Poly Unsaturates all over himself with Ayatollah around The Field of Mars _____________________________________________________________
Starting From and Imbibing at Ill Bolognaise,
What would we do without the ‘Great North Walk’? It has become a spine for numerous summer runs over the years, but didn’t anyone tell the hares that the clocks went back at least a month ago?
It was lucky that no more hashmen were lost this week as we dived across the commuter traffic on Pittwater Road to the start of the run, taking us down Park Street straight into the dark and dampened woodlands along the upper reaches of the Lane Cove River.
Those without torches earned little sympathy, although I didn’t see any. Nor did we see too many checks either. (You can’t excuse yourself “that they are in the mail” anymore as it is nearly all on-line these days). I guess that on a linear route of Boronia Park woodlands and the Lane Cove River estuarine waterfront and mud flats didn’t provide many opportunities. Your Choice stumbled over the numerous roots in the dark. So without any real surprises we eventually landed up in Buffalo Creek Park. Now here was a real opportunity to really take the pack into a tail spin. But conservatism was the hares’ mission for the night and it didn’t take much sleuthing to work out that the Field of Mars (woodlands) was our next night running sortie. The front runners ploughed their way uphill whilst the walkers would have crawled their way (like Brian the Snail) along the boardwalks adjoining Buffalo Creek.
The more adventurous including Nautilus, Your Choice and Kitty Litter kept ascending to the notable Italian real estate for the dearly departed. Marble clad mausoleums the size of your average Masterton Home, were inscribed with more Italian names than one might find in all Mafia roll calls put together. A testament of the post war migration along with the plastic flowers around the heavily vaulted and padlocked doors. And so we soldiered on not fearing any ghostly apparitions, but following the regular arrows planted earlier in the sunlit day. A well planned trail should always bring the walkers and the runners back together towards the end of the run and sure enough the runners caught up with an army of “Brian Snails” hobbling and gossiping their way up the suburban streets to home. T’was a half decent summer run, but perambulated in the dark, with not quite enough checks (at least that we saw) so that the pack was pretty well spread out. However everyone had a chance to stretch their legs at their own speed for the night.
The On-On was quite different. Our restaurateur Chelso gave us our own dining room, and SBenzzz rocked up with loads of beers and top wines to wash down the food which rolled in, and rolled in some more. Plate after plate and very soon the boys were filled to capacity. As it often is with the hash, camaraderie was at its best. SBends was anxious to remember our good mate Coupla Weeks, and the feeling was spontaneous that we should have our own thanks for his wonderful companionship and valuable contribution to the SH3. We shall miss him deeply.
Polish Joke was the Joker in the pack for the night. Not that he ran or even walked, but only came to fill his belly and tell a joke or two. Has he lost his touch after all these years of boycotting his true hashing mates? 51 hashmen thought not. 1 hashman went to sleep. No less than Mr Sleepy otherwise referred in the hash as WC.
Your Hash Journo