Ever so nice greenkeeper/caretaker Mr. Hardcase implored us to keep off the greens ….. such a sensitive chap, Mr. Hardcase … Ironic since on this very spot some years ago, Stirstick got very angry with a satpam who stopped him cycling through this exquisite green wasteland when it was under construction. It nearly came to blows with Jacques calling the satpam a cunt and on pointing to his uniform as a badge of ultimate authority, Jacques delivered the final insult, before we dragged him off "bah ! anyone can buy a shirt in fucking Blok M !"

Anyway Jacques was probably right. As we approached the run site by car, we left the lush rice paddies and superb volcanic scenery behind and then entered a dismal wasteland of once manicured lawns and fairways. We were left wondering "why did they fuck up some of the loveliest hash country in the world to create this monstrous "blot on our landscape ?". Anyway, Hard Case says we have to be nice to them so we can come back again.

There is still some magnificent running country nearby, and the hares made good use of it.

Clumpy took an afternoon off from work to help his mate Hardy since Banci buggered (oops inappropriate use of word perhaps) off to KL at short notice. Clumpy took a risk that he might lose his job but "the Hash comes first".

A really pretty short-time run. Just as well cos Frank moaned about "older, fatter, slower" and "Walrus" Bob (the fat guy with his right hand permanently glued to a Bir Mug) was seen almost dying at the top of the hill after the final river crossing. Kind old Hardy had already given him a medicinal beer and he quickly recovered.

A very pleasant little leftie. Moronically easy checks early in the run kept "Zoodie and the Blow jobs" and this scribe well up front - more or less on paper - in some really pretty country. Then, at the end of a nice little valley followed by a check back up a hill to the right, the inexplicable happened : Instead of continuing to the right through a marvelous Javanese panorama of sawah, rivers and sunset, the trail suddenly kicked left and more or less straight line back to the Klub - (no not that Klub ; not yet anyway). Since the Klub was clearly visible to the hounds for the last 10 minutes of the run, this must have meant that Shoefokker and the other FRBS must have sighted it less than half an hour into the run. The last check around was a miserably obvious 20 metre straight on affair and did little to slow the stampede.

It was all very scenic, well recceed and pretty, but far too short Everybody ( incl Yoshi !), back in 45 minutes. I guess we couldn't expect Clumpy to waddle much further, so I think we voted it a fine, short, effort. Nice trails and nice slimy river crossing to finish.

Thanks for the "Emperors" shirts hares - totally invisible

Convened at 6.05 by ShamCock & Co - bored with waiting around for the official proceedings to start. Only went to prove that none of us know the words of even the simplest hash songs so it quickly fizzled out and give way to social drinking. Anyway, at around 6.25, our resident Boy Bandit HM, resplendent in red, and complete with alarm clock, kicked off the official circle. Most of us were pissed already.

The hares, in their disgusting purple shirts left over from a Quantity Surveyors run at ISCI some years ago, endured a very long, but very witty discussion which involved most of the circle including great quips from Bloodknock and Witless. (In case you don't know, Clumpy really is a professional Quantity Surveyor - "I survey huge quantities of food, then I eat it" he once reported to a puzzled exhibitor at a Food trade show who was perplexed as to why a QS should be at a food show !) Clumpy can also draw the straightest of straight lines between himself and the nearest fridge - without a GPS ! and sometimes even while half asleep. A real pro, our Clumpy. Anyway, he's leaving again, so fuck off Clumpy.

Over and out to next scribe, which breaking with protocol and tradition, is the co - hare himself : MR CLUMPY !

After waiting twenty minutes for the HM to finish powdering his arm pits (or was it having his arse rubbed by Jerker) proceedings eventually got under way despite Shamcock’s attempt to usurp Hash protocol by inciting malicious behaviour by forming a splinter circle (or would that be a sphincter circle.ed?).

Yeh there were DD’s for returners too few to mention, Klumpy got his shorts back from the HM complete with Lewinsky type cum stains and Choklat Kok with Koncrete Kok got rewarded for exposing a full mounty (Canadian style).

Our HM stole the show with the longest run discussion in JH3 history, and as my learned scribe has said it was almost longer than the run itself, but that’s not to imply the run was short cos it wasn’t. Comments on the run by various so called hard core hashers left a lot to be desired. Yoshi, give us a break, (preferably your ankle). Yoshi wouldn’t know a good run if it jumped out of his sushi and slapped him in the mouth. Bloodnok’s disparaging remarks could have been reserved for his rugby club night out, that well known financial wizard and entreprenuer , if you could buy him for what he’s worth and sell him for what he thinks he’s worth, you’d make a fortune. It wasn’t until the likes of Rubber Turd, MGM, Maaandi, Arsefelt and Witless Wanker offered their opinions that the true quality of this run became apparent. My gracious oh how humbled I am ‘Landlord’ Dr Jerker (what a hasher, what a sport) got lost and could offer no more than his account of this Good Run hereinbeforescribed. The run discussion finally ended with the HM looking questioningly at the Hashit Holder Board, the audacity of the man, or had he simply recognised a long lost relative? A single block of ice together with the uproar of public support against such a miscarriage of Hash justice soon brought his ANKER addled brain into focus, and a ‘very good run’ was duly awarded.

This circle was notable for one other memorable event. It was this evening that the much maligned and often misunderstood (though mostly through dyslexia) hash song book finally came into it’s own (like the Jewish banker who bought his wife a gold diaphragm so he could come into his own money). Shamcock started with a rendition of ‘my favourite things’ as he sang he realised just how funny it was and promptly broke down laughing mid song giggling like a choir boy who has just watched the bride sit on one of his choklat coated gum drops. Koncrete cock tried to interject, at this time of year that’s like asking King Herod to look after the kiddies play pen at Mothercare, mercifully Mudguard stepped up to continue the song and he too finally discovered the magic in the almost forgotten words as he guffawed himself into oblivion. Someone explain to these excuses for MM’s that this song has always raised a few smiles.

RA GoBlokM narrowly escaped ice as some spots of rain were felt only to discover it was Jerker on the beer truck shaking off the drips. The co-hare and cocohares songs were splendid and akin to the beautiful melodies Ulysses discovered when listening to the ‘Sirens’ tied to the ships mast. There certainly wasn’t any need to tie anyone down but some wax would have came in handy. It could have been worse, it could have been a duet.

Klumpy.