MEMORABLE MOMENTS
THE HASH WENT HORSING AROUND IN TERRY HILLS ON MONDAY
Initially it did not look at all promising. There were rumblings amongst the Mob that Fry-a-Duck had done his dough. No, that should be Our dough on the bloody Piper and it was going to piss down. Fortunately F-a-D touched The French Concoction for some loose change, got onto the Tartan Tainted Bag Blower, and staved off the heavens for another week at the cost of the AGM Stripper.
The rain held off until the last minutes of the Run but it did not do much for the Running Track which was as muddy as buggery. So despite the threatening gloom, the popularity of the yearly running of the Lightning Handicap attracted a good number of entries, including The Trapper from an outside Stable. His handlers said that he generally performed well with “Fast Women and Slow Horses”, so the conditions would suit him.
After leaving Booralie and into the Bush, a well maintained, fairly level Track made for polite conversational Running. But once the Walkers and Runners had been sorted out, the Runners were introduced to the serious stuff. They were subjected to some very nasty, testing Check Backs which Cinders is famous for creating just to catch out Doggy Bag, Moishe and Salted Pretzel. So it was yet another week of hard running for the Runners, with a final Check Back near the Japanese Terrorist School on Booralie. The Pack had to turn about almost in sight of home, and head back into the Bush. Then it was finally back onto Booralie for a long straight Run home, which saw Captain Fizz turn on a withering burst of speed to steam past Stunning Jack and Chastity to beat the rain to the Bucket.
Amongst the visitors was Kamikazi, from the Larrikans, who is even more accident prone than Major Disaster. Which is a bit hard to believe. With Summer Running on the South Side mainly restricted to belting across bowling greens and front gardens, the Posh Hash Bush Bashing was a revelation to him. Fortunately Salted Pretzel graciously acted as his chaperone and got him home safely before he fell foul of the leeches, snakes and real estate salesmen prevalent on the North Shore.
Also testing the local conditions was The Flying Scotsman safely enclosed within his snake proof hiking boots, which he had picked up in a “job-lot” with his Amish Outfit. Another who had been a buyer at the same cast-off store, was Moishe in his Shirley Bassey built-up running shoes. In the past weeks he has rapidly become a danger to the established Front Runners.
Another one who arrived home promptly in one piece was Darwin. After last week’s mysterious nosh, he had given more than a cursory glance to the evenings cuisine, before deeming it safe to get home early for a sample. And so we were off to the OnOn. Where, despite Darwin’s close attention, an ominous looking South African intruder crept onto the plates alongside a somewhat burnt to buggery Australian steak and the usual top-class salad. All agreed the steak knives needed sharpening, and a tooth grinding visit to the Warb’s down in the mouth dental garage, would not be out of place.
In addition to the steak knives, the evenings jokes also needed some sharpening up.
“ HERE WE GO . LISTENING ? THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN WHO LIVED IN A SHOE. SHE HAD SO MANY CHILDREN, HER CUNT FELL OFF..EH ?..WHAT……. ? WHO WROTE THIS FUCKING STUFF ?”
AND FINALLY, THINGS ARE NOT ALWAYS WHAT THEY SEEM TO BE.
A few Mondays ago, a ‘reliable source’ sidled up to me and confidentially related the following embarrassing story concerning a ‘certain’ member of the Hash, who lives on the lower North Shore. At the time, so many sidled up and asked me when or if my Jag was going to be towed away, I am not sure now who it was or worse, who was the ‘certain’ Hashman.
Anyway, the story goes that our Hashman whilst taking his weekend walk, picked up a copy of the North Shore Times at the local butchers. Could have been the one at Castlecrag or Castle Cove. Whilst lugging his meat home he leafed through the pages, AND a specific headline caught his attention. It read, ‘You can have Sex at 75’. Wow ! Unfortunately he didn’t have his readers with him but he squinted at the article and thought the street near where he lived was mentioned. What a bloody ripper he thought, I live just around the corner from 75. I can drop in next time on the way back from the butchers for a quick one and still be home for tea. On the way home, he went passed 75, and noticed there was exotic eastern music wafting from one of the open upstair windows.
When he got home much later, he left the Times on the kitchen table and went to look for his readers. Moments later he returned only to find his wife had ripped out the vital pages and used them to wrap up the rubbish. What a bugger !
But all was not lost. He called into the butchers on his walk the following Saturday and fortunately they had a copy of the specific NST complete with the exciting headlined article, ‘You can have Sex at 75’. So he grabbed his meat, and with credit card in hand, hot-footed it down to 75. He knocked on the front door in a state of great excitement. The response was, to say the very least, unexpected.
The door slowly opened to reveal a middle-aged Indian woman flanked by six or seven small dark chattering children, looking curiously up at him. “Yes ?”, she asked with thinly veiled hostility. “Er”, stammered our Hashman, somewhat dismayed at the unexpected turn of events. Then began again, “Er, 75 ?” She looked at him with great distain. “75 ? What about 75. What do you want old man ?,” she asked, looking him up and down. In desperation, he showed her the all important page in the NST. She snatched it from him, cursorily read it and flung it back. “ You stupid old man,’ she shouted, “ it is an advertisement for Viagra, and I would say you are long past it being of any use to you.” And slammed the door.
We are still trying