As you can see, The Mad Hatter dropped down into his best “Droog” MasterMode to welcome two Americans, “Down Under” and “Lollipop”, to the Clontarf Run which could have almost qualified for a Summer Run in Winter. With the Mob forced to grope their way along slippery paths and slimy stone stairs beside the Middle Harbour foreshore, even Major Disaster was intelligent enough to carry a torch. So for once he didn’t get lost or need some other poor bastard to show him the way. Cinders privately said in his normal diplomatic manner, that he and others have even found it difficult to guide the poor old bastard around Coles Super Market for some years. But I suppose when you get hard of hearing, your sight is going and you are not sure who exactly you are, understandably you tend not to listen to someone you are not even sure you know, let alone have just met on a dark night.
Of course the highlight of the evening was undoubtedly Jacko’s Out Sourced Hash Trail Map which became a Super-Dooper laminated Map from his Outsourcing contacts in Bombay. A copy of this illuminated Map will undoubtedly find its way into the Year Book. With such contacts, Jacko is unofficially in line as being the next Hash Scribe having missed out in 2006 or was it 2005 ? Pay-Ling, the Co-Hare meanwhile is keeping a low profile.
For the statistically minded who made it up the slippery, slimy stone stairs to the street lights at Spit Bridge, the Trail took an unexpected turn to the left or was it for the worse. Any turn to the left, at least in politics these days, is a turn for the worse, the Clontarf Loop-the-Loop was no exception. Over the Spit Bridge to literally nowhere other than back was on offer. Or was it up Parrawi Road suggested Doggy Bag with a ferry joy ride awaiting us at the Lighthouse Steps ? No. Well maybe further on said Music Man at the Rosherville Reserve ? Nothing there either. For fuck sake protested Captain Fizz, not a bus ride to pick up the Moochers at the Spit and home ! No such luck muttered Benny as he tramped up the steps to Kirkoswald leaving behind any hope of an enlightened sea borne rescue. No indeed. It was a series of interesting twists and turns around Tivoli, more bloody stairs up to Kiora and believe it or not more stairs. Lastly, Barney Kearn’s. They are named after Blarney Kearn, an infamous Irish vaudeville artist in the 1900s who was thrown from the top of the small cliff by an enraged audience for telling bad jokes. His wife’s lover was so relieved to see the back of him, he put up the money to build the stairs and named them after him. He changed the name to Barney Kearn’s stairs in case any of the dead man’s relatives in Dublin got to hear the news. He kept the Surname to remind other erstwhile joke tellers of the penalty for telling bad jokes.
Finally the Mob thankfully turned for home, pausing at the Middle Harbour Yacht Club where Stunning Jack, steeped in local nautical knowledge sarcastically suggested it could be a rowing boat or a surf ski ride home. But no. It was just a straight run back to the bucket for Snags, Kebabs and the last of the Caught Jester’s salads for some time. After reading the history behind the Barney Kearn’s stairs any mention of jokes is best left unsaid.