Pacific Place Three

Hares - Hannah Montana and Buttfaan and Stinky Sex Toy

Wednesday morning. I stand on the bathroom scales and notice I've now gained 5kgs since last year. I raise my head slowly and shake my fist at the sky. There is no God.

Wednesday evening. Having negotiated the labyrinthine Pacific Place, I could not find the start of LSW hash 1723. Not encouragingly, I notice Lost in Space also wandering aimlessly about. I then had to locate a group not far away with someone with the word Lost in his hash name. The omens were not good.

Of our three hares, Hannah Montana, Buttfaan and Sticky Sex Toy (or, disconcertingly, Stinky according to one email I saw during the week), only two were present. Ominously, Hannah was still out laying trail. And he was laying it alone, causing one to ponder why he needed not one but two haring hangers-on. While SST took care of admin, Buttfaan's only task appeared to be delivering pre-run instructions. However, she may as well have been speaking Urdu for all the sense she made. The trail, she said, included a 10km "straight run", "4 to 5" checks and no wimps split. We then set off somewhat confused, thinking perhaps she meant 45 checks. Either way, we the sense of foreboding was palpable…………….

We headed up Monmouth Path toward Bowen Drive where we encountered a 2-way check. As Winnebago checked left the bulk of the pack turned right and, still in early-run-chat-mode, ambled along for several hundred meters assuming, given the distance covered and despite the absence of on ons, we were obviously on the right trail. The then FRB, newly named Ninja Winja, hit a T and the pack, somewhat incredulous at the length of the check, turned back, returning east along Bowen, with the trail continuing till we hit a check right up to Wanchai Gap.

It was at Wanchai Gap where the run started getting truly surreal for Hannah had laid a no less than 5-way closed check with - as we were to discover to our growing amazement - each check extending at least 500 meters if not more. I checked left along Blacks Link and eventually ran into Swine Sucker loping back to the junction. False trail. I checked right and met Macau Drunk and Ninja Winja heading back down hill. False trail. By the time I got back to Wanchai Gap I had covered around 2kms and not progressed one meter along the trail. And I was far from alone.

As I later remarked to Hopeless, one wondered whether it occurred to Hannah, in the rich tradition of Giotto - one of the lesser known fathers of the hashing movement and inventor of the open check - to simply draw a circle on the ground.

Mercifully, and in the curious absence of any on-ons, the correct trail was eventually divined along Mt Cameron Rd, leading to a path up to Middle Gap Road and then the long trail up Mt Cameron. In a group with the likes of Bondi Barbie and F3M, we started up the steep set of steps only to be assailed by shrew-like screaming from an unknown female hasher down on Middle Gap Road. No amount of "On Up" could encourage her to desist with her incessant ranting and cries of "On Up" soon turned to "Shut Up" as we scurried uphill to get away from the endless din. Who was the mystery shrew?

We then reached shiggy trail and eventually another check, with several of us taking the left option which meandered uphill toward Mt Nicholson peak. Still scarred by the Wanchai Gap debacle, tension in our group ran high as we climbed steadily, desperately willing some semblance of on on to appear. Upwards, upwards, upwards…….. "T!!!". That crazy Japanese bastard!!! Known shiggy fetishist, Brazilian Buttslap, was just behind me as we ever so reluctantly turned to retrace the seeming km or two we'd just negotiated, and her barely stifled whimpering pretty much summed up our collective mood.

We returned to the check and headed downhill, with poor old Dick the Shit in the shit as his torch had gone and he was using an innovative human pinball technique to negotiate the trail. We came out on a 2-way check on the HK trail, which Macau Drunk's group apparently wrongly checked right, adding a good half hour to their night…… . In fact, the trail headed left, leading us to Blacks Link and, wait for it……… a wimps/rambos split (good one Buttfaan!).

Feeling like I'd covered more territory checking checks than actual trail to that point, I found myself sidling down the wimps trail. Unfortunately, I was then in the company of the likes of Inky Anus and Macau Drunk, hardened hashers that eat metal shavings with milk for cereal in the morning, wear extra small underwear because they love pain, and fly wingwalker class, with lips flapping and faces distorting wildly 10,000 meters above the ground…these people are tough! Wimps was not an option. Thus, I was sucked into their illustrious slipstream and started up the Rambos to Mt Nicholson peak.

We soon encountered Lost At Sea (I still think it should be Gilligan!), who seemed a little disoriented, coming back down the trail, saying he could find no markings. However, we quickly located the trail and headed on. In keeping with the increasingly bizarre nature of this hash, we then met Castrato heading back downhill. "I've been down this shiggy before and once was enough. I'm not risking the razor wire again," he cautioned.

With that he disappeared into the night, leaving us to speculate about re-naming him Golden Boy (because he's so yellow).

