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Tripolia Run # 449
Pix here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48366504@N04/sets/72157624386316792/
Weekend Delight is known for her wicked sense of humour. And Hardon likes a practical joke now and then. So it was no surprise that these two last-minute hares tried to make people think that the organization was chaotic and no transport had been arranged.
We all had a good laugh about it as we sped south in the luxury of our Mercedes bus, glimpsing the Dnipr on our left and the high pine forests along its banks – wherever the high fences of Kleptocracia allowed.
Towards the end of our journey the hares explained the historical and cultural significance of Tripolia, where archaeologists have found the remains of Slavonic settlement going back 7,000 years. They also announced a visit to a museum – at no extra charge!
The starting circle was cunningly hidden behind a bus shelter. Mosquito repellent was distributed, the GM deputed Easy Head Job to bless the trail, and we were off. The likes of Four Legs, Overdrive and Just Mike took off like the proverbial bats out of hell. Some others adopted the strategy known as ‘pooftering’ – that is, standing around waiting for someone else to find the trail and call “On-on!”
When found, the trail took us up-hill to the museum, where a guide was waiting to show us around. We cannot do justice to it here. If you haven’t been to Tripolia, you must go. And visit at least one of the two (or more?) museums.
Then on to a designed Hash Flash point – a photo opportunity in other words, with the Dnipr in the background. In fact there were two photo ops. The other was in front of a monument to a local hetman who died a young hero in 1919.
But we were on a tight schedule. No time to linger, ponder, wander or meander. On-on we went, around the orphanage’s football pitch, while Four Legs, Overdrive and Easy Head Job pursued a downhill false trail.
Front runners got a long way ahead at this point, partly due to Hilly Billy and Bimbo Skippy’s penchant for artistic photography; Beer King’s reminiscing about man-holes and rubbish dumps; and Mellow Yellow’s habit of talking to trees.. Thank heaven Amer Hummer was there to blow the horn and remind us what Hashing is supposed to be about!
The gap was closed by means of an impromptu re-gathering before we crossed the bridge, and aided by the hares’ carefulness with the flour. A bifurcation was announced: a walkers’ trail and a runners’ trail.
The runners pounded off, some by-passing the Zhiva Riba shop where the main pack stopped to buy beer. Those who had brought no food also pooled money and bought some… including some fresh, fresh fish for the barbecue.
Then the hares announced a brief beach party. An email had alerted the pack to possibility of a swim, so many had bathing suits. A plucky handful dived through the film of coal dust into the pure waters of the Dnipr. Meanwhile the front-runners, and a few walkers who chose to skip the beach party, arrived at the top of Virgins’ Hill, from where they waved to the sandy-footed below.
The fleetest – namely Four Legs, Overdrive, Just Mike and Just Jennifer – had come to an on-back but reckoned they knew better than the hares and pressed on, swinging right and heading up-hill. As it turned out they did know better than the hares, and reached the sacred Circling ground well before the beer arrived, having had a nice view of the railway track and the power station on the way.
The sacred Circling ground was atop Virgins’ Hill, whose name recalls an ancient battle to defend a leather bridge against an Ottoman army. All the defenders were killed, and when their armour was removed they were found to be young women. Later a nunnery was established on the hill.
The view was fantastic, but it was too windy to light a fire. A quick survey revealed a sheltered spot on the west side of the hill and the business of wood-gathering began. Monster Meerkat lit the fire while Dr Lecter set about preparing the fish.
Weekend Delight had brought a portable radio so we could listen to England beating Germany in the World Cup. However there was a technical problem. The radio worked, but the referee was defective.
Then came the highlight of the day: the Circle! The Beermeistress was not present so Easy Head Job took on the task. The hares were duly punished for setting such a boring run in such an ugly place. We had two virgins to welcome to the group: Just Jennifer (academic feminist with black underwear) and Just Yaroslav (military lawyer whose favourite sexual position is the next one); and Just Mike, who has Hashed in many places (his tee-shirt was from Hanoi Hash) and has never heard of underwear.
When asked who made them come, Just Yaroslav pointed to Weekend Delight (to nobody’s surprise) and Just Mike and Just Jennifer said it was the internet. Our sexy new website is obviously doing its job.
By the way… Any Hasher who does not yet have a Hash name (or ‘Hash handle’) has his or her name prefixed by ‘Just’. Just so there can be no misunderstanding. So, for example, if a new Hasher were called Justin, he would be Just Justin until such time as the GM named him, say, Just-in-Time.
