RIVIERA HASH TRASH 802
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In Your Papier
set a run
NEXT RUN N°803 22/11/2015
Pedo and Lonely
R*N REPORT N° 802 8/11/2015
50 Shades of Smut
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Den Haag (The Hague). November. Cloud. Rain. Wind. At least it's not too cold at 14 degrees. But it's vile.
Mandelieu. November. Sun, 20 odd degrees and not a cloud in sight.
No wonder resident rocket scientist Too Fab elected to join Iron Lady to hare a hash down here. Not even the prospect of Riviera Hashers understanding nothing about aerodynamics could dent her enthusiasm, it seems.
Being a rocket scientist and being ably abetted by Iron Lady who was still drunk on the All Blacks winning the Rugby World Cup, the hares decided to test the intelligence of the pack with new run & walk markings. These included the F15 (Eagle) route mark & the Sopwith Camel (Turkey) route for runners rather than the traditional FRB. Samples below:
Assorted hashers met in the car park by the river Siagne bright and breezy at 10-ish, in various states of dishevelment. There was a good turnout of runners but, err, this did not mean that many were running. Sadist continues with his pathetic excuse of replacement joints and Padre had the even more pathetic one of contracting Shingles (sounds like he has found a Bond girl with a name like that), meaning that he could not run. To be frank, he probably should not have walked either but his dedication to the cause is legendary. Indeed, as we all know, Padre likes nothing more than ambling along, gossiping and losing trail...
So the walkers were out in force and the runners were down to the hard core of Prestressed, Finnish Fly, Cumalot, Jobsworth and No Grappa. It was a pleasure to see No Grappa on a run after so long. She started like a cheetah scenting its prey, way ahead of the pack, eating up each check like it was her last. And that is the point. The first check was her last as she then decided that it was far too tiring to run & that she preferred to join the intellectual debate of the walkers. And then there were 4.
The run went through Cum Cum's apartment complex, where we witnessed another mud covered car being towed out of the garage after the recent flood. Poor Cum Cum, what a mess. Still, she could have joined the hash to cheer herself up...at this point the pack was stopped in its tracks by a gate. "It has a lock on it" said Cumalot. "It's a dead end" said Prestressed. Fortunately Jobsworth showed his initiative and demonstrated that the lock was simply a sign marked "Tirez" and they were through this fiendish obstacle.
This reminds me. Should it have been "tirez" or "tirer"? When I moved to the Riviera, there was the famous case near to the hash site of "Omar m'a tuer". A refined lady had been murdered and that is what she wrote in her own blood as she laid dying. Omar was sent to prison but the case was reopened this week. Would such a lady have made such a grammatical mistake in her dying breaths (was it really easier to write tuer rather than tuée?) or was Omar set up? My money says the latter. It's the hash equivalent of being foxed by a gate that says tirez rather than tirer, which some confuse for "fermé à clé".
Grammatical pause over, we crossed the road and into the forest that would surely lead us to the top of the hill. But no. Despite best endeavours to check each check uphill, the trail resolutely skirted it and even had a backcheck. Disappointingly, we soon found ourselves on the road again and overtaking walkers.
The trail continued down a very muddy path that opened Finnish Fly's mind to critical matters. Having nearly solved her gearknob (sorry gearbox) problem by deciding to put her hand on Procul's, she has now decided that Padre is the perfect man to keep her warm at night. Apparently he is good with his hands and can demonstrate some neat plumbing skills, she said. She backtracked by insisting that she was talking about radiators but we all know that is a euphemism, don't we? At this point, we passed an appropriate new vehicle for Finnish Fly, freshly rescued from the floods:
Not to be outdone, Prestressed announced that he likes to ride little ones. Fortunately, the British police do not need to open a paedophilia case as the ones he likes to ride are donkeys and two of them were in the field by us. A quick jump over the ditch and it looked like Finnish Fly was touching his little one rather than the pony. Fortunately, the ditch only posed a minor problem to Prestressed on his way out & his pride was the only thing that was hurt as he fell into it.
At this point, the strain of an early morning run was telling. The runners decided to go on strike and walk, not least because we had been going well over an hour and there was no sign of beer. Worse, the trail now led into the Esterel mountains. Beautiful they may be, but when we tried to second guess where the beer stop was (and failed), we decided to raid the area of the delicious tree strawberries. It was around here that the hares had set an "Eagle - fly high" or "Turkey - stick to the easy route" challenge. Being seasoned runners in need of a beer, we decided to be turkeys &, even more, we refused to run up the long hill that now presented itself.
