Bali Hash House Harriers 2

“Follow the paper and Chark”

“What did he say? Follow the shark?” “I think he said ‘chart’ ”. “Chart? What chart?” It was a bit like the apostles not being able to hear the Sermon on the Mount, on Saturday at Goa Gajah car park, as new hare Deadwood sent us on our way. J.C.: “Blessed are the peace makers”. Apostle1: “Did he say ‘Blessed are the cheesemakers’?” Apostle 2 “I think he said ‘fleece makers’.” “What, sheep?” “He’s always on about animals, remember ‘the Lord is a shoving leopard’?”. “No, that was ‘loving shepherd’.” “Yeah, sheep, see?” “Umm…” Deadwood also informed us that the run was “not too helly”. We hoped not. Not that I’m taking the piss out of the bloke, I never take the piss, in fact I spoke to him later to congratulate him on the best run by a virgin hare I (me, or somebody like me after 4.5 beers) ever experienced and he was the nicest of chaps. I also understood every word he said, but I was half pissed by then and therefore a much improved linguist.

It was indeed, and unanimously agreed, a really novel run from this location that we have used an infinite amount of times somehow without finding the intriguing features that these brand newly minted hares did. Sometimes it takes new blood. There were waterfalls cascading down (as opposed to cascading up) from quite impressive heights, a view from a much more breath taking height of group of kampong ladies taking a leisurely Saturday afternoon mandi, an equally dizzying pass at stone being hewn from a solid rock face at least a hundred feet high, a pitch black and forebodingly large cave mouth, some great paddy and river valley segments and, thoughtfully included as well as mentioned at the outset, a short diversion to friezes of unknown antiquity depicting village life and carved from a stone hill side: a man on horseback, a woman collecting water trickling from the rocks, a man with a weed whacker, a chain saw wielding wood cutter. Hang on, no, the last ones were some actual gents in the adjacent village, nobody knows how old they are either, pretty old if I had to guess.

Despite the “not so helly” comment there were some serious ups and downs. Should I mention the surprisingly lengthy check back at the very bottom of a set of steps down to the river that were arresting in number, and half way across a bamboo bridge that crossed an almost dry riverbed of quite large to infinitesimally small rocks? Alrighty then, I guess I will. But this run was full of surprises, all sorts of them. At one point we passed a construction that looked like someone’s idea of a three storey hillside apartment building, perhaps the Warden of Sing Sing Correctional Facility. It boasted a lovely charred bamboo bed and mattress protruding from the second floor balcony, maybe a leftover from the great Goa Gajah Prison Riot and Break Out of ‘85. To top everything off there was a pretty good sized and intricately executed temple complex, too, on the on in. Nice one all ‘round, guys, pretty dang good and a great start to the haring duo of Deadwood and Dolly Wanker. Let’s hope we see more from them.

Now I know this wasn’t planned by the hares, but I reckon it more than deserves a mention anyway. Speaking of trees, (oh, we weren’t? okay) at one point I was running behind a young lady with an entire flowering tree tattooed on her back. It was quite a shapely tree, if you know what I mean, from her shoulders all the way down to the roots. The bottom-most remainder of this arboreal treat was obscured by a pesky and not at all necessary pair of Lycra hash pants. Anyway, I contrived to lurk behind this tree (har) for quite some time just to watch its colourful branches and other extremities quiver in the breeze. Quite a meditative experience. I do hope the gal in question never succumbs to tattoo blight.

On on to circular matters. The ole “Circle H” wasn’t too bad either last week. The G.M. celebrated V.E. day and reminded us in song that he didn’t want a bayonet up his arsehole or his bollocks shot away, and that he’d rather be in England, in merry, merry England where they can’t even hang a parliament properly these days (whoops, did I write that out loud?) This was followed by a Hasher from Perth named Jim, or was it Bill, who wanted his Hash name changed from Bob the Fucker to something more in keeping with his actual name (Jim or Bill). He ended up with Billy Bob Fucker, whatever his name was. Bali HHH2 can never be accused of a lack of subtlety. The R.A., Dancing Queen, pointed out that he was responsible for a fortuitous turn in the weather from stinking hot to a last minute reprieve of cool and overcast, the first time this year he actually claimed to be responsible for anything in the weather area, or anything else for that matter. Jangle Balls celebrated a Dickensian publishing anniversary with a Doors medley, only he could force together these two astoundingly different things at polar removes from one another and come up with, well, absolute nonsense as usual. Kerry Mall and its Ball were revisited, a quarterly event these days, but the more the merrier, I say. Two (TWO!) kegs were put paid to, or if it was three (THREE!) then it was, and I personally drank at least one of them. My back teeth were under water at around 6.30 pm; for some reason a vast and unquenchable thirst was upon me. This may have had something to do with the onset of the DRY season, I was as dry as a nun’s nasty, and it doesn’t get much drier than that, something that beer, and only beer can cure.

See you next week at Margarana, I believe.

On on
J.B.