Tall White Master & His South African Man Servant
Serve it Up at Hunters Hill
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“The Moon Shines on the Righteous”…or at least it does with POSHmen on clear winter nights. Mind you I’m not sure that includes the hares, …but what the heck ..…Why not include them as well….but only just this once!
We all know Hunters Hill Peninsular, so there weren’t too many surprises, if any at all, but we’ve not trodden our hooves around there for at least a couple of years so it was relatively fresh, and besides, the water front views on both sides of the peninsular are by any measure pretty spectacular, so let’s not get too blasé about what we can enjoy around Sydney. In fact there were a few residential piles on this north side which breathed quiet and serious money….not like your flash shit around Double Bay, Rose Bay and
Castle Hill. We soaked them in without looking too closely at our humble bank accounts for fear of developing instant inferiority complexes.
So basically we made our way out westwards along the northern side of ‘Unters ‘Ill Peninsular overlooking the Lane Cove River and then criss-crossed Woolwich Road very close to Uncle Joe Hockey’s substantial and spreading mansion (my heart bleeds for him, .poor rich bastard) making our way down to the sublime waterfront of Pulpit Point with yet more serious dollars floating in the water there. At least the hulls were waterproof and the topsides were immaculate. It’s a real pity that there was not one
new house that fitted into the Sydney Harbour waterfront in this gauche estate development.
All new buildings were in the American collegiate architectural style and are bad taste schmuck, and as alien as a bowler hated pin-striped banker with his proverbial brolly strutting his way through in Timbuktu.
Thereafter we worked our way uphill and then across to Kelly’s Bush. Again no surprises BUT, having deluged the Saturday before many of the steps and tracks were now mini-swimming pools and the fearful in the ranks were horrified at getting their pristine $240-00 running shoes and socks a little wet and muddy. Boo Hoooooo! The Shame and Gutless… bottled out and walked back to base along the road.
No I tell a lie. Walking is far too good a description of their perambulating leg movements. It was more like an amble in slow motion. It was so friggin slow that Brian the Snail (Remember Magic Roundabout?) would have had no difficulty in keeping up. It seems that there is a growing rank and file of not just nonrunners who for medical reasons and physical limitations have taken to walking. That in itself is no shame…But what is the point of walking so slowly that you don’t even break wind let alone break into the
slightest sweat. And to top it all, it seems that there is a growing ethos to see if they can shorten the already expurgated version of the run. Now I won’t name names right now but the culprits will know who they are. As a tip, some fast walking effort is warranted to get the most out of the evening, and also to acknowledge the work input from the hares.
Now compared to the run that our South African refugee dished up last September (25th to be precise) the Tall White Master had taken great pains to teach his man servant how to lay and read a trail.. It seems his ‘boy’ still cries for freedom, so much so, that he even wrote an “agony aunt” type book called….yep you’ve guessed it ….“Cry Freedom”.
One would have thought that this African native would have learned the hunting arts of tracking n’ all that, but sadly it seems that this wannabe White Shit lad was from the urban ghettos and had to wait until his Tall White Master Boss gave him studied lessons. Even then I heard him (Tall White Master) say that it took a Rhino hide whip before the lad had learned the true ways of his master’s instructions.
Not only were the arrows exclusive to our running group on Monday, but they were set at regular intervals interspersed with recognisable and sizable dobs of …White Shit (aka flour), and I’m advised on very good authority that the run map was exemplary. Graphically perfect in fact. But as the Tall White Master was coupled (so to speak) with his South African Man Servant, of formerly sullied reputation (from 25-09-2012), any end of year accolades will be held in reserve for further adjudication by the appointed and
assessing jury.
For the second week running we had the steak deal on a Monday night special of $12-50.
An incredibly low price for this blue chip locale. Which instantly gives rise to the old saying that “there’s no such thing as free lunch”
Goonshow’s indomitable critique research reveals the following….. It should be noted that the Sydney Morning Herald foodie supplement yesterday attempted to explain the
philosophy of the pub that failed to sell any wine under $32 a bottle!
“Anthony Medich (any relation of the murderer???), MD of the Medich Corporation which owns the Woolwich Pier Hotel believes the secret is “providing a unique and interesting experience. It’s not just about cold beer and loud music. We’re very much a food-orientated venue, so providing good quality pub food while still providing
value is critical. On the drinks side, you’ve got to have the right range of beers and wines (sic ..to make a fat profit) while offering some unique and interesting drinks too. We’re always trying to evolve our cocktail list, for instance”.
All too true…the cheapest ($32-00) red piss that one could purloin from behind the bar was not worthy as sink cleaner let alone washing back with a juicy steak. A bottle discreetly carried into the backroom of the pub from a certain hashman’s private cellar was the exception for the night, and highly appreciated by three at the end of one table. This was a lesson learned with stealth at the Christmas in July bash (many years ago) at the Jenolan Caves dinner when more bottles from external sources were cleared at the end
of the dinner than the hotel even had in their own cellar.
And this is a lesson for future hares this winter …..check out the price and quality of wines when we host On-On’s at licensed premises
Your Hash Journo
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