Hash Nags Battle it out at Belrose
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So, when is a Hash Committee NOT a committee?
Well,…..It’s when they all piss off to China to sample the delights of the magic mountains and the ‘smooth as Chinese silk’ massage parlours……that’s when.
It used to be euphemistically called “mixing a little business with pleasure”, but I put it to you that the ‘PLEASURE’ side of the equation has a great deal more priority in this forage than the ubiquitous hash runs …sniff ….if you knows wot Oi mean? Not least as this jaunt follows hard on the heels of the now infamous Panamanian hashing sojourn. And as we all know too well that “what happens on O/S hashing trails…stays on the hashing trails”.
Anyway the best remnants of this new committee were left holding the newly conceived baby, so to speak, and guess who they called upon to wet nurse them with this report?…..
At least we had the best part of the new committee to hold the fort and prepare the tucker whilst Superglue mapped out and set yet another of his no-nonsense hash nags annual race runs. And no Bullshit promos either. His simple down to earth, honest promo was ……”there are numerous virgin trails out there, but I won’t be using any of them”. Clearly he knows the value of Tried & Tested bush’.
A bitter cold wind blew in from the south Atlantic and the Hash Nags shivered whilst limbering up for this annual horse race.
Spud was sporting a yellow jockey’s jersey with some extremely Koool shaded blinkers. Clearly Khyber was a last minute entry and arrived wearing a moth eaten jockey’s shirt, thus lowering the “Cinders attire standard” even lower. Salt Peter, a skinny horse at best, was rugged up with a heavy blue blanket over his back, and ready to sweat it out.
Poly, an aging old nag, was decked out in black and white stripped trim, but was poorly shod and obviously needed to visit the ferrier for new shoes. His outlooks for a front place did not look good. In fact Poly really didn’t look like a horse at all. Mmmhh! perhaps a Zebra?.
At 6.30pm precisely the starters’ gun released the pack out of the traps and they bolted across the first paddock with a new ring-in dark horse (Piss Perfect) all the way from the HK Happy Valley stables well out in front being led by Excreta Minor.
Changi (a nag previously referred to as all prick n’ ribs) galloped to the front, not to win but to warm up. Thus for the first couple of furlongs the pack raced across mown grass along the backs of properties, but shortly entered a cemetery gently terraced down a hillside, all for deceased human. The upper terrace being stuffed full of plastic flowers with headstones, and urns with ashes. Lower down we moved into little Italy or ‘Luigi Land’, with whopping marble clad mausoleums. One enormous vault had double swing smoked glass doors, which was even bigger than Simmo’s super-sized Mosman dunny!
Leaving the embalmed bodies behind, the race then entered into more than just a Grand National steeple chase. This was a test for the true cross country (Point to Point) horses. The bigger more agile nags should have fared best. At 16 hands in height Goonshot should have been a true favourite with his backers, but age and fatigue got the better of this old work horse. Instead Piss Perfect and Excreta Minor led the charge through the scrubby undergrowth.
Cart Horse Centrepoint used his 18 hand height advantage to berate a neighbouring spectator who took umbrage at the Supeglue dobs of flour “deposited” on the grass outside his property. Threats to call the cops were laughed at as CP wanted to tell him about “sex n’ travel” but galloped on.
Other entrants looked decidedly suspect. Manfred posed as a horse but really wasn’t. He had merely borrowed his grandson’s Toy Horse.
And so they all galloped in towards the close of day, with hot (s)nags being served to the cold and hungry. Now each year we have a ‘summer run in winter’ ….Well this week we had a “winter run in summer”. At least if you looked at the mercury we did. A cold wind blew down the verandah, and the nags huddled close together to keep warm. Changi assumed the appearance of Henry Mawson for the night to prove the winter temps.
The resident committee chefs (at least 3 on the last count) including the world famous Lord Pilko had clearly anticipated this chill wind from the evil south, and cooked up a storm of steaks and loads of hot spuds and vegies to warm the hungry beasts. Meanwhile Tom Waterhouse’s great uncle (Bookie B-Crack) cooked up his own version of sorts for the night. At $5-00 per pop one could enter into a shady deal and buy another kind of steak (sic) ….a ‘stake’ for the Melbourne Cup horses. Gossip spread about being a fix….an insider’s job, but the collection hat was soon filled, as was a scrawled run sheet for the next day’s race. And just to keep the cold coming ‘Rocky Road’ dessert was served for the second time in two weeks.
Another top evening ticked for the year.
Your Journo Returned