Bali Hash House Harriers 2

“If This Weren’t Sembung Shooting Range”

I’d Swear We Were in Evverggeddawhiffaggivenchyddai, Wales.

Firstly, allow me to grovel in mortification at the heinous error I made last week in these pages: “hoping to see you all for St. Andrew’s Day at the Sembung Rifle Range”. My ignorant slip of the keyboard is unforgivable and as everyone is fully aware Sembung is a Shooting Range not a Rifle Range, so a million apologies. I’m glad I made a clean breast of that. What’s that? St. Who’s Day? Oh yes of course, it was also St. Bob Geldof’s birthday anniversary (pity he’s dead, isn’t he? No? Damn). Just kidding, it was as every good leek - wearing, daffodil - chewing, blow – up – plastic – griffin - shagging, ovine - appreciating Taffy knows, St Patrick’s Day (har) no, St. Dai’s Day.

On St David’s Day in Wales young girls and women are encouraged to wear leeks and daffodils, but they mostly ignore this encouragement which is given to them by young men, middle–aged men and male senior citizens, and opt to wear clothes instead. Not much is known about St David other than that he only drank water and ate vegetables and was known as Aqua Boy or Vegan Vanker to his fellow Monks. He founded Glastonbury cathedral and played lead guitar with blues band Double Trouble at the Glastonbury Festival in 1976. He was later killed in a helicopter accident in the U.S. No wait, that was Stevie Ray Vaughan. On a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, Dave was consecrated Bishop and had a steamy affair with an actress. Thus the saying “as the actress said to the Bishop”. When he died his followers “buried the Bishop” in honour of this habit, in which he was buried. And if you think that makes sense, read on.

The burning question of the day loitering around the shooting car park (not the question, we / us) was “Will there be any actual Taffys?” There were three advertised, but they are, like their lanolin scented cousins in N.Z., a rare and endangered species, shy, easily startled and liable to bolt if surprised or caught in a compromising position with stock animals. Suddenly the cry went up, there was a sighting! Disco Wanker was ushered into our midst, not it appeared, as a Hare, but a civilian Hasher. No sooner than that rare incarnation had transpired than Wooden Eye materialized with plastic daffodils, a backwards Dragon banner (what’s the diffen between a dragon and a griffen?) and some nifty blow up green draffins. The trifecta was complete when the only actual Taffy Hare, Col. Bloodnock appeared, sweating like a Latino at a Trump rally and dragging a bag, which may have had paper in it but I swear I heard a muffled “Bah” emanate from it.

The run was once again, a rip snorter. The roll that BHHH2 has been on of really top flight runs for the past 4 or 5 weeks continued last Saturday. It was an astutely chosen mixture of jungle, paddy, sobec, cassava plantations, sweeping views and quaint rural dwelling areas that barely qualified as kampong. A backdrop of mountain range constantly reared up in the distance and it was just challenging enough in terms of ups and downs to afford us all a good workout. There was little asphalt except for one section after the horse statue turnoff from the Jalan Raya, but this was a pleasant and deserted country stroll on actual sidewalk that continued for a surprising length without cavernous holes appearing or shards of broken concrete disappearing into rubbish choked drains. How absolutely unexpected and civilized in this quietly sylvan setting. What a treat! Bali is nothing if not constantly surprising. The paper and spray paint on this run was eminently sensible and clear and the checks well timed. I really appreciate it when the Hares let you know from time to time that you are still on the short or long. It’s not a secret after all, and if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard or said “wait a minute, are we still on the short”, I’d have $48.76. The checks were sensible and there was a minimum of garbage. An altogether great run and thanks to “sheep rustlers from across the border, Spook and Organ Grinder” as confessed publically on the Hash map. Muddy Man was not guilty this week, for a change. I think he prefers goats.

Now here comes the hard bit: trying to remember what transpired in the circle. The Daffy Taffys who made us laffy were so friggin’ Calvin Klein - pissing hilarious that it was almost impossible to draw breath let alone commit it to memory. It all started with a lone German Virginette who prompted a more than audible “Don’t mention the war!” from Disco Wanker and went downhill from there. Wooden Eye, forced into the circle basically just stood there forgetting stuff and it was funnier than shit. I could barely stand up during and after Col. Bloodnock’s appearance and I swear I can’t remember a word he sang or uttered, that’s how good it was.

We want to see these guys more often and we want more specific explanations for their egregiously lengthy absences. If it is a sickness that they were suffering we want details, e.g. “I’ve never seen diarrhea spurt that far” or “I’ve never seen bubols that pustulating”. Anything less will not do.

Thanks to all who contributed last week including Night Jar and his ongoing LGBT investigations: are they getting a “fair shake”, “a good going over”, is their cause being “bolstered enough”? Time will tell.

See you next Saturday for Barnacle Balls and St. Sinead O’Connor’s Day, just kidding St. Bono’s Day, just kidding, St. Van Morrison’s Day.

On on
J.B.