As we scaled higher, Lost At Sea was muttering away to himself about something. We finally reached the microwave station at the top and Inky Anus, Lost at Sea and I started down the steep shiggy trail on the other side. But LAS soon started complaining about his torch batteries dying so I offered to help them both down, assisting with my torch. As we set off again LAS started babbling about 50 knot winds and rising seas………..rising seas? I then realised this hash from hell was causing T10 paddler Lost At Sea to experience flashbacks to his traumatic experience in the South China Sea last year. Very quickly he all but fell to the ground, wailing, "There's no hope. We're done for you hear me, done for!" With that, Inky slapped him. Hard. He was certainly shocked by the blow but rather than responding with a measured, "Thanks. I needed that," suddenly cried, "Tell all the Cathay boys on the Hong Kong-London long haul route I love them!" She slapped him again. "You dare lay hands on an officer of a ship of the line? I'll have your gizzards for this, you scurvy dog," he bellowed.

It was getting worse. I made a mental note to self: rescind all offers of assistance down shiggy from hell. Effective immediately. As I discreetly tip-toed away downhill, a voice wafted from above. "Gather round lads. You see this golden coin? It'll go to the first of ye that lays eyes on the great white whale, Moby Dick…….."

Mercifully I was soon out of range but was then confronted with shiggy sufficiently rutted and steep that lengths of some sort of hose had been linked together to help people unfortunate enough to find themselves on this trail avoid debilitating injury. The trail then transformed into rolling mounds covered with gravel more suited to ice skates than my fast deteriorating Nikes.

But the most bizarre bit of trail I have ever encountered lay waiting. The shiggy bottomed out at a cyclone fence topped by Cowardly Castrato's razor wire at the back of Blacks Link Villa. But the fence abutted a concrete slope so steep, you simply couldn't believe this was the actual trail. But, sure enough, lumps of flour could be seen leading into this vice-like route. Worse, to follow the trail along the fence, you had to negotiate a thicket of thorns and "bogan"villea Inky later aptly named it. To avoid slipping into the thorns you had to hang onto overhead branches while throwing yourself across the precipitate concrete slope. Once past this hazard, the only way to progress was to lean with your back into the fence, with your legs almost at right angles in front of you, allowing you to gradually shimmy sideways. Fortunately, I was not alone for I'd caught up with a group comprising Macau Drunk, Swine Sucker and Groper.

With Macau Drunk just ahead edging his way along the razor wire topped fence, it struck me that this is probably what a jailbreak feels like. I amused myself picturing being caught in blinding spotlights, with choppers hovering above, and SWAT teams pouring down ropes dangling over us……….

And just when I thought the worst was over……….. we came to a drain that appeared to drop almost vertically to the road about 8 meters below. For the first time on a hash, I wondered if we'd all get out of this safely!

There was a short length of rope that only extended about half way down the drain. Groper bit the bullet and after some scrabbling and sliding about, managed to get to the bottom safely. He found another piece of rope and threw it up to Swine Sucker who fixed it to the existing piece. He then started down. Frontwards. "No, turn around," Macau Drunk advised. "It's easier." But Swine Sucker was having none of that. Much to his peril for he then performed an excellent impersonation of a human wrecking ball as he slammed into rocks and bush one way and then the next, leaving a wide trail of destruction in his wake.

Obviously with some rappelling experience behind him (I think he saw it on TV once), Macau Drunk adroitly made his way down and, paying strict attention to his example and expert advice, I also made it down without incident. Despite Swine Sucker's wrecking ball descent, he soldiered on and we started off at a canter onto Blacks Link to rejoin the Wimps.

According to the trail description I received during the week, "it was then a fairly straightforward run down Wong Nai Chung Gap to Stubbie Doh, along Bowen, right into Tung Shan Toi, down the steps to Lingnan School, Stubbie Doh to Queen's Road East and left on home to Admiralty". What it doesn't say is that we had been going for more than 2 hours by the time we escaped Black Link Villas! And we still had several kms to go………

Swine Sucker and I alternatively jogged and walked our way back, during which we mystifyingly encountered a virtual plague of on ons. We were then miraculously overtaken by Inky and perennial survivor Lost At Sea just before reaching home.

To use an old Australian colloquialism, I was rooted and very grateful when Bite 'n Suck kindly bought me a can of that tonic of the Gods, a Schweppes Grapefruit softie. Through wearied eyes, I saw Swine Sucker's wife Sarah, who'd admirably completed the rambos ahead of us, quickly spirit him away, presumably to undergo a full medical. Then I saw a vaguely familiar young bloke wander off before registering it was Shut the Fuck Up, not seen since he formed one of the elite pack of 5 on Sweaty Snail Gobbler's infamous T3 hash a couple of years back.

I also noticed for the first time in my experience that the on on was a "No Parky zone", with both leaving early - which must have been a great disappointment to management at the OCH.

Reports of disenchanted hashers came floating in, most notably Mount F3M who returned from a 13.2km wimps trail with clouds of ash and steam billowing menacingly from the top of her head. With seismologists predicting an imminent major eruption, amateur vulcanologist Hopeless bravely descended into the fiery crater and managed to cap it, avoiding the need for a full hash evacuation. As added insurance, Mount F3M tectonically shifted home, which - to guard against any ongoing threat of volcanic activity - is located in a heavily fortified bunker several hundred meters below the earth's surface.

