Sunday, 27 September 2009

1171: Sandpit

HM VC and Amy set a rather tortuous hash out by the picturesque Northern point of the Dukhan peninsula. Four trails were set on that fateful Saturday before the hash. Unaware were the hares that their efforts would be wiped out by the cruel Eastern winds of the Persian gulf.

The first trail was mercifully short in the face of the onslaught of fine sand making it's way into the mouths and noses of the brave hashers. Little were they to know that the next trail would be set along a calf and thigh punishing stretch of soft sand before ending in the welcome sight of two blue dots. The third trail was a crafty one, cutting diagonally across the field where experienced trail setters expected to find the dots. Hardened hashers of many tens of runs heard the call of the bugle from afar and ploughed onwards though they could not hope to catch the leaders less some great calamity befell them. Gregory, Tim, GPS and HTT forged onwards to find a poorly scrawled ON-IN written on a tyre. Gregory, in triumph called out to the hashers all around "ON-IN" and raced towards the cars. Gregory made it in first but soon it was made clear to him and his troupe that the ON-IN they read was not the true ON-IN but an ON-## placed there by the mischievous hares.

Comments were given by Miss Disgrace who was most complimentary about the run except for the sparseness of blue dots and shortness of the fourth trail.

First in was Scott of the frozen wastes to the North known as Aberdeen. He succeeded despite Cluseau's misguidance in reciting the words required of the first in.

Spy was one of our younger hashers, known either as Chip Stealer of Ella. She bucketed her father for obvious reasons and all of her friends for some social faux pas last week.

A name for Alastair Justice was chosen out of "The Doctor?", "Fatboy Slim", "Goatee",Some muppet character who played the trumpet http://muppet.wikia.com/wiki/Lips, and "Bell Boy http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quadrophenia. By majority vote, Fatboy Slim was chosen due to his shrinking belly.

The new hash quench learned a few valuable lessons about the alcohol capacity of the average hasher and we all made our merry way home.

Until next week hashers.

Don't have sandmares.

HTT

Monday, 21 September 2009

1170 SURVIVOR

Most that did were under teenage reflecting their exalted recovery powers. Phil (no longer a teenager) took the first live trail with the enthusiasm of a man possesed. Finally VC and Rx persuaded him to check in before we all died of dehydration. Momentarily 'Mike' brought us back - down and car wards - but turned us uphill again. Biffo the Blade (if I remember) had hardly any less mercy as the sun got hotter glaring its menacing heat off the bright sand. Twas still and the slithy hashers wilted in the borogrove. Thank goodness for the Palm Tree Fan who got us back in one piece.
We all wanted the bucket. Some were found stealing it as drinking water.
Thanks again to those wonderful hashers who get up the morning after the night before and tidy up all the mess of the night before the morning after.
On On

Sunday, 20 September 2009

1169 The Camp Soixante Neuf

V.Comet and the newly anointed Hash Mattress led us a merry ankle snapping trot at our beach camp south of the picnic site. The humidity drained us of energy as we failed to find the on in. Until we did. On On the hares.
Suspicions were aroused as Klipe having chosen the site scarpered faster than you can say down down.
GPS and Chips led a lively and novel quiz, despite the attentions of the Wolfman, and all ended (by my reckoning) in a resounding draw.
Kluless followed his traditional chuckins with some bum-charades. Special mention has to go to the amazing(?) Snoop Dog.
The night, the beachside, the company, was magical. One by one we went to sleep; most abandoning hot steamy collapsed tents to snuggle up al fresco in the sand. The wind whistled and the hash snored.
Thanks to everyone.