past me until I was at the back, I suddenly realized it might be a good time to analyse the running styles of the LSWH3.
>From the fastest …. Captain Pubic, (AKA Sweaty), and Hopeless, both FRBs, we have brisk, no-nonsense power running, aided and abetted by newer runners such as John Doe, Mangina, Groper, and the guy sitting opposite me and Castrato in Fat Angelo’s, (what’s his name? OCC?) As an example of the slowest we have Motormouth, staggering in late to the A so no one can see her and pretending to find the trail before finally lurching into a taxi. Close behind the front are the natural runners, such as Inflate-a-Date, Chatroom Paedophile, Brazilian Buttslap (unless there’s shiggy), Tight Lips and Butt Faan.
There are quite a few runners in the hash who seem to be able to lope effortlessly along; these include Bobbledick, whose legs are exceedingly thin, but very long, and assisted by the auxilliary motion of dangling testicles; the stork-like Wanchai Wanker, Old Sock, and Dr Evil and Bravefart, whose legs are equally skinny but much shorter. Female equivalents might be the slim Comes with Cockney, who runs in nothing but a sports bra, especially in the Free China Hash, or the more recent arrival Barge Pole. The most extreme loper of them all must surely be Macau Drunk, who has never been known to make more than one stride every five seconds, unless he’s on his way to the bar. On the other side of the evolutionary scale, we have high frequency pacers, such as Winabago and Rearender, large bouncers such as Happy Valley, and earnest and gritty joggers, some of them with hairy chests, such as Nurse F@cker, Piss Perfect, Castrato, F3M, Strap-on Sally and, a bit further behind, Bite & Suck. Having dealt with these species, we can now move on to the exceptions to the rule, those hashers whose running techniques defy any known categorization. The first claimant must surely be Indy Anus, who moves in a propulsive forward shuffle, almost as if someone was rapidly trailing a vodka bottle in front of her. Lost in Space moves with a dreamy, heavy tread, unperturbed about whether or not he has missed the trail, as if resigned to arriving back just as the rest of the hash is about to leave for the restaurant. Crash Test Dummy lives up to his name, blasting through all known obstacles at break-neck speed before arriving at the B to find out whether he is still alive.
On on to the restaurant, where we consumed salads and rolls with olive oil whilst waiting for the pizza and spaghetti to arrive. A nice end to the evening.
Down downs by Hopeless, with the beers poured by Nurse F@cker.
There were lots of down downs for the hare, as well as for the miscreant hare of last week, namely Bobbledick.
Priscilla, for not providing last week’s trash, misuse of chalk, and so on.
Indy, for being directionally challenged
All survivors of last week’s run.
Ruggero, for a dummy-spit.
Visitor; Verbal Diarrhoea.
Nurse F@cker and Bobbledick, soaping each other down in the shower.
F3M, off back to work
Bondi, losing his wallet and credit cards yet again
Indy, asking a visitor to set a run
Nurse F@cker, perving on the escalator
Bobbledick, secreting bread rolls on his person to take to a wedding
Returnees; Loser and Media Bitch
F3M, for saying “It’s useless when it’s hard”
Anniversaries; Bravefart, 25 runs; Motormouth 325 runs
Non runners; Lesbian Buttslap
Comes with Cockney; has Aids on knees.
Bravefart; UBS bonuses of ten million dollars this year
Lost sandals was for Nurse F@cker; lost socks was OCC, who drank out of them.