At this point I learned that Golden Boy II (Priscilla) had also opted for the wimps.

It may have been my fatigued state, but even the post run gathering and subsequent on on took on a surreal flavour. Here we were, having negotiated the most bizarre trail I have ever encountered and, in normal circumstances, a group of us would have been called upon to try to free Hannah's neck from Hopeless' throttling hands. But there was Hopeless wandering among the group with a beatific smile on his face, offering consoling remarks like, "He's an inexperienced hare who isn't the first to make mistakes laying a trail, and I'm sure won't be the last", "You've got to give him credit for having a go," and, "Do you need a hand with that gaping leg wound?"

One couldn't help wondering if, instead of a "Bangkok business trip", he had actually spent time at a Buddhist retreat, studying serenity techniques.

Then the Chartwells fare arrived and in yet another first, I was too stuffed to eat.

As Indy eventually started the down downs it was clear that our hare, perhaps in response to a little negative feedback about his run, may have over-compensated by drinking more than his customary 40-50 cans of beer. Added to this, a number of Inky's initial down downs deservedly went to HM. This led to our hare becoming increasingly dependent on a nearby tree, primarily to keep himself fixed to one point, for he was beginning to experience involuntary sideways movements. But he appeared to develop a growing attachment to the tree as the down downs wore on, with the embrace becoming more and more fervent. As he stared fixedly into the bark, his lips began to move and from a distance it looked like he was saying, "You're beautiful." He then he pressed his face into the tree at which point I had to avert my gaze because the encounter was becoming altogether too weird.

Incredibly, much of the rest of the circle didn't seem to notice Hannah's wooden lovemaking other than Hopeless, myself and one or two others trying to avoid falling victim to one of Inky's relentless down downs.

Hannah's brain must have then registered that nature called because he released the tree from his warm embrace and staggered through the periphery of the circle to a destination unknown. I turned my attention to Inky before noticing that Hannah had made his way uphill where, in full view of the circle, he proceeded to void his bladder in a corner. Months of drinking LSW bins and on ons dry must have led to him developing the bladder of a blue whale and a fire hose-like urethra because he was soon standing ankle deep in a torrent of his own urine. Fortunately this piss cataract veered away from the circle before Hannah eventually staggered back to resume his amorous relationship with a plant.

It should be noted that Lost At Sea was the recipient of an excessive number of down downs, leading to charges of nepotism in the circle. One school of thought is that Inky was deliberately plying him with beer so that he'd prove more compliant later on when she dressed as a Bavarian slap dancer, with him role playing as an SS officer sent to interrogate her using any means necessary………

Thursday morning. I stand on the bathroom scales. I've lost 3kgs! There is a God! Or some crazy Japanese tree shagging, whale pissing hare from hell! It's hard to tell……..

DOWNS DOWNS BY INKY

The hare - setting a trail through brambles and barbed wire

The hare - setting a trail with the rope ladder of death

The hare - worried about WH3 markings that went nowhere near his trail

Lost At Sea - Hysterical on the hash, requiring his partner to slap sense into him

Hopeless - sent an email saying not to worry about WH3 markings because LSW girlies, including Inky and F3M, are geographically challenged anyway

Piss Perfect - offered to help Inky and Lost At Sea down rambos shiggy then pissed off

Piss Perfect/Lost At Sea - got lost on top of Mt Nicholson

The hares - greedy bastards that ate all the dip

Bondi Barbie - said F3M's GPS watch showed she burnt up 800 calories on the hash and a further 200 complaining about it

Groper - returnee (even though he did a LSW hash a couple of weeks ago….)

Macau Drunk - bitterly disappointed at the lack of showers on the hash

Piss Perfect - continually complaining about the run being "insane"

"Hash Ash" - advising virgin mate to catch the MTR to Chai Wan, not Wan Chai

Hash Ash - for not bringing a torch to the hash again and not advising virgin mate to bring one

Sticky Sex Toy - dressing like a bank teller on the hash

Castrato - for his spineless abandonment of the rambos shiggy

Bondi Barbie - for fessing up that he'd laid the trail on the selfsame shiggy from hell, which led to Castrato's acute shiggy phobia

Shortcutters - Bite and Suck, the Parky's and Virgin Mary who did their own trail

Priscilla - got to the W/R split and high-tailed it back to Wanchai Gap playground and on in. Did not even do the wimps, did not pass go - some triathlete!

Lost In Space - for deserting the hash the week before in Alaska and letting Sweaty SG stand in

Hopeless - said his trip back from Bangkok took less time than the run

HK Marathon runners -Ninja Winja did the full marathon and still came first on Hannah's horror. Hopeless did the 10km run but used the excuse of Bangkok trip so did not have to embarrass himself! Sarah also did the 10km also was going slowly, complaining of sore legs

Motormouth -standing on Bowen Rd, flailing her hands around to direct runners up to WGP. After the last runners went through she then short-cutted back to Wanchai

Brazilian Buttslap -complaining about ESP price hike of 5% whilst she catches bus class flights (and even had a letter to the ed on this burning issue published in the SCMP on Thursday)