It was long. We were thirsty. And finally we reached the top. And lay down on strike. The scenery was breath taking, but who cares about that when you need beer?
After minutes on strike, the Union conveners had a secret ballot. Should we refuse to do any more on the hash or should we grace the hares with our presence on condition that they prepare cold beer for us? After lots of deliberation we voted, by the narrowest of margins, to return to trail in search of the promised beer.
Little did we know that the hares had tricked us. The beer was still a long way away and, worse, having got up again, the pack wound down a trail with a big chasm caused by water from the floods in the middle. "Better not fall in that" we thought. Jobsworth had stayed at the top to answer the call of nature so, naturally, was fleet footed and skipping down the path to catch up with the others. Unfortunately, nimbleness deserted him and he found himself face down in the ravine with cuts & bruises over his hands and legs, ripped shorts and, worst (best) of all, damage to the ignition key of his Porsche. Serves him right.
After this, the first half was a blur. Some more down, some more up, a mutiny that refused to enjoy another view stop and then, magically as in a mirage, the walkers and beers appeared. 2 hours & 10km (I know, we were very slow but there was a hell of a climb and we went on strike mid run. Hey, we are in France after all!)
There was no hurry to leave the beer stop and when Iron Lady announced that the second half was also quite long, there was a further mutiny and the runners took the direct route past the walkers to be back in the car park as quickly as possible. 13.5km and 250+ metres climb in 2h30...it felt tough!
Back in the car park, Cumalot officiated the circle as follows:
Hares (amid complaints about a too short & flat run)- Iron Lady & Too FAB
Ravine diver - Jobsworth
Interrupting hash business - No Grappa
Starving (serves her right for going on strike) - Finnish Fly
Operation Yewtree admission of liking to stroke small ones - Prestressed
Returners - No Nuts, Levrette, No Grappa, Sex Club & Iron Lady
Distributing home made porn videos - Levrette & No Nuts
To balance the soft (porn) - Long & Hard, with a special song from visitors Panty Remover and Short & Sassy
Marathon man - Sadist, with another special song from visitor Too FAB
Madame Butterfly auditionee - Confusion
All Black Haka performance - Iron Lady
Padre pedant award (post circle) for pointing out that Poke My Hole is actually Phog Ma Hon or Kiss My Ass. See attached link for details
Shit of the Week nominations went to:
Iron Lady for not performing the Haka mentioned above
Padre as he needed to be cheered up with a beer
Farty Bum for doing the trail backwards (or because she is a permanent member of the SOW)
Confusion, Mme Mouton & Pokahontos for abandoning trail to shop
Mme Mouton for also making the RA late
And the winner was Iron Lady, with the booby prize going to Mme Mouton.
Circle over, it was off to a restaurant with breath taking views of the port and incredible service. Incredibly slow, I mean. 1 hour for the starter was just a little long and the faux filet was appreciated by my dog later that evening.
No complaints about that to the hares. It's always difficult to find a good resto and this one was not the best. Only complaints to them are for a hash that gave a long & tough challenge in glorious weather with great views.
And finally, Finnish Fly was heard to complain about the mass of blood gushing out of her leg after injuring herself on trail. Jobsworth, meanwhile, remained stoic about his injuries. Can you tell which is which below? Answers on a postcard...and don't forget, you are not judging the prettiest leg here.
Also see the Receeding Hare Line!
R*n 803: NEXT HASH 22 - Nov
MEET WHERE : NICE, Place Garibaldi (under the statue of Himself -- Garibaldi not Pedo);
WHAT TIME : 10 for an 11 oclock start (!?)
HOW TO GET THERE : From Cannes/Antibes, take the A8, exit at Nice Nord, follow the road round to the right and park in the car park after the traffic light. This costs the princely sum of 3 euros per person in the car. After buying your ticket, go downstairs and get the tram. (Don't forget to click your ticket, or you can't get the car back!). The tram takes you right to Place Garibaldi (and back of course, keep up!)
Otherwise, to paraphrase Padre "find Nice" and park in one of the expensive underground car parks around Place Garibaldi.
After the hash, we'll be eating delicious meaty or vegetarian burgers at a nice joint Pedo knows in the Old Town, which you will be relieved to know also serves booze.