Bali Hash House Harriers 2

“Finns Go Gaga”

What is it about Banjar Gaga and Finns? Every time we have a run in this area a huge pile of Finns show up, not that Finns generally come in huge piles, unless we’re talking about the freezer of an “illegal” Taiwanese shark trawler. In fact I don’t know how they come. What’s the collective noun for Finns? Anybody know? A dorsal of Finns? An oddity of Finns? An infinity? Anyhoo, there was more than enough of these queer folk at the Hash on Saturday and most of them managed to get stuck out in the Desa until well after dark on the run (hmmm). What were they up to out there under cover of the night, Finlandisation? Were they even the same Finns we had last time? Does anybody know? Contact me at www.whothefuckarethefinns@gaga.net. We’ll get to the bottom of all these Finnish goings on, movements if you will. Don’t you worry about that. I don’t know about you, I find all this Finnish business a bit fishy, a little suspicious, eh? A LITTLE SUSPICIOUS.

Now St. George, whose day it was or close enough to, last Saturday - there’s a different kettle of fish altogether. Very much an upstanding figure, Slayer of Dragons, none of this creeping about rural Tegallalang in the middle of the night. But wait, wasn’t the slain dragon just a symbolic defeat of Satan? Well, yes but St. George was the Patron Saint of England, you know. Hang on, was he English? Well no, not as such. . . Did he ever go to Britain? Erm, perhaps not. Never mind. It was the St. George’s Day run even though he was a Turk in the Roman Cavalry and had never so much as stood on the same land mass (Spain) as Fish, two quid of chips with pickles and a half of Watney’s Red. Although they say he was quite the Anglophile, had a collection of Acker Bilk records and changed his middle name to either Hank. B. Marvin, or Graham in later life, accounts are sketchy.

The run was the genuine article though, an astounding effort by those two dyed-in-the-wool, 100% stiff upper lip, sterling, jolly champion English chaps, otherwise known as the Organ Spookers. We’ve taken off in all kinds of directions from this site; one recalls Barnacle Balls’ brilliant outing of last year and a more recent offering by Worm and Mud Flaps that was also damned fine, but this one… it’s pretty difficult not to get all purple-prose / clichéd out, or run out of superlatives about it - really good, guys, unbelievable.

There was virtually not a moment that we weren’t staring dumbfounded on some amazing and expansive view, whether it was terraced paddys that we were surrounded by and actively involved in climbing amongst, or jungle clad and vast valleys. It was so tempting just to stop and get a good eyeful that a few times I was cajoled and heckled to move along by my sensitive and, of course, polite fellow Hashers whilst suspended on some soaring eyrie or on the side of a plunging precipice. As Muddy Man was moved to say later, and I tend to agree with him, “Indah sekali, ya? Best run of the year”. The checks were sensible, paper and paint abundantly clear, there was minimal garbage and the river crossings and bamboo bridges were amazing. The last bridge, a traffic bridge, apart from being a relief that we didn’t have to scramble down and across the river for the 4th time, was one you could have bungee jumped off - insanely high above an arrestingly wide section of river, totally cool.

Just a note here: it was on this very bridge, which I was crossing with Blow Joe on Sat., that he enlightened me he had been given intelligence from a “reliable source” close to the Beer Master that the average consumption of beer on Bali HHH2 is 6.5 glasses per person. I was instantly stricken with guilt and wondered whose piss I’ve been drinking all this time. Blow Joe wondered if he’d been drinking my quota.

Speaking of beer, the circle began as a rowdy free-for-all with Hash Master Labia hard pressed to keep noisy keg hogs seated by the beer at tables (whose brilliant idea was that?) plus we general rabble in line. It looked like a hopeless cause until Night Jar stepped in and Sergeant Majored us all into submission. This was assisted by Jangle Balls’ and the Spook Grinders’ appearance serenading the Finns with Monty Python’s “Finland, Finland, Finland, it’s the place that I was born in. Finland, Finland, Finland, it’s the place I want to be”, then it was the turn of the Finns to sing. After some discussion they replied with what could have been exactly the same thing, for all I knew, in an outrageously incomprehensible tongue.

Continuing in the Python vein, J.B. reminded us to look on the bright side of life, asked us rude questions about Easter and threw chocolate eggs at us. He also required Brittania to rule while eating preserves and suffering exploding oriental pyrotechnics in her back passage. Quite a feat for any mythic national icon of yore but if anyone could do it, it would be the stoic old sheilah with the brushy helmet. The helmet would certainly come in handy for this activity but would probably not meet the safety standards required under today’s strict guidelines. A high vis. vest would also be mandatory.

So that about wrapped, and wraps it up until next week at a location T.B.A. when and where I guarantee you won’t be able to find a Finn with a Geiger counter. They only come to runs at Banjar Gaga, and I still think there’s something fishy about that.

On on,

J.B.