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 Run 1589 AMERICAN INDEPENDENCE DAY - Ali Baba

 Statistics: Members 31, New Members and Visitors. 8 Total 39

 As we set off, once again, across the plains to the south of Ali Baba Restaurant a shroud of heavy black clouds was attempting to conceal Puncak and threatened a downpour later in the event. Jostling for position had been for naught as we reached the southern fringe of the valley and the usual check. Some hashers delved into the recesses of the countryside to find paper, others stood and flapped about like headless chickens pretending to check, others simply gawked. Eventually on-on was called and we were off to the left. After weaving through the sawah the trail eventually veered to the right and up into the singkong and scrub. Tarzan and Leeky Dick were the most impressive of the trailblazers, at this time, and were always out there urging the pack onwards.

 A sudden halt and the trail was lost! A new cycle of pathfinding began. With the pack spread hither and thither the telltale sniff of paper was finally detected after what appeared to be an endless episode [7 minutes 34 seconds]. Hashers rejoined from various directions as we parted our way through a gloomy bamboo thicket and then out in to the open countryside, once again. The run was now exerting its toll on the more senior and less able runners, whose efforts gradually slowed from a fierce gallop to a leisurely trot. A number sought refuge along the cobbled track that would, in due time, lead them back to the beer truck. For the rest of us any suggestion of slowing down was out of the question, as we darted and threaded our way up and down hill, over rickety bridges, along river paths and finally that long, thirst quenching, run across the valley and back to where it all started, but an hour or so earlier. Drained of the last sap of energy we stood and praised ourselves, content in the knowledge that we had come through and survived an arduous test of endurance!

 VR Run Rating: 153/39 = 3.92307692307. [Which is most interesting when you consider that an Aardvark has four legs, only two more than my cockatoo].

 The Septics were out in force to celebrate Independence Day [a day late as usual]. The Stars and Stripes were variously worn on heads, on backsides, up backsides [Brits] and on socks. The Brits [who had been so kind as to give the colony away] didn’t seem much bothered, although they were generally disappointed about the way in which it had turned out. Prior to the start of the circle we were all less than entertained by the first pyrotechnical contribution, from no other than BB

 The circle was not informed of the tear-jerking story of twins separated at birth and recently reunited to set this run. From first appearances Magic Dragon and Clumpy are not physically identical, but look hard and you will spot the little mannerisms that will help to confirm that they are in fact siblings. One is tall with the grace of a gazelle, fashioned for running on the open plains and savannah, while the other is panther like, more compact, created for stealth and agility in the undergrowth. Yes, Magic Dragon [long streak of piss] and Clumpy [short fat bastard] had collaborated to set a run than was deemed to be good to excellent by HM, based on a number irritating, ingratiating, obsequious and sycophantic comments from various members who should have known better. Even Jerker thought the run praiseworthy. When are Witless, Angie and Simple Fred coming back – for some more unfair criticisms of other peoples runs, set at shot notice. Down downs were served for being American, looking like an American or for giving away colonies without permission.

 A new member [Kraut] asked me who was the plonker with the red bandages on his knees [and bad breath], but I didn’t tell him it was Bolt-I-On: Koncrete Kock was sporting the sort of shorts that give hashing a bad name; someone apparently stood on a newly dug grave and there were sniggers, from a gaggle of antipodeans, concerning the absence of Jonesy; our previously presumed defunct other scribe, Oleg, turned up but could not be coerced into putting pen to paper, being a Belgian I guess it is enough, at this time, that he should even venture out into semi-civilized company: a young Italian Australian from Chile [Cesir] confirmed my opinion that Australia was better off when the inhabitants were all convicts; Col. Bludnut announced his imminent return to the Green Grass of Home to seek reconciliation with his wife – he hadn’t though decided whether to take an overnight bag: Concorde continued to try to fashion his son [Microshite] in his own image – poor bastard; Conorde’s reference to spicks in the circle served to hinder our membership drive down at the Italian Embassy; Catacombzee and Smoking-Joe Udo [once again] did not receive hash names; returning Maandi, Fanny, Dripper, Poisin, Fucking Wendy [wanker with flag on head] didn’t really get settled in, although Tarzan, who was also returning, was life and soul of the circle-unfortunately: being English Superbrat did not apologize for not putting the advertisement of the run in the paper; the Welsh squad continued to impress as the leading candidates for hash team of the year. Yoshie smiled philosophically, while his fellow country man Itchy Cock smiled uncomplainingly as he was given down down after down down; Tommy the What and MGM commented little and Tom Jones stood gloomily on the side lines; from his lofty position Stretch was shy to volunteer as an additional scribe.

 Col. Bloodknot led the singing with ‘A Frenchman went to the Lavatory,’ and an attempt by Cesir to sing something vaguely Spanish continually defaulted to ‘My Sister Belinda.’ After a week of crafting new songs I must apologize to the hares for not knowing what the tunes were, although perhaps one was to ‘Oh when the………..’ Bob Hunter [new member] who is being groomed for next years MM, but did not sing.

 A chilled wind descended as Count Herpes entered the circle. We all knew that this most feared RA was destined to serve his sadistic retribution for the slightest of misdemeanors. The big one was filled and we knew that someone was going to pay the highest penalty. But who? One who appeared to come so close was Dripper with his undying support for Manchester United, which makes him unpopular in the Transalvanian homeland of the RA. Various hashers were punished Botaksan for finding alternative comfort, while his wife is in Bali on holiday; yours truly for unknowingly giving the Rope a nasty virus which has been difficult to clear up and Rudy Hutagoran was viciously dealt with for being a thoroughly nice chap. The big one was never bequeathed, but its presence had made us all a little nervous.

 BB-back with a bang! After going through a funny phase [trying to tell jokes], BB returned to what he does best, making big bangs. His exploding Independence Day cake had an immense impact on the night, but was nearly a recipe for disaster as flying objects whizzed their way past heads and on to the roofs of Kijangs and the restaurant. All was well in the end though. The night was rounded off at the expense of. Go Blok-M, who made a fool of himself, when giving a short lecture on flags of the world.

 The circle ended well after eight and a tidy size bunch of jolly hashers transferred to Ali Baba Restaurant, for a doze of diarrhea. It had been a memorable night and we slept tight or tight knowing that hashing is alive and well, on Monday nights in Jakarta. There was no rain - to talk of that is.

 There were no achievements Maandi had just returned from Europe sporting a new spare tyre and had not got around to it analyze his stats. After a series of late down-downs my writing deteriorated and subsequently I could not read my notes. Nick Leeson look alike, Copper Dick, may have come second or fifth for the award of Prick of the Week, but I have the vague recollection that it went to Anothernewkraut, alongside me, who may have been called Michael Maintz, in real life. For what reason I have no idea!

 A quick note from the Corridors of Power: Last week I was privileged to attended my first committee meeting. Rather subdued and shy I quietly took in the proceeding from the farthest end of the table, lapping at the pearls of wisdom emanating from that group of top class hashers chosen to see the hash through the Millenium. After two and a half hours of intense debate concerning difficult and delicate issues Sheepskin showed us consistently why he is where he is. I will always remember how he was able to satisfy the different factions over a split verdict and protracted argument concerning the selection of the color of hash umbrellas.

 Back to the bonsai [E.M.].

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