April 2013 | By: The Scrutable Scribe
Having a Sanur Moment
Hey, I've got a good idea! Let's have a run set in my bathroom. We could park the beer truck in the bath tub, have the circle in the shower, run around the toilet cistern and climb over the taps. Whaddya say? Nearly as brilliant a concept as holding a run in Sanur, from where several of us leave to get away from it all at the Hash of a Saturday afternoon. To somewhere scenic perhaps, preferably hilly, green and trickling with padi water ways, mountain views, jungles, river valleys et al, etc. etc. dan lain lain.
Let's be bwutally fwank, Sanur has none of the above. It is flat, hard under foot, traffic choked, a little over crowded, polluted and parts of it are downright nasty with the main features being garbage, rubble, dogs and chickens or all of the above on a motorbike dangling from a construction crane, the new "burung propinsi" of Badung. In short, as a run site, it sucks.
I wish I could say the run was refreshingly different, and effervescently novel. It wasn't, we've had this run before and it was about the same, perhaps marginally less populous with a few less hotels under construction a few years ago. Even the Hash map was wrong; at no point does Jln Merta Sari come into contact with Jln Danau Poso. I know I lived in it for six years, unless Jln M.S. has snuck over late at night with a stocking on its head and stolen the identity of Jln Sekar Waru, Pengembak, Blanjong, Tanjung Sari, Tirta Nadi 2, Betngangdan, Sudamala or Tamblingan: roads that abut Danau Poso in real life.
Now I'm sure that hare Pak P.Fucker is the nicest man on earth. I have been in a social situation with him and he certainly seems to be in the running for that title, but at one point he had us running on the Bypass (another non - M.S. abutting jalan to D.P.) for Gispert's sake, against the traffic, even. I defy even the most flagrant of truth embroiderers to say with a straight face that this was a pleasant experience. Of course there are virtually no footpaths on the Bypass in Central Sanur being, as it is, a popular tourist area. Holy Hash sock, the run wasn't even marked very well, at the turnoff to the gang that comes out next to the Legend hotel, next to Hardy's, there was nothing visible in terms of chalk or paper. I'm still trying to figure out if that was the way we were meant to go, but I really can't be bothered expending much mental energy on it.
The beach walk way was semi–pleasant, and a relief in the same way as a satisfying bowel movement or scratching an irritating itch in one of those hard-to-reach-in-a- respectable-manner bodily areas, but wouldn't you know it? It began pissing down no later than when we were in sight of the car park, just to top off the perfect day out. Before we knew it we were wetter than Les Monsuiers Costeaus' nether regions and scrambling around for umbrellas, towels, beer, plastic ponchos, beer, dry underwear, beer etc.
We encircled ourselves and, incredibly, Disco Wanker started telling actual Lion Air jokes. The bloody thing couldn't have been in the water for much more than a few hours at that point. How does he do it? I questioned myself, but then remembered Azaria Chamberlain and dingo jokes that reached the Middle East the day after that particular suspicious event, without the aid of e mail, I-phone or even fax back then. Faster than the speed of a tasteless joke, as they say in the rocket science world. So now Lion Air is offering a surfer's special, yes, it's called "Sea Lion", har, hardy, slap, yuk.
The usual suspects were up to their usual tricks in the roundoid thingamajig: Labia, D. Wanker, Night Jar, J. Balls, but nobody's heart seemed to be entirely in it this week and an early social drinking was called followed by the non-opening of a non-second keg.
Let's hope St. Night Jar slays his dragon well and truly and gets us back to "normal" next week, then. Let's get it straight, though, one last time and for the record: the hare, a Sanur gentleman and an officer, the run: a Sanur genital and an orifice.
On on.
