Bali Hash House Harriers 2

“Combat de Coq up Royale”

You know how there are these ridiculous ancient laws still on the statute books in some parts of the world? For example in areas like Wetchester Parrish in Porkswordshire, England it is still unlawful to throw any kind of pie at a woman who has reached the age of consent at a distance of less than one eleventh of a chain, as much as you might want to do this. (I made that one up, which I’m sure I needn’t tell you but you get the idea, right?) Or in Kickapoo County in Toastwanker, Idaho, U.S.A. you are expressly forbidden to walk a hippopotamus on a lead of any manufacture, especially leather, down Main St of said strangely governed hamlet (seriously, only the names have been changed on this one because I couldn’t remember the real ones). The mind boggles at what kinds of punishments, penalties or sanctions these heinous crimes might attract, but I can think of one or two that might be appropriate to Hash Transgressions: People who elbow you out of the way in the pack to get ahead, examplia gratia, in my opinion should be hung from the nearest tree by the ankles with used toilet paper of an extremely high dry tensile ply strength then pelted with scrunched up bits of the same material dipped in beer slops. People who are prone to this kind of aggro behavior can also be shoulder shovers on the ole Hash trail. They know who they are, or maybe they don’t, but a few strokes of the used dunny paper of nine tails should bring them around. Ridiculous? Not nearly as much as the offence.

I suppose by now you are all aware of the last minute change of site for the Bastille Day run last Saturday at Keliki. Oo la la, it was quite le coq up they say on the vigne grain de raisin de la Frog. All was meant to be well under Le Grande Banyan at Keliki until the ‘are’s arrivee to find a cock fight in full swing and a full carpark (rumeur ‘as eet). The ‘are raisair was summarily contacted and immediatement went into action sending out, not one but two copies of a changed map and warning info on all available media; Hash signs were relocated and Monsieur Le Conducteur was placed to usher Hashers to the new site . This was all well-orchestrated by those involved and they did an admirably swift job under no doubt strenuous circumstances. Tasty gateau, tahu and sweet sticky rice was served even before the run began AND it was a pretty bon course as well, if you ask moi. I don’t know how many ‘ashairs de la Francais were involved or ‘oo indeed deed what, but it seems like Allez Allez was the Grand Fromage of the piece, so thanks to ‘eem and ‘ees camarades.

Keliki is a very attractive run spot and this one was no exception. The frogs had us on the hop and led us on quite the “chase joyeaux” from the word “aller”. Okay, okay, I’ll stop with all this merde de la taureau, assez est enough. It was a crazy arsed zig-zagging experience on the short, up, down, back, forth, hither thither, to, fro, Arthur, Martha, Michelle, Michel, along the sides of stunningly beauteous valleys and muddy terraced paddys using paths that, frankly, seemed rarely used by the locals in this area these days now that every orang and his anjing have got sepeda motors and mobils. Some of these trails were so disused as to present a balance problem because of a stray root here or a buildup of dry leaves there, approached at speed. More than once I found myself performing a graceful arabesque or two trying to stay upright on the edge of fairly precipitous drops, arms waving like an epileptic orchestra conductor being electrocuted and accompanied by my own vocal additions such as “wo wo WO woheyeyeyeyHEYYY.” I came close to losing the plot (like Syd Barret’s post-Pink Floyd stint as an acid-burnout grave digger, har) more than once. But, generally speaking it was an extremely, divertingly enjoyable afternoon plod, also with quite a few up ups, thank you very much (I’m not so good at them, I may have mentioned this once).

Unfortunately, because of the lack of space to conduct a circle other than in the middle of a road open to the passage of vehicular traffic, there wasn’t going to be much of a circle. Three or four times it was pronounced dead and attempts to resuscitate it, Herculean though they may have been couldn’t survive the constant procession of cars, trucks, motorbikes, semi-trailers, trams, Mardi Gras floats, dune buggies, Humvees, hovercraft and dirigibles. There were some bright spots though. Worm was able to save a Hasher’s car which was hopelessly stuck in a roadside ditch by employing an incredibly high tech and advanced solution that only a man of his technical capabilities could bring to bear on the problem: reverse gear. He was given a down down for his exertions, and the clap he so richly deserved.

Jangle Balls on the other hand, made a complete pratt of himself, by forgetting where he left his keys and wandering around being the grumpy old bastard that he is (I should know) about it until he found them where he left them. I guess, though, we can find it in our hearts to never forgive him and give him a hard time about it for the rest of his miserable life.

On that note, we thank our Amis Grenouille (Froggie Friends) for having the forbearance and tolerance not to farte in our generale directione or wave their prrivate parrts at our Auntiees last week, and we look forward to Serial Offender’s Kuningan run this coming Saturday.

On On,
J.B.