Moishe & Jock Sock it to the Boys
The pack turned up bright eyed and as excited as a bunch of school boys on a day’s outing for our first summer run of the season.
The committee was also as well oiled and greased as ……’an obliging lady of the night’ with the trailer already on site, unpacked, and the alfresco dining tables in place before the run
start. “Cry Freedom Boy’s” bash at Seaforth Oval was the only dress rehearsal required for the committee to get the hang of all the toys inside the trailer.
S Bends turned up with his young fella, James, fresh from London and wearing an SAS ‘T’ shirt and a crisp haircut. As I’ve known S Bends for many a long year, and regard him as a good Hash mate, it would be outrageous and totally unacceptable to question his parenthood. One is therefore left to conclude that young James’ Adonis like physique and good looks is wholly attributable to his mother’s genes.
Old hash lags for the night had set a run in familiar Forestville territory but with different convolutions for the evening trail. As we set off one of the local natives lent over his balcony and called out that the trail led to steep cliff and that it would be too difficult for us “old bastards”. Welcome to POSH hashmen, Mr Native!
Indeed, the trail was a relatively simple one; scramble down to Davidson State Reserve, then jog upstream alongside the placid waters of Upper Middle Harbour, up the hill through traditional bush and run back along the upper track to a suburban street close to home. It was all lovely country on a cool but pleasant evening.
The main valid whinge from a few was that it lacked enough checks to keep the pack
together. Cheques (or ‘checks’ in Yankee doodle parlance) were definitely in the mail. But perhaps for good reason with the evening darkness closing in early.
But first, our chiseled chin hares must have gone soft in their senior years. They had hung four mini lamps from the trees to guide the back runners and stragglers through the last of the bush and onto the suburban roads for home as darkness fell. Clearly one of the hares must have read a slushy romantic novel such as “Under the Light of an August Moon”. Nice touch boys, and I hope you retrieved the lamps later. Not since Mobile Mop set a torch light run some 15 years ago or more have we witnessed such romanticism on a run.
Then back to the bucket along a few streets in the gathering dark. The Ginger-beer rich bucket mix washed down finger food snags in baguettes, followed by stakes and salad.
One smart arsed commentator was heard to have defined the steaks as of Gucci or Prada quality…..quickly qualified by comparing them to their shoe leather. Smarting by this stinging insult, the committee has already purchased steak knives to make it easier to cut through Prada shoe leather at future On-Ons. And talking
of the continuing committee largesse, how did you all enjoy the new table lighting courtesy of Money Manager Tartan and Joint Master Flasher?
Not a bad start for the summer season, which will be followed next week by the “W” brothers’ offering, namely Messers Wrappa and Wanker’s total bush run at McCarrs Creek.
Your Hash Journo