Hash 468 : 17.5.08 : Adult education : Pagoda opposite Galaxy

Hares: Scooter Babe & Nasiturd        Scribe: Nancy Boy

Scooter Babe is such a dedicated lady. She works hard at school, but still finds time for voluntary work to help those in need. Looking around for the social group most likely to benefit from elementary education, she soon realised that there was no-one more in need than the Hash. To get us to turn up she sent out an email saying, ‘Photo Hash. Come early to get your instructions’, which certainly got our imaginations racing: what kind of photos could she mean, and would we have to do it in public? The ‘classroom’ was to be the pagoda opposite Galaxy.

It was clearly going to be a challenge, and with all of the worry she forgot to bring the blackboard and had to do all of her writing on the ground. Hashers from developing nations such as America would have been used to that, but most of us found it a bit difficult reading it all upside-down, and could have done with a bit of one-on-one. The hash class fell into two groups: the ones larking about at the back of the class and the poor souls who lacked the necessary brain power and shouldn’t have been there anyway, so nobody really understood what to do and it was obvious that we were all going to end up in detention - if we managed to find our way back in that is.
The plan was ambitious: she was going to develop our brains as there would be no trail to tell us where we were going. We didn’t like to tell her that that's the normal situation on half of our hashes. She did say though that at each check a photo of the next check would be