Bali Hash House Harriers 2

I’d Recognize That Blade of Grass Anywhere

It was a bit like that last Saturday at, well, a clue, for those Hashers of you who have been living in the Rwandan rain forest studying the Silver Back Great Apes for the last twenty years: it was in Mambal, it had a swimming pool, it was familiar. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, I like familiarity too, which I assure you does not breed contempt, I absolutely assure you. Absence on the other hand, does make the heart grow fonder, and perhaps, just perhaps, our absence from M.S.P. may not have been quite sustained enough over the last year or so; and much more possibly - since our last visit.

Never mind though, as I’m fond of saying: it was a run, it was in Bali, the beer truck was there. It wasn’t as if the cast of Ben Hur showed up or anything, but there was a reasonably sized crowd there for our first post-apocalypse (see: A.G.M. and Extraordinary General Meeting) run and it was good to see many of our regulars back to support the club. There were also some irregulars. One particular irregular (besides Wooden Eye), who was particularly irregular, a certain Digit Digester, made quite the splash and had a colorful and singular history to do with her Hash name, which will be dealt with in due course.

Meanwhile, to the run, even I knew I’d get there eventually. As I have already suggested, we could do this run backwards, blindfolded and with our feet tied behind our backs (something we should try sometime from this location), but it was as usual a pleasant, sunny and green diversion of a Saturday arvo. The on out and initial stages of the run however WAS a bit of a balls up what with old paper being mistaken for new. Easy to do really as it wasn’t all that different. Scenes of confusion ensued with frustrated Hashers brandishing shreds of almost identical white paper at one another by turns inquiringly, interrogatively, suspiciously and accusingly. Bewildered souls such as visitors shouted desperate “are-yous?’’ (or however you pluralize them), but no “on ons’’ were forthcoming.

Many regulars I suspected were taking matters into their own hands and just following the well-known direction and path we usually take, without so much as a notification (how dare they?). This suspicion was borne out when finally after unearthing the “new” paper many meters past the regulation length for a check, and for which there was no sign, Wooden Eye, Leeky Lubricator (don’t ask, he’s Welsh) and myself sighted Cane Rat and other short cutting perpetrators way ahead and to the right of us.

Perhaps I shouldn’t presume, perhaps they were innocently following old paper all along, but their silence was deafening (ahem).

Other “highlights” (yawn), (sorry) of the run were the interestingly constructed bamboo bridge (zzzzz) and oh so familiar canal (nose whistle). Look I’m just kidding okay, never take anything I say even mildly seriously. I really enjoyed the run, as I always do. It was a beautiful, sparklingly blue day, and by the time we got back I had developed a powerful thirst for one or thirty seven beers. What else can you ask for? (alright then, thirty eight).

So, it transpires in the circle later that Digit Digester, is from some kind of London Hash and was assaulted by a mugger in that fair city. At some point in the struggle she saw a handy finger in close bicuspid reach and put her canines to good use in the quest to relieve her attacker of one of his extremities. He squealed like a pig and broke off the encounter. She apparently retained her cash etc. and her honour. Good be upon her! Also she turned out to be very good value as an entertainer with various ditties in her quiver such as “What a Wank” to the tune of “The William Tell Overture”, a stirring piece indeed.

The good old Grand master once again demonstrated that we must have hissed his mystery lectures, wait, missed his history lectures. Dancing Queen, newly re-elected to his former role as religious Advisor promised to do a better job than that bastard, his immediate predecessor. He congratulated the Grand Master, also re-elected, on a new haircut and job. Jangle Balls performed an old Stones hit “You Can’t Always Get A Blow Job” (“but if you try sometime, you’ll find - someone on her knees). I’m sure you know it.

Everyone without exception (redundancy) enjoyed themselves immensely (bigly). We thank our Hares for the day Muddy and Man and look foreskin to the next outing when we finally make up our minds where it will be.

On On to Banjar Demayu

J.B.