The sinners were all downdowned together. Just Mike and Overdrive were seen polluting the trail; Mystery Treat committed mobile ‘phone abuse while standing in the Circle; Weekend Delight couldn’t think of a downdown song when called on by the GM… the list is depressingly long.
The GM then called on Overdrive to lead the pack in singing the Hash Hymn, which he did with aplomb. And two bananas and a small grapefruit. [Refer to the RA if you need an explanation of this pun.]
By this time it was clear that the beer stock was running low. So Four Legs and Just Yaroslav volunteered to go back down the hill to buy fresh supplies. By the time they got back the first of the food was ready to eat and the fish had been cleaned and spiced and laid gently on the grill to slow-cook over the glowing embers. Even though the Circle was officially terminated, Dr Lecter was downdowned for doing such a superb job.
Then we had a lazy, hazy hour or so, in which beer and grilled fish played a prominent part. Before catching the bus home we gazed again at the view across the river, while Weekend Delighted us and Mystery Treated us to an account of the history of Virgins’ Hill.
A perfect ending to a perfect day…
On-on!
Run 448 – Hansel and Gretel Run
It was a throw-away line from Four Legs: “A theme? Hansel and Gretel! Tell them to bring bread crumbs!” And so it was that a bunch of vaguely German looking people with pale knees and strange headgear circled on the pavement outside Lucky Pub.
Hares Four Legs and Big Akula were waiting for us in the forest, nibbling roof-tiles from the Gingerbread House. We had been told to look for pine trees to the left where the road bent to the right. Suddenly there they were and Beer King gave the order, “Hashers off!” There was squeal of brakes, an exodus of Hashers, and we were there.
The first job was to buy beer. A posse was sworn in and headed for a likely-looking shop. Four Legs led the rest across the road, the traffic parting for us like the Red Sea before Moses. Among the pine trees we admired one another’s outfits, took some photos and spoke with German accents.
Big Akula and Four Legs took the cake (or the Black Forest gateau rather) for their cross-dressing act. BA was wearing authentic Hash lederhosen with his name embroidered across the pubic zone; he just happened to have them in a drawer and thought, “Well, why not?”
Noel and No Knickers deserve a special mention for their outfits. Noel was showing a little more thigh than was strictly necessary. His short pants caused some panting among the hotter-blooded Harriettes. But their hats made it almost forgivable – see the photo gallery.
We were waiting for the beer-buyers to join us. And waiting. And waiting some more. Someone started singing “Why are we waiting?” So Four Legs slipped into his Gretelian persona, complete with falsetto voice, and did his best to distract us. “Who knows the story of Hansel and Gretel?” he said. Hardon, ever ready to show off his cultural credentials, stuck up his hand. Four Legs beamed. “Then tell it to us!”
Half-way through the story Hardon was rudely interrupted by the beer-buyers coming back. The GM gave the briefest of blessings, finishing appropriately with “Coitus no interruptus!” And we were off.
Trees, hills, sandy paths, more trees, a rubbish dump and a beer stop. Then a cemetery. It was a very nice cemetery. Some of the pack looked as if they’d be happy to stay for good.
The hares had thoughtfully devised a dual trail catering for runners and walkers. 1 dob of flour for walkers, 2 for runners, 3 for both. Simple and fool-proof. Not Hash-proof though. The calling went something like this:
“Are you?”
“On-on.”
“On-on for runners?”
“What?”
“Are you on-on for runners, or on-on for walkers?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
“What?”
You get the picture. Anyway, we pressed on and the pack gradually merged into the usual mix of walkers sort-of-running and runners sort-of-walking and a good time was had by all. We paused to re-group by a lake, then came to a pet cemetery. It does us good to be reminded of our own mortality. Then we had a scheduled stop at a chin-up bar. It does us good to be reminded of our own frailty.
Eventually we came to a charming the Swan Lake Car-Wash, where some blokes were washing their cars in the pristine lake water. This was the designated circling ground. So we circled. We welcomed virgins, newcomers, visitors and returners… We had two Natalyas (one of whom was a returning Harriette better known as Upper Hand), a Denis (with lovely underwear), a Welsh Rarebit (returning after more than a year with no good excuse) and a Randy Randy (who later led the singing of the Hash Hymn). Go to the photo gallery to see them in all their glory.
We punished sinners too, of course. There was controversy over the RA’s downdowning Hilly Billy for teapot abuse, but the RA insisted. There’s too much of this sort of thing going on nowadays. But nobody objected to Noel’s downdown for his dangerously short shorts; or Monster Meerkat’s for addressing EHJ as ‘Mum’; or Shake-and-Bake’s for flaunting a pearl necklace.
