Hash No: 442 - 17 NOV 07 - Hac Sa Norman's A2A


Hash #442

The Assault on Wuthering Heights


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. I dont know what we did to upset Colonic, but last Saturday he decided to vent his irritation on the rest of us. Wan Cums fiery glow as she got in from her bit of laying told us that it was hot and hard, and then Colonics throwaway line that the Runners & Walkers choice would be obvious sealed it: we were going upstairs.


We passed the Hac Sa dolls houses in trepidation, their roofs festooned with voodoo pins to ensure our fate. This was quickly forgotten on the scramble along the rocks to Cheok Van Gardens, which was a pleasant enough game of Dodge the Turds donated by the local dog owners - well, maybe only their pets to judge by their size and aroma. Our way was guided with flour and about 200 arrows left by some previous genius who obviously understood that cyclists cant find their way along a straight line without a spray-painted arrow every 3 metres. If anyone knows who he is, could they please ask him to drop by and redecorate our flat once hes finished the mountain?

Anyway, still in turpentine we climbed the steps at the end and found ourselves doubling back along the upper trail all the way to the steps down to Hellene Gardens. Hmm, Colonic can be an irritating ******* at times: 3K of running and were nearly back where we started. Oh well, never mind, over the road, a quick lap around the back of Hellene Gardens and were heading for the beer. Good old Colonic, he was only joking after all and its all going to be over in 20 minutes flat. Thats when his words came back to haunt us. Yep, there it was, the dreaded split and the Runners arrow pointing straight up the Stairway to Heaven.

Big, strong hashers as we are, we accepted this misfortune with muffled curses, and manfully dragged ourselves up to Six Ways, all except Virgin Helena, who isnt a man as far as Im aware, but turned out to be an FRB instead. Thankfully the trail levelled off for just long enough to nearly get our breath back before the next downturn, which was really an upturn in the shape of an assault on Wuthering Heights via the stairs to the temple picnic area. By the time we got there, bones creaking and thighs all wobbly, some of us were suffering from altitude sickness and blathering on about Colonics parentage, or the lack thereof. I wasnt around when he got his name, but some decidedly unpleasant images crossed my mind as I scaled the south face of McCows Mount Calvary.

A prayer of relief (I think thats what it was) could be heard as we reached the summit and crossed ourselves in front of the Statue of Our Blessed Virgin Helper. This was immediately followed by less elevated utterings as we started mountain-sheep-hopping down the steps on the other side. We then leaped over the next track and hopped our way down the even more steps to Hac Sa Damn. We have to thank our hares for this opportunity to tone up our calf muscles, to balance the thigh work provided on the way up. By the time they got to the bottom even Shit House and Nancy Boy would have added grace and sophistication to a lovely legs contest.

At least the home run along the beach was mercifully flat, though its a bit of a challenge trying to look sportsman-like and not too knackered as you weave your way through the curious throngs of day-trippers when its clear to everyone that youre dripping with sweat and gasping for air. Colonic sat outside Normans with an innocent expression, only the twinkle in his eye giving away his joy at our condition.

The call to beer is a powerful one, and its hard to keep a hasher away from the eskie. A number of hashers claimed that the Grand Pricks had made them come late. Surprisingly, this included our illustrious GM, Mini Me and Roger & Out. Pistifferous (a.k.a. How The **** Do You Spell That?) mysteriously turned up at the end though nobody saw him at the start, but at least he was sweaty when he got in. Shit House was given up for dead at one point but he must have caught the scent of ale and battled against the odds to make it in, whilst Fishy Fingers couldnt be bothered with all that crap, turned up on her bicycle and just got stuck into the beer.

Constant Wanker wowed the circle with his new fashion line featuring full-body condoms and matching sunglasses. Of course, the hares were deservedly punished, as was everyone for some miscarriage of justice or other which mostly escapes me. That reminds me: I must make a note to myself to start making notes to myself.

Get back to work you lot.

Nancy Boy

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