Run 2388 – 8th Apr 2013

Kitty “Litters” Himself with Captain Bligh’s Commands
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The Master Commander & the Rat Catcher rowed ashore from their good ship The Bounty to set the mutineering rabble a shore run with the finest of views of that safest of harbours, in the heart of Sydney town. This ploy was to stem the ugly mutinous mood that had been festering onboard for weeks as they travailed the coastline, surveying and searching this mysterious uncharted land of “Terra Nullius”.
The Master Commander & the Rat Catcher rowed ashore from their good ship The Bounty
After almost six months without gentlemanly civilization, and only rough hewn tracks through prickly antipodean bush of the Great Southern Land to run through on their weekly shore runs during the summer heat, the crew was itching for pastures green which is kind to the soul; akin to their beloved motherland, that fair green Isle of England. And Ohhh for a professionally prepared repast in a sit-down food or ale house for the old salts, served by comely wenches, whose smooth silken thighs could be glimpsed under
the flouncy petticoats as they bent over to serve the bowls of steaming food. Alas my hearties, such temptation for starved and eager eyes!
And so it was that the two disparate shipmates marched and minced their way (respectively) uphill from the harbour foreshore to a hilltop which they (well Captain Bligh actually…who constantly uses the ‘Royal Plural’ for all his actions and ideas) named after his favoured London locale; a place where he romanced his bride Elizabeth Betham, in the early days of their courtship. The hilltop was to be named St Leonards. “And a fine name if I may say so myself” uttered Captain Bligh, inflating his puffed up chest yet once more.
In fact when the “hares” announced to the motley lot as they gathered under the boughs of the spreading Eucalypt trees, “How is it possible for us to create a shore run so close to the limpid shoreline of this fine harbor where 60% of it is on soft velvety grass, along romantic trails and tree lined pathways and almost all of it free of horseless carriages?

This territory may almost seem familiar to some; perhaps even similar to your
loved and much missed English Parklands, but we hares have employed an ingenious method of “read the- settlers maps and connect-the-green bits. The undulating course is varied and picturesque even in the autumn darkness and finishes with a killer incline to a Bucket held in a special ‘Royal Box’ overlooking the expansive Sydney Harbour, the Habour Bridge and the illuminated city skyline of Sydney.
This is high calibre stuff for the beginning of winter runs that will be difficult for successors to follow ”
With exaltations like that, our hares immediately put themselves under enormous pressure to deliver. But did they actually deliver? ….Read on to find out.
At the appointed hour we tip-toed into the night across St Leonard’s Park. How overreaching their self inflated claims had been. Within 150 metres of the start the pack was scattered like headless chooks in search of anything that might resemble a trail or markings of any kind. The noise of horseless carriages surrounding the park boomed in our ears making the exchange of calls impossible to hear. Only sight of our “seek n’ find”
brethren by the glimmer of gas street lamps offered us the way forward. And it didn’t get much better until we mustered as lost sheep are wont to do over in another pleasant rolling park with a sign saying “Cameray – Gentleman Only Ladies Forbidden. Or Golf for short.
About here, and sensing danger with the pack now truly stretched apart and time running out, our ankle biting TM came to our rescue.
The microscopic little dobs of flour on the velvety green surfaces and most of the equally small arrows chalked at Gulliver’s steps apart (compared to us mere Lilliputs) on numerous hard tarmacadam roads did little to assist the progress of the run. But being true to the cause we stayed the course and persevered with TM Salty “pissing off” the checks as soon as he could get to them.
Our in house musical talent, curiously named Music Man, whinged that not enough front runners where calling him on, irrespective that they too were running lost in the dark.
Tic Toc was conveyed to the run start in someone else’s carriage, and hey presto…he made it on time! This must be a first for the season.
The Master Commander and Rat Catcher kept their promise and guided us through generally familiar but picturesque landscape on a very clement night. A combination of green bits from the map linked by roadside perambulation ways climaxed with a long haul of steps to what has to be a look out point of eminent distinction. A special ‘Royal Box” as the Rat Catcher had described it. Knut (Plunger’s good mate and brother-in-law) was overawed. It took him several mugs from the bucket and a few spring rolls to soak it all in.
…”It’s not like Honey Bay (translated of course) in Norway …just one tower would be 3 times the size of the night illumination my home town”.
The views from this ‘Royal Box” for us 18th century deckhands from The Bounty looked into the far distant future (in fact the far distant 21st Century to be precise), …across the expansive Sydney Harbour, the ‘Abour Bridge n’ all that. Wot we saw was ‘Wall to wall humanity all twinkling in fairy lights’.
The run was well conceived……they chose a wonderful evening, but clearly these two hares had spent far too much time aboard the ship and had lost the secret art of practical trail laying which can be read at night. 3 to 4 times the number of arrows and decent sized dobs of flour would have made this a hard act (or is that cat?) to follow.
They then led the 40 hands or so into a nearby oriental Tavern…purveyors of Korean delicacies, noodles, kim-chi and other exotic delights. And lots of it too. For impoverished deckhands and junior officers this was heaven…and all copiously washed down with lots of “Red Medicine” as the ship’s doctor, the First Mate, Mr Ess-Benzzzz would like to call it. Indeed, it seemed to work a treat as drinking goblets of this fine liquid
resulted in an ambience of merriment and joviality.
And even some old ship mates who had been shanghaied from a previous voyage several years ago were found along these pleasant shores. Those noble savages of this intriguing land had renamed them in their local dialect which loosely translated are “Bunny Trapper” and Irish due their fair complexion and obsession with their European heritage.

