BHHH2 Hash Trash Run #1366 Pura Desa Sobangan Saturday 31-Mar-18

Laugh, I Nearly Slit My Wrists

Ahh, Sobongan, I love this area. I like it so much we were there an hour early. Not really. On an earlier bicycle run along the Sanur beach walk path last Saturday, several Balinese folk were to be seen in finery befitting and denoting A Special Hari. “WHICH ONE?” I pondered in a thought bubble in bold font. And in another bubble that followed (in comic sans), in a logical train, I thought: “Perhaps we’d be wise to beat a hasty departure to the Hash today in case of upacara parades.” Between Sanur and Sobongan, in likely areas such as Tohpati, Jln Gatot Subroto, Mambal etc. there were approximately, say “no” upacara, so I wasn’t that far out, was I? I guess they don’t have parades for Hari Besi  (cars, motorbikes, machinery etc.) On this auspicious occasion all things motorized are usually gaily festooned with elaborately hand made decorative items. Foiled again! The only one of these I spied all day was on the front of the Religious Advisor’s new Terios parked outside the Hash site. How do I so reliably and staunchly remain utterly, profoundly useless as a source of information to myself on these matters? Why can I never say sensibly to myself “Look pal, I just don’t know, shut up and leave me alone.”? I can’t. I should.

At 3. 15 or so I gravitated to the general area of the beer truck (for some reason) like a homing pigeon or spare dick at a wedding forlornly gazing at the depressingly non-functioning spigot in the blazing afternoon tropical heat and yukking it up with the usual suspects as they arrived. It was as close to the “Pub with no Beer” without Slim Dusty’s nasal drone as I want to get. Finally 4 pm ticked around, Hare Rocks Off announced a 5k short, a 9k long and off we pissed. Immediately there was mass confusion as we missed his explicit finger pointed direction and ran right past the only possible jalan the digit could have indicated.

I know this is the Hash Trash but I’m not in any way going to trash this run. It was an absolute cracker and I have no superlatives that it wouldn’t deserve. The short was 50 minutes of as much tropical splendor as you could possibly cram into that time frame. Bwaaaarrrp, Bwaaarrrp, P.P.P.  (Pretentious Purple Prose) alert. Swathes of golden offering flowers in small plantations invaded the rich greens of palm and paddy surrounds and a shallow valley edged and limned with blah di blah formed a blah titty blah…you get the picture. The circle unanimously praised the run when interrogated by Hash Mud, Mastery man, sorry Mud Master, Hashy Man. I believe there was one complaint of “No Susu” but this is sadly becoming irrelevant as the young ladies of the kampong seem to be less and less inclined to display their natural assets while bathing these dire days. What a shame.

Speaking of the circle, beside the atrocious acoustics afforded by the interior of the wantilan, it was quite the snorter with Hari Besi being given the nod by the Grand Master (note: it really doesn’t matter what the G.M. does, he could stand stock still and say nothing and it would still rivet our attention and have us cackling like hens. He sometimes does do this, because he can.) Koncorde illustrated with live props, more than told, an Easter tale culminating with Jesus on the cross excitedly observing “I can see my house from here”. Naturally, “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” was lustily chorused. I don’t know why but sentiments like “Life’s a bit of shit, when you look at it” and “Life is quite absurd and death’s the final word”, “remember that the last laugh is on you” etc. may seem hilariously knee-slapping coming from a full Technicolor Eric Idle on the cross or a semi-pixilated Jangle Balls in the Hash 2 circle, are not really all that light hearted in and of themselves. Huh, I guess you have to be “there”. Which is exactly where you should be next Saturday: Mambal Swimming Pool. Bintang will help.

On on

J.B.