Cry Freedom Boy Fails to Make it all White on the Night
Will the runners’ hare please step forward and take a bow?………….for all the wrong reasons!
Ordinarily I get as pissed-off as any other Poshman when the hare stuffs up on their run setting but this year will be an exception. It will give this journo a wonderful opportunity to fill these pages with critiques, salvos and sheer unadulterated bile. So future hares please take note! Already I have received some creeping whinges about the lack of accuracy regarding running events; but what the hec, who gives a shit and why let the truth get in the way of a rattling good yarn? Especially when Tic Toc’s running prowess is involved. See Erratum below.
So on to last Monday evening. This was our hare’s promise to say farewell to bitumen and concrete for the next 20 weeks notwithstanding that dark descended before the run actually started. At the pre-run briefing the hare implored us to use just a small stretch of bush back to the bucket. An ominous portent that more bitumen and concrete was on offer, and so off we strolled into the evening across Wakehurst Parkway and into the ‘Burbs’. It wasn’t long before we came down a small set of stairs with a whopping great big ‘C’ planted on the landing. Was this Afrikaans for ‘cunts check’ or ‘check back’ or have a pee or what? A new lingo had been injected into the hash trail marking vocabulary. As most of the front runners hadn’t learned Afrikaans at school they took it to mean ‘Check back’…but they were wrong, it was check forward.
And thereafter we followed a reasonably well selected trail through laneways, footpaths and small links between streets and across reserves. So far so good, and generally good use of familiar territory.
But to a hash person the question nagged whether the hare was truly a left handed, limp wristed, pillow-biter. (Refer to Rule No 1 of the Posh Hash). The little arrows were weak and feeble and enough to make even a darling duckie boy cry with shame. It took us more than a little cunning and stealth (and brilliant torches) to read where the arrows had been laid (often under cars and in dark corners…where else would you expect?) or un-laid as the case may be. Markings with school black board chalk on rough bitumen is just not the ‘go’ in this hash Mr Hare.
But more angst was to come. After running parallel to and then under Burnt Bridge Creek Deviation we headed along a creek and then uphill towards Frenchs Forest Road following arrows all the way, eventually arriving at Battle Boulevard with magnificent views down to the Spit Bridge and Middle Harbour. But surely at 7.25pm this was heading in entirely the wrong direction. Hundreds of years of collective running experience told us not to believe the arrows we saw on the road. …..Yes …you’ve guessed it. White Shit had laid his trail directly over another hash trail which went in diametrically the opposite direction. Stuff up No.3. You know there is a major problem when you see groups of the pack passing each other on the opposite sides of the road running in different directions shouting that they are on trail. It was then that our finely tuned homing instincts kicked in and we worked our way back along the main road and …fuck the small stretch of bush at the end. And so it was that the front runners arrived at the bucket at about 7.50 glad to see civilization and the new committee in full control cooking their dinner.
BUT WAIT……there’s more
It was at least another 45 minutes later, and most of the way through our meal when a justifiably aggrieved and aggravated Grape and an equally pissed off Box Kite stormed in wanting to know how many fucking trails they were meant to be following. And yet more still…….where the hell was Trail Master Salty? Last but not least he came slinking in complaining that the run map did not have any street names. Enlarged and printed off Google, street names were no longer included on the trail map. Black ball point pen on black lines on an incomplete map is a recipe for disaster. Fuck up No. …how many? Too many for one night ….that’s what!. By that time we had almost finished our hot cooked meal even though the cool breeze coming off the oval was chilling the nuts of those who weren’t rugged up several times over and looking like the Michelin Tyre man.
Grand Master Darwin has a new toy thanks to Cash Master Tartan. A shop spruiker’s amplifier so that he can talk over the unruly and downright rude Poshmen who insist on talking like farting old ladies during his weekly address. The usual culprits will know who they are. Our tribal elder deserves a lot more respect boys!
Your Hash Journo
Erratum from last week …as penned by Monsieur Le Tic Toc himself
RE: his fractional marathon run
When the melee moved on it was revealed that M. Le TT did in fact compete in the Quarter marathon (a much more testing event than the simple Half, Three-Quarters, Full, or Ultra Marathons—for one thing it started at an ungodly mid-morning). TT certainly came second, as did 29,998 other competitors, in a photo finish. Unable to separate them, even with Omega sp[lit nano-second digital laser technology, the marshals, in their wisdom, decided to award all second placed sportsmen and women, even lil chillun, a hand-crafted silver medallion on silken ribbon. None of this of course diminishes the Posh pride, it doubtless enhances it.
Next Weeks Run is a Joint Run – See Upcoming Runs for details