Bali Hash House Harriers 2

What Kind of Pool Am I? (2!)

Last Saturday found us in Beautiful downtown Blakiuh once again. Ah, Blakiuh, the Big Smoke, glittering capital of Central Bali, the bright lights of Blakiuh. It’s even got its own (would you believe?) Olympic Length Swimming Pool! And I think I feel a song coming on (or something). Mi mi mi: “What kind of pool am I? In bleedin’ Blakiuh? I’m the only one in Blakiuh, so lucky you. What kind of town is this? No restaurants no hotels, just a great big swimming pool and f… all else. What kind of place is this? You stop for fuel, there’s nowhere to take a piss. There are no toilets, no one gives a damn. I think I know what kind of pool I aaaam” (big finish). Har, but I make as to laugh, it is the humor, no?

The scenery around the Blakiuh area is really quite pleasant as Hares Labia and Joe Bloggs adequately demonstrated last week. (Joe Bloggs was given a real Hash name later on Saturday evening in the circle and is now possibly the only Hasher to ever suffer the distinction of having two Hash names in the duration of one Hash – but don’t rush me you pushy bastards. I’ll get to that, as Sean Connery used to say, lishen, Pushy.)

Where was I? Blakiuh? How could I forget? Mi mi mi “Blak-i-uh, Blak-i-uh, That toddling town. On Jalan Raya Blakiuh, that Jalan hebat, I just want to say they do things that they never do on Broadway, say.” Alright Frankie boy, enough, shut up and get on with it, okay? Okay, already, sheesh. And now for our regularly scheduled purple prose passages in which we actually use the word “purple”: Through most of the run mountains were visible and rearing up hazily (cliché alert!) purple on the horizon draped in blue grey capes of clouds and offset by the hypnotic greens of the paddys, merciless sky blue and white glare of the sun (so far, so pukey). It wasn’t quite as unforgivingly hot as the Bird Park Run of the previous week but still pretty dang warm. I myself was actually relieved (I did NOT say I actually relieved myself) when I slipped on a rock on the river crossing and was more or less submerged in the fast flowing but wonderfully cooling eddies. There were some challenging ups and downs, steps etc. but nothing cardiac arrest inducing, and some good extended jungle sections. The cement irrigation channels were green with moss, slippery and difficult to keep up any kind of pace on. But a bloody good, CLEARLY MARKED (take note aficionado Hares) run that long and short runners alike approved of heartily, and drew only that most mild of criticisms, “No susu”. I actually did see some only because I stumbled upon at one deserted stretch of the river a youngish local lady who was taking a languid mandi quite naked. This was because she was not, in the strict sense of the words, wearing any clothes at the time.

And now for a word from our sponsor: I would like to talk with you regarding something that we, as senior Hashers, should all look into urgently, except I can’t remember for the life of me what it was. Oh well. Can’t have been that important. The circle for the second week in a row was a bunch ‘o’ fun what with the rare appearance of that card from Cardiff, that silly buggar from Swansea that veryfunnybastardfromthevalleys, that guy from Glamorgan none other than Colonel Bloodnock (who is either well known for being from several places or I just made that up). He was his usual bloomer bursting self and the circle turned into a riot of joke telling and dubious ditty warbling with guest appearances from The Grand Master Himself and Jangle Balls. Down downs were liberally meted out and Joe Bloggs, the pastry chef, was named (wait for it, if you forgot to) “Poofter Pastry”. A young Asian lady of the more darkly hued variety and a forester was anointed “Black Forest” courtesy of Spook, a particularly inspired choice, I thought, under the circumstances.

Verdict: great day, great run, great entertainment all round. You wouldn’t be dead for quids, well, it all depends how many, I guess. See you next week for Mount Her and St. George’s Day. Let’s see if he brings his dragon (his Ridgeback, you dirty bastards, dog that is).

On on,
J.B.