But how did this Master Mariner, Sea Commander and Royal Navy Captain establish a relationship with such a humble Rat Catcher from the slops and bilges of the fine sailing ship “The Bounty”?
It so happens that during one of my regular research visits to the Maritime Museum I stumbled across an old sea chest with a few sepia parchments relating to the said Master Commander and his overzealous disciplinarian ways. I have published these letters in totem so that you will understand how these two seafaring characters came to set a shore run together. The rest, as they say, became very strange history indeed.
Dear Master Commander Bligh
All my hashing mates (well, actually I only have one or two) and my even my best girlfriend back home says I have a personal problem. I have been a member of POSH hash for 12 years now and my friends insinuate that I am unable to keep my hygiene habits up to their impeccable ship-shape standards on your good ship ‘The Bounty’.Each Monday night during these 12 long years after the weekly shore run I, need to have a little
poop on the deck, in the fo’castle, in the galley sink, in a seaman’s hammock or even on one of the junior officer’s bunks, just to make a little room in my belly for the On-On meal.
The smelly lumps stick to my anal fur and my little paws, and I find it hard to clean the hardened yick off my cute little feet. And then I’m told it’s very whiffy and not just a bit smelly by my shipmates.
As a hardened English Maritime disciplinarian from the finest English Royal Navy, I wonder what I should do to keep my mates on side. If I set a landlubbers run with you, rather than go sailing in your small cutter with a sextant, four cutlasses, and only several days food and water (you know how us cool cats hate being so close water and swimming n’ all that… ) would you be so kind as to whisper into my cute, furry little ear
what I should do to clean up my personal peeing and pooping habits?.
I hate that small cutter with only a sextant, four cutlasses, and several days food and water
Meowww ….Purrrrrrrr
Felix …..You Small Time Ship Bound Rat Catcher
And Stand to attention when writing my answer to you!
Alright, just because you’re the finest (and only) rat catcher on this vessel, I‘ll take you ashore at our very next port of call, which just happens to be Sydney, that vile penal colony which my very good and exploratory sailing companion Captain James Cook discovered a few years back when looking for a few Tahitian beauties with whom to satiate his lusty ways after many months at sea without female company. But you shouldn’t have any problems in that department as I instructed the First Officer (Fletcher Christian) to take you down to the veterinarian for the proverbial “snip” shortly before we set sail. This was to keep your mind off licking your groin and howling after your numerous furry girl
friends in heat, and to keep you focused on catching those infectious vermin on this good ship.
And so my best and only advice to you is this: –
Get yourself and good sized tray, fill it with dry fly ash and/or small granules of gravel (purloined at the next port of call) and when your bowel and bladder movements get the better of you, do your dirty business in that pile of absorbent material. And when stepping out of the tray, be absolutely sure to wipe all four paws on the hemp matting which I shall instruct that impudent and insolent officer, Fletcher Christian, to provide you with.
Now….as I think that this another capital and most splendid idea of mine for keeping you, and all other feline rat catchers of the fleet nice and clean, I will name this revolutionary idea “Kitty Litter”
In fact in the name of his Majesty King George III, I will go so far as to rename you after this damned contraption. You have no choice in the matter, so get to it and make good haste.
And whilst you are about it bring me my tot of rum which I also named after myself. Confound it young Felix ….bring the whole damned box and bottle
Yours in Absolute Command of His Majesty’s Sailing Ship ‘The Bounty’
Captain William Bligh.
FRS RN
Your Hash Journo
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