BHHH2 Hash Trash Run 1352 Saba Redux

Black  Beach, Brown Cows, Camel Toes

My dearly departed Dad called them “mumbles”: elasticised sports tights for women that highlight the female anatomy so glaringly that they may as well wear matching tee shirts with arrows proclaiming “Here is my vagina, please feel free to stare at it” There were so many of them that mercurial Hasher Concorde conducted a “Camel Toe Competition” last Saturday at the Sabah Hash site in the circle after the run. And what was unusual about this, you may ask? For a start the line up included two blokes who he summarily dismissed for lack of visible vaginas. It was won by a blond Swedish woman and if somebody had theoretically asked me “Who was the blond Swedish woman you were speaking to?” I would theoretically have been well within my rights to reply, 1. “What blond Swedish woman?”. We came to Sabah on Dancing Queen’s Party Bus with him, two English guys, two Aussies and, at a conservative estimate, 367 blond Swedish women, nearly all of them wearing “mumbles”. Or 2. “I don’t know, I was speaking to her vagina.” Why did dear pater call them “mumbles”? Because you can see their lips move but you can’t hear a word they say.

I bet you didn’t think I could get the word “vagina” four times in the Trash, five. Kind of like that CNN ad with the apple and the incredibly irritating voice-over in a pronounced American accent saying: “Some people want you to believe this is a benenna. Benenna, benenna, benenna they will say. But it’s naht a benenna, it’s a vagina”, six.

“Was there a run last week?” you would be well advised to ask, because up to this point I had completely forgotten about it as I was more or less fixated on…never mind. Hare Pearl Necklace and cohorts gave us pretty much the same run they gave us last year, but in reverse. There is something about this area, though, that I never fail to enjoy thoroughly. It’s hard to put your finger on just what the attraction is, but I believe it’s got something to do with the sheer variety of the run. We start out braving the insane traffic of Jln Professor Doctor Rear Admiral Good Bloke Just an Old Softie Really Ida Bagus Mantra. Then having made it in one piece across the Highway of Certain Death we find ourselves in a relatively quiet, semi-rural environment chock full of greenness, growth and scattered grazing and lowing cows. The ocean sparkles through trees and palms then suddenly you’re on a glistening black sand beach that stretches for miles to distant hills and mountains. Back across the Ribbon of Doom under the bridge and we’re in the middle of paddy fields. It’s really quite something and you just can’t help saying at run’s end, “Well, that was really good, I especially enjoyed the vaginas’’, seven.

But seriously folks, there’s more to life than “them” but I’m having trouble thinking of one example right now. Wait! The elastic mumbles, which I assure you would be a great name for an all-girl band. Back on Dancing Queen’s Swede Transporter, beers of all description were broken out and uninhibited, incredibly loud merriment ensued in Scandiwegian, hurdy – gurdy tones. It was total Babylon and got louder the closer we got to Sanur. By the time we reached the Dunkin’ Donuts / KFC traffic lights I was shouting on top note at the guy sitting next to me, an Englishman who looked exactly like Wayne Rooney, to be heard. “Are the rumours about your moving to Real Madrid true?” I screamed at him. I was pretty pissed myself by that time.

So, great run, great circle, great fun as usual. Thanks to Hares P. Necklace etc., D. Queen for his indefatigable beer supply on the Piss Up Express, and the women’s elasticised sportswear bottoms industry everywhere – mumble on!

On on

J.B.