Payless with Payling and Scud
Sadly there are no more virgins left in sinful Sydney.
Not least after 43 years of panting and puffing POSHmen foraging their way through local National Parks, State Reserves and urban bushlands. But Hey.!…..not all virgins are quite what our imagination ‘cracks’ them up to be. Older dames and trails can be just as rewarding. Cognisant of this fact and with only one week’s notice of being anointed to set a run, Payling (with the purloined assistance of Scud) went to work on familiar but far from virginous trails in the hills surrounding the lapping waters Lake Narrabeen. An isthmus called Middle Creek Reserve, sited on Lot No. 7061 just to be precise.
No one told Payling that there’s a stiff prevailing breeze blowing in from the glorious Pacific Ocean across the lake, and when combined a drop in evening temperature, it is definitely nippy and ‘Rug Up Time’.
Payling must have inside influence and connections to Council. For years Middle Creek Reserve has been a quaint and informal grass, gravel parking and woodland spot, but the brand-spanking new bitumen in the car park and paint on the gleaming BBQ stand had hardly dried before we moved in for the night. Nice timing Payling!.
A 1960’s hash spiv rolled up in his ‘road-runner’ phallic symbol, the kind that used to wet ladies knickers but now makes holes in baby boomers wallets. I speak of none other Cpt. Bligh’s E-type. E-Shit was all out-of-sorts that someone else had pipped him the post and was driving sedately around in a car after his namesake. Jealously was palpable.
A dodgy start to the run with carbon dioxide inhalation along Wakehurst Parkway, then up along a shitty fence line, all to circumvent the recalcitrant and bad-arse attitude of the ‘NSW Academy of Sports’. Ironical really; here we all are, the epitome of athletes and sportsmen of senior standing, ostracised and banned by the very institution which purports to encourage sports and athleticism. Think just how much we could teach those young innocent straplings, who were strutting their stuff on the track and field about true running (sort of), hashing, and other closely associated sports activities like….. drinking, BBQ’ing, and feasting. BUT Wot the hec? …….It would be lost on them….so we kept it to ourselves, and rightly so!
Up and Up and Up on a series of bush fire and mountain bike trails until we plateau’ed on ‘Dee Why West Recreation Reserve’ ….a place name to edify those who are topographically and geographically challenged. Catching stunning easterly lake and oceanic views from the top, and for the budding ornithologists amongst the pack, Payling & Scud had dutifully arranged for a ‘fly-over’ of about 35 Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos, (Calyptorhynchus funereus, again to be precise) to squawk and impress the Bejesus out of the front runners.
Then like the 2nd age life of many senior hashmen, it was mostly downhill from then on. Catching up with the walkers (WC and FOES included) I was initially impressed with what might have earned the Golden Machete of the century as we headed down through a power-line easement towards Cromer Golf Course. Sadly for the hares no such accolade was due as it was all the electricity wallahs work.
Plunger set a steady pace (and handicap) along fairways 16, 15 & 14 (in that order) culminating on the southern shores of the limpid Narrabeen Lake just as the silvery moon was rising.
Catching his (out-of) breath at the magical beauty he whipped out a phone-camera from his funereal black armband and clicked for all to see.
From there it was a short romp home across the hallowed peripheral property of the sports academy to the bucket and the vapour of Grand Almighty Darwin’s sizzling sausages instead of high class canopies.A good run with many ingredients; nasty road, hills, trails and tracks, scenic views, golf courses and water crossing ….and all for a budget price …Definitely a run to Payless with Payling + Scud.
Rugged up against the chilling wind Darwin and the JM’s turned out tantalising sliced pork fillets and more rabbit food salads. MC S-Bends once again introduced our national living treasure “Grand President Darwin Don”. Fresh from their nautical exploits “Hello Sailors” Pee Dub, Tyre Fruck and Kybher received downs for their dastardly nautical deeds.
F/O E-shit spat the dummy about something or another to a chorus of “FOES” but couldn’t help himself for a “show and tell” …his soon to be released foiling appendages for sailboats – he was serious (sort of) for once but asked the crowd to remember what they thought when they see the invention in the marketplace. “F.. O.. E… S” was the retort.
As it should be, all humour was politically incorrect, the more so without the “politically correct policeman” GS/SF whose absence has been noted by the return of free speech. By “Presidential Decree” Pee Dub was allowed to tell a second joke. Tic Toc wanted to finish a previous joke but opted for a new one instead.
That 1960’s spiv, Capt Bligh, left in a cloud of smoke and fumes – but at least his E-type started.
Your Hash Journo