Hash Trash Run 1345 Pejeng a.k.a
Roll That Sosis
As rock band AC/DC better known in their home town of Fremantle West Australia (which just so happens to be your’s truly’s as well) as Acca Dacca, “It’s a long way to the Shop if you want a Sausage Roll”, or as Sir Mick put it it even more succinctly if not so grammatically “It’s only Sausage Rolls, but I Like It”. Say what you will about this humble member of the golden brown food group e.g. “it’s made from only the most disgusting and non-nutritious bits of the cow, if you’re lucky” or “Yechhh”.
Sometimes nothing, nothing I say will satisfy a mighty hunger developed for example after a Bali HHH2 Saturday arvo Hash run at Pura Dalem Pejeng as a lukewarm and tommy sauce slathered snagger roll. Mmm, mmm, especially good with a freshly drawn glass of draught piss. Excuse my plebian tendencies, I care not for canapes of sturgeon roe-sprinkled Abertam cheese from Karlovy (formerly known as Carlsbad) and a flute of Moet Chandon with the crowned heads of Europe on the clipped grounds of the Chateau de Versailles. No, no, not for me thanks. I’ll go with a piss up with me mates who have names like Hardcase, Long Dong Silver, Night Jar, Mount ‘n’ Groan, Organ Grinder, Zola the Ridgeback and a coupla (okay, okay, a few) of White Bait’s mystery rolls.
Which brings me to the run, an absolute snorter by Hare White Bait himself (purveyor of fine sausage rolls and swimming pools since 1995, I think) in a place I myself, me, personally anyway hadn’t run before. It wasn’t too challenging in the up-up department (crucially important), the paper and markings were clear enough for Mr. Magoo and Blind Lemon Jefferson to follow and the scenery was unerringly, relentlessly pleasant.
We crossed one busy road as far as I recall, the rest was pure Nat Geo. in the Paddy, Soebec and Jungle Publications Company Limited sense. It was glossy magazine material, basically all of it. Comes Up who was running more or less in the same gaggle as me was moved to produce a camera from his person on at least two or three occasions. This is a hardened Bali hasher I’m talking about here, with a dog even. I didn’t think he knew what a camera was but there he was snapping away as if he was turning Japanese (I really think so). Such was the comeliness of the scenery last week at Pejeng. Please do not take umbrage Comes up. I know you are not the subject of a 1979 new wave song by The Vapours nor do I accuse you of being camerally ignorant. I am merely making a point (besides you’re rather a large chap). Wait, I didn’t mean that in a derogatory…oh forget it.
We were back at the Amazing Truck of Beer and Impeccable Service before we knew it, the run went by so pleasantly swiftly. I was tempted to whip my canvas, easel and no.10 brush out of the car and go back out on the trail, but settled for a few beers instead and (did I mention sausage-based food items?) We circled up and were unanimous in praise of the run: “No susu’’, we judged loudly, grateful bastards that we are.
After the customary virgin/visitor/returner gamut running, R.A. Organ Grinder “flushed out” Steve Bannon, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Sean Spicer and a few other erstwhile White House staffers, or unfortunates that resembled them anyway, for down downs. The same two Welsh visitors kept ending up at the mercy of various “ring” masters, who with unerring Hash taste were all too willing to bring up bovine and lanolin inferences culminating with Jangle Balls’ “Bah Bah Bah, Bah Barbara Anne” (Went to the damn lookin’ for a lamb, saw Barbara Anne and it was wham bam Ma’am”). He is indeed a suave and urbane individual.
With that, all was dag-rattlingly under wraps, if I may be so bold. So we’ll see all you little sosis rollers on Saturday at Ponggan, baaahing any changes (what was that?)