We all know Rule No.1 in the Hash: “The Hash has no rules.” As a reminder the usual custom was reversed, and everyone who was wearing Hash gear was punished.
On a more serious note, we learned from Mellow Yellow and Amer Hummer that Naughty Nanny Annie was in hospital with a broken leg. Her Hash family wishes her a quick and full recovery. The RA is impatient to give her a downdown for being so careless.
He is also looking forward to downdowning Ludovic, the French guy who came once, was awarded the Hash Shit and has not been seen since. Where are you, French guy? And where is our Hash Shit?!
On-on!
After ON – The Roof is on Fire – Arsonists are Partying!
Is a Run and Circle enough for KH3? Never! So the party started minutes after the Hash Hymn performed by our precious returnee Randy Randy……
Not just woods were needed to proceed – so a group was sent to the closest store to light up Hashers spirit with Beer and Wine. Meanwhile HardOn and Co did their best to put on fire the pet cemetery, forest and lake.
If not Weekend Delight Birthday cake – they’d succeed – so thank you WED for your sweetness! After the Hash tasted that it became relaxed and beer-oriented in appreciation of the Hash delegation that already arrived with so much needed supplies.
Of course one look matches a thousand words – so please check pix here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48366504@N04/sets/72157624308279652/
And be ready for the next Run – that will be a long weekend, too due to Ukrainian Constitution Day on the 28th of June 2012.
ON ON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
HO KH3 RA/BK KH3 GM
Re-Runs 445/446/447 are below – pls. the 16th Anniversary Article
KH3 16th Anniversary Celebration – see pix here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/48366504@N04/sets/72157624055398889/
Kievans have seen it all before. They’ve seen Femen activists marching down the street in surgical-mask bikinis, so why should they turn their heads to see a bunch of Hashers wearing red dresses? Even if half of the said Hashers are blokes with hairy legs and big boots? A few did express mild interest, even taking photographs, but we didn’t make the TV news.
We did make the Kiev Post, though, thanks to Yaroslav Debelyi and his companion who came along to report on the event verbally and photographically. Be sure to get a copy of the next issue – due out on Friday.
Anyway, attracting attention was only a secondary aim of hares Big Akula and Unfinnished Symphony. The main aim was to have fun in the company of some of the most accomplished and gifted people on the planet while drinking free beer.
“Free beer! How so?” I hear you say. Let me explain. The Red Dress Run was only the curtain-raiser to the full-scale 5-star no-holds-barred KH3 16th Anniversary Weekend. The trivial all-in price covered beer at so many pubs on the Red Dress Run that we lost count; plus a luxury weekend at Zazimie Resort including transport to and from, 2 more runs, 2 circles, 1 goody-bag, 1 breakfast, 1 lunch, 1 slap-up dinner prepared by everybody’s favourite chef Arturo and a party! In Dubai you could pay UAH800 for any one of those. So the beer seemed free.
The next day everyone was allowed a late start, meeting at Lucky Pub at 1100. True to Hash tradition the bus didn’t leave until 1130. But hares Easy Head Job and Hardon were already on the job, and so was Hash Cash Baby Blow Job who prepared lunch for the weary travellers who would spill off the bus at 1220.
The Big Run was due to start at 1400. Unnervingly everyone was ready in time. Everyone, that is, except Oyster Shit, Oyster Sutra and their 2-year-old son Adrian. They got caught in a fold in the space-time continuum that held them 2 minutes away from Zazimie while a couple of ice ages came and went. “Bother,” said the GM.
The run was pretty uneventful. Oh, except for the appearance of a wild, gesticulating man waving a 9mm pistol at us. He seemed to think that we should take a prettier route that didn’t involve running across his land. EHJ identified him as Peter – the nice man who had helped us, 3 hours before, to find a nice scenic route that wouldn’t upset anyone. That chopped 20 minutes and a beer-stop off the run. “Pity,” said the hares, “That was the best bit.” “Bother,” said the GM.
Thinking fast, Hardon dashed into the scrub in the general direction of the next section of the run. “Live hare!” he called, hoping that nobody would invoke the tradition of de-bagging the live hare if the pack catches up with him, and trying to remember if he’d put on respectable underpants that morning.
Luckily the thoughtful hares had provided a second beer-stop. Unluckily it was in the middle if a desolate wilderness whose dismal vista was broken only by scattered building sites. That didn’t stop Ready Red, Heiress Hilton and Oyster Shit from engaging in a little horticulture. RR even borrowed one of Four Legs’s sticks to dig with.
It’s all too embarrassing to write about. Go to the ‘Gallery’ and click on ‘Anniversary Weekend Run # 446’. It’s all there in full colour. The good, the bad and the ugly. Mostly the ugly. You’ll also see pictures of:
· the Circle, where visitors, newcomers, virgins and returners seemed to outnumber the rest, and anyone who hadn’t sinned was punished at the end for being a goody-goody;
· the dinner, prepared and barbecued on-site by Arturo and his great catering company;
· the party, where the glitterati showed off their Ukrainian and pseudo-Ukranian costumes in honour of Kiev Day; and
· the auction, run by Big Akula with his Lovely Assistant Heiress Hilton. The goods under the hammer were donated by Oyster Shit and Oyster Sutra and a considerable amount of UAH was raised for the Piski orphanage, KH3’s favourite charity.
But you won’t see pictures of the swim that preceded dinner, when the fast-flowing Desna tried to carry off the GM. “It’s no good sacrificing him,” someone called,”He’s not a virgin!” Or was it just the wind in the trees? Sometimes it’s hard to tell.
And you won’t see pictures of the sauna that followed the party either. It’s not that we’re shy, it’s just that steam is not very good for cameras. But be assured that a pretty good time was had by all.
It is a tradition to have a Hangover Run after breakfast on the second day of a Hash weekend. So Baby Blow Job and Bang Cock got up early and set a riverside trail, short but muddy, and the pack dutifully ran it. I say ‘the pack’ rather than ‘all Hashers at Zazimie’ because there were some exceptions. Some had to leave early. Some had injuries from the Saturday run. And some were just too bloody lazy to get up in time.
Someone was too bloody lazy to order up the bus too, which arrived an hour late at 1300. But the well-trained Hashers formed a circle (on chairs), opened some beers, and engaged in intellectual discourse for an hour. The highlight was Four Legs’s rendition of ‘The Cremation of Sam McGee’. The low-light was Hardon’s silent singing of ‘Swing Low’.
On-on!
Run 442: The Kiddi Run
Baby Blow Job teamed up with Monster Meerkat for this one. We headed straight down to Palats Sporty metro and thence to Dorohozhychi where we suffered our first loss. Having kept us waiting at Lucky Pub, Shave My Ass tired of our company and took off with the flimsy excuse of “having work to do.” Recovering quickly from this blow, we circled, interrogated the hares and blessed the trail.
At first it seemed that we should rename it The Rubbish Dump Run. But then the flour took us through the trees and to a big ‘CS’. This, it was explained, meant Candy Stop. Appropriately it was right beside a playground. Lollipops were handed round and brown juice was served from a shrouded Gameldansk bottle. The RA was moved to give a lecture on Hash calling – the difference between ‘Looking’ and ‘Checking’ and the like.
Then we pounded on to the memorial to the Babi Yar massacre, where we found the first of the T-shaped ‘On back’ signs. On back we went, until Hardon took a chance and went down a lo-o-o-ong flight of steps that seemed the only feasible way for the true trail to go. How boring it is to be right all the time!
The flour took us uphill and downhill, with a few slithers along the way. Beer King led the way along a fallen tree-trunk for a Hash Flash photo opportunity. The next stop was more familiarly marked ‘DS’ and we broke open the cans of beer, thoughtfully provided by Easy Head Job. And more sweets were distributed.
We were then led over a footbridge and into a housing area where we were introduced to the ‘fish-hook’. This is a cunning device to slow down the FRBs (Front-Running Bastards). The first 3 runners to see the fish-hook go to the back of the pack. In our case that meant retreating about 10 metres.
All too soon we were back at the metro station and found a quiet spot in the corner of the roof. Then someone said, “Where’s Noisy Wench?!” “I thought it had gone unusually quiet,” said another. We waited but she didn’t show up. Had she defected? Had she decided to abandon city life and live in the forest? Had she been abducted by aliens? A search party went back along the trail but was overcome by thirst.
In the Circle the hares were duly punished, together with Noel and No Knickers (for almost not coming on the run), Noel again (for wearing his hat in the Circle), Monster Meerkat and Bimbo Skippy (for sitting in the Circle!), Weekend Delight (for waiting for a pee until she had to pay UAH2) and the usual suspects (for mobile ‘phone abuse – when will people learn?!).
Atomic Fiddler was welcomed as a Returner. Doctor Lecter should have been, if only to cheer him up – nobody fell, nobody had back-pain, nobody needed a massage!
Then the words of ‘The Wild West Show’ were circulated and we sang lustily. Next time there will be a Russian version too, by either Weekend Delight, Shake-and-Bake, Easy Head Job or Hardon. Lovers of the Russian tongue will hope that it’s one of the Harriettes.
Atomic Fiddler eagerly volunteered to set the next run, and Shake-and-Bake leapt forward to be his co-hare. Then she leapt backwards mumbling about a prior commitment. So Weekend Delight took her place.
Noisy Wench turned up at home, by the way, with a story about being lost in the forest. How can you get lost at Babi Yar?! Abduction by aliens is much more likely. Anyway, she and Shave My Ass can share a downdown next time.
Nice re-run Hard On! thanks makes me feel I was there
Run No.441 – The Easter Hash
We barely filled a table at Lucky Pub. The staff were obviously alarmed, wondering if they had done something to offend us. But the smaller the pack, the quicker it can be whipped into a circle. At 1330 exactly co-hare Sheikh Rattle’n’Roll led us outside, gave us basic instructions and led us into the labyrinth that is the Kiev Metro. “Lisova,” he said.
30 years ago if you saw a 404 on the road it was a Peugeot. But nowadays, at Brovary metro station, it’s the Hash’s favourite marshrutka.
The Sheikh waited until we were in the most desolate, unpromising part of the route, close to that odd, unfinished, elephant-shaped hotel – and ordered us out. Then he started punching a number on his mobile ’phone. “This could be a lo-o-ong day,” we thought. l
But before long we would reassured by the appearance of Beer King, our beloved GM and Sheikh’s co-hare for the day. With him was Weekend Delight, disguised as a soldier. Now we were nudging double figures: 2 hares and a pack of 8.
The pack would have been even smaller without our newcomer Four Legs, a US citizen fresh from the Hashing fields of Darkest Africa.
Adrenalin pumped as the order rang out: “Check it out!” Four Legs and Hardon went right, attracted by an expanse of featureless wasteland and a rubbish dump. Fortunately the others found the trail. It took us past the local Hilton Hotel, where we posed for a photo. Resplendent in red, Shake’n’Bake was the first observed ’phone abuser.
We were running along a road with a forest to our right and a new housing estate to our left. Obviously the trail would take us into the forest sooner or later. Four Legs was leading the pack and, looking for an arrow pointing right, went right past a big flour circle on the left. Everyone bounded into the trees, shouting “Checking! Checking!” Everyone except Easy Head Job, that is. She headed left down a suburban street that looked as much like a Hash trail as an AK-47 looks like a birthday cake.
Hardon followed her, just to get a photo of her face when she realised she was wrong. But this time going left was right! Run run run. “On! On! On!” Noisy Wench caught up, just as the trail went cold. She was indulging in ’phone abuse beside an old radio jamming array when she noticed a big floury ‘HF’ on the ground. “Hash Flash!” she cried.
Then there was a long wait for the other 7. They panted up 5 minutes later and all was made clear. Easy Rider had played that old Harriettes’ trick… pretending to be lost in the forest to entice a gullible man to come and rescue her. Why do men always fall for that?! Four Legs found her easily and quickly, of course, but then the inevitable happened. We draw a tactful verbal veil over it.
‘HF’ also meant ‘Here Froth’. It was a designated Beer Stop. Noisy Wench decided to liven things up with a group performance of Father Abraham. Easy Head Job requested a nice Ukrainian Easter hymn,. The other Harriettes sang her a folk-song about sex.
The photos tell the rest of the story. We ran and walked and clambered and crossed a river. We came to a spot beside the main road, with some meagre shrubs scattered around. It looked as much like a place to circle as a polar bear looks like the Eiffel Tower. But there was a fallen log at perfect sitting height; and a nearby little building that looked very like a toilet; and a petrol station, which as we all know means BEER!
Being Easter Sunday we had all brought boiled eggs. Some had brought cakes and other goodies too. Mellow Yellow oversaw the laying of the table. Table? Well, some rucksacks with plastic bags on top. When the beer arrived we officially had a feast!
We welcomed Four Legs – who has no preference among sexual positions, you will be interested to know – and we punished the usual sinners… short-cutters, ’phone abusers, those indulging in sex on the trail… Noisy Wench got a special down-down for mistaking the Hash for a democratic organistion and making suggestions to the Mismanagement Committee.
But having had her punishment, Noisy was then rewarded with news that the Committee, in its lofty wisdom, had granted her wish. From now on, at least during the summer, we shall sing at least 1 song in every circle, starting today with ‘The Wild West Show’. The GM instructed the RA to circulate the words (in at least 2 languages) before the next run… which will be set by Baby Blow Job and Monster Meerkat on 18 April. Be there!
On-on…
Good, accurate and amusing… but too long. And where are the pictures?!
The Glühwein, Shampanskoe and Chocolates Hash, 2010
It has become a tradition. On the nearest Hashday to International Women’s Day we let two Harriettes lay the trail and play with our minds. It has almost become a tradition that those two Harriettes are Baby Blow Job and Weekend Delight. Or perhaps Hare-Raiser Unfinished Symphony just felt that they laid such a shitty trail last year that they had to do it again.
The non-smoking section of Lucky Pub is now officially Hash territory. Other patrons climb the stairs, peer round the corner, feel the intellectual power and suave sophistication radiating from the Hash tables – and quietly go away.
At the hare’s insistence we left the pub at 1330. GM Beer King almost didn’t make it. Passing up a golden opportunity to incur a fine for blocking the footpath and disorderly conduct, we headed deep underground to the official Hash transport mode. “Arsenalna,” said the hares.
The hares looked embarrassed when we asked what they used to lay the trail. “Er, flour,” they said. “With food colouring?” “No, just flour, white flour.” We gazed at the landscape. It was like a scene from ‘Doctor Zhivago’. “White flour?” we said, unbelieving, “White flour?”
At this point normal hares would have admitted their incompetence and begged for mercy. But these were BBJ and WED. BBJ explained that flour and snow were totally different shades of white. And the texture and the scent and the spiritual essence and the feng shui were totally different too.
Nobody could think of a witty reply to this so we trotted off in a south-easterly direction, eventually spotting – with a little help from the hares – some flour molecules at shoulder-height on trees. Then the trail took us into an underpass, risking the loss of several Harriettes to SFS (Shopping Frenzy Syndrome). “Shoes,” they murmured, “Must have shoes!”
Adjusting to the snow-and-ice-underfoot problem, and the white-flour-on-snow problem, Easy Head Job bounded off towards the Famine Memorial . But before we got there we had a Glühwein stop. Magically our fingers warmed. So did our hearts. “How beautiful the hares are,” we whispered among ourselves, “and how clever they are to lay the trail with white flour!” Noisy Wench was even moved to sing.
Time to move. “Ah,” we thought, “We’re going to the Lavra! The cunning hares are going to give the male Hashers a chance to be brave and protective, holding the timid Harriettes’ hands in the catacombs!” But it was not to be. We crossed the road, passed the Lavra, and headed straight for Mother Ukraine.
By now we had worked out a solution to the ‘white-flour-on-snow problem. Follow WED! She took us straight as an arrow to Mother Ukraine – and on the same spot where we paused last year for refresh-ment, we paused for refreshment again. Shampanskoe and chocolates. Some of the bottles had a problem of premature ejaculation. The men who opened those bottles, without pointing them away from their own faces, discovered the truth of the old warning: If you keep doing it you will go blind!
The cold shampanskoe had much the same effect as the hot wine had done. We fell in love with our hares and we expressed our joy in song. So joyful did we become that a security guard came to remind us of the solemnity of the place. He suggested that we move on.
Then began the Long March. We went through Expensive Town and paid our respects to the Diplomatic Corps. Many days later we arrived at a petrol station. A petrol station is not an obvious place to stop on a Hash, but this one had a toilet and sold beer.
Across the road we circled beside a practice area for learner-drivers. It was not the most romantic spot in Kiev, but there was beer. Apart from multiple down-downs for the hares – they deserved more but the pack was in a good mood – was a naming. Just Shane was re-named Bud’mo. It was a close vote between that and The Cleaner.
Then after one verse of the Hash Hymn – it was too cold for more – we went to BBJ’s ‘nearby’ apartment to enjoy its warmth, comfort and toilet. Yes, successful Hashing in winter is all about bladder manage-ment. We chided Shave My Ass for missing the run and we demolished a pile of food and more beer and single malt whisky and Crimean wine…
Melow Yellow then led a party of aquatically minded Hashers to the Nemo Dolphinarium to see a special IWD Show. But that’s another story. If only Hashers could be trained as easily as dolphins…
On-on!