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.

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…

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!