Hash Trash Run Number 1313

Hash Trash Run Number 1313

In My Mind I’m Goin’ to Carolina…

This is an old James Taylor song with some of the strangest lyrics ever heard in any soft cock, oops sorry, soft rock song I, personally, have ever heard. And they go like this: “In my mind I’m goin’ to Carolina, can’t ya see the sunshine, can’t ya just feel the moonshine? Ain’t it just like a friend of mine to hit me from behind?” To which my reaction is: “I don’t know James, is it? And if so, then I’m certainly not going to Carolina in my mind or in any other way, shape or form. If YOUR friends hit you from behind, what chance of survival would I stand there?”. Song writers got away with murder in those days.

Another intriguing extract from this whimsical or gruesome ditty, I can’t make my mind up which, is: “And hey babe, the sky’s on fire, I’m dyin’ aint I?” Yet another reason not to go to Carolina, the friggin’ sky’s on fire. Jimmy T. never mentions whether in fact it is North or South Carolina that he travels to in his mind but given the above information, I think I’ll be giving them both a pretty wide berth just in case.

As is customary in these pages, this is a long winded way of going about saying there were several virgins from that part of the world on the Hash last Saturday, and my my, don’t they have interesting accents? Especially when delivered at enough decibel power to sink the Bismarck, y’ all. Still, it was good to see these folks coming from the other side of the world and enjoying Hash House Harriers Two so much that an appointed spokespersonette was moved to announce at circle’s close that they had “never had a better time in their lives”. A beer fuelled exaggeration? Maybe, but good to hear and they seemed to be having such a rip snortin’, sassafrassin’ time of it that none of them hit anybody in their retinue from behind with moonshine or fire or anything else. Nothing could be finer, apparently, than to be in Goa Gajah in the ee-ee-eevenin’.

It was a ripper of a Hash last week as well although It was a bit difficult to sort out who actually Hared the run. There seemed to be several candidates: Tin Tin Balls, Muddy Man, Allez Allez, Deadwood and other claimants most of whom later appeared in the circle as Hares, and most of whom appeared during the Hash at one point or another either seemingly running on it (even though they had apparently set it) or on motorcycles herding Hashers along, all a bit confusing, really. But it didn’t matter, it was probably the best run we have ever had from this site, masterfully chosen areas, and like last week, employing underused jungle trails, remote soebec berms and arrestingly spread out sections of paddys, palms and large trees.

It was a scenic and kind of historically interesting run too, full of old stairways, a river temple and intriguing soebec engineering. At one point Blow Joe and I came across an area of stone ruins by a river looking for all the world like an elaborate set from an Indiana Jones movie. “Dude, this is cool!” remarked The Dude in bahasa Dude, “but where’s the fuckin’ paper, Dude?” As if by cinematic magic at that very second, orgasmic grunts and groans came into earshot and (Hare, I’m pretty sure) Tin Tin Balls materialized to show us the way over tall boulders and up a flight of giant old flagstone steps. There was no paper to be seen at head height without scaling the elephant sized rocks – ergo T.T.B. must have had previous knowledge – thus he must have been a hare. W.T.F. was he, or Muddy Man for that matter, doing running on the damn thing? Whatever, I guess, but it’s certainly the last thing I feel like doing that doesn’t involve beer after setting a run. Maybe I’m getting old, wait, incorrect, strike “maybe”.

I have nothing remotely negative to say about the run other than the fact that it was a bit, err, extended. It was getting dark as we passed through an even darker small bamboo forest and a quaint taman wisata full of ponds and gardens, a great ending to a great run. Loved it, though it may have been a bit of a concern to those new Hashers five or ten minutes behind me in terms of visibility and the location of the sun. Look folks, I’m burning the midnight oil here (sorry, midnight renewables, Peter P.C. Garret, there’s your new band name), I’ll be back. T.B.C.

Where was I? When, who, what, why am I for that matter? Um right, it’s about time to get back to the circle. The Grand Master was back with us last Saturday, and what can I say other than he’s the most effortlessly entertaining individual on the planet? He must have spent 20 minutes informing us why he had been absent from the Hash for a few weeks, and I was in stitches for most of it, we all were, so I remembered nothing as usual. How does he do it? You might as well ask me why E equals MC squared or what a “cosine” is: fucked if I know. If anybody knows what one is, don’t bother writing in.

It was a good circle, Carolinians (?) were deflowered (from the front) and Jangle Balls led the choir in a rousing “Ghost Hashers in the Sky” (Nyepi ki yo, Nyepi ki ay). They (Carolinans?) seemed to enjoy that at least as much as their defloration at the hands of Johnny the Baptist and of course “In Mobile” by St. Phil, St. Joey and St. Vic. Glory, glory, hallejulah.

And that’s enough of that.

On on,

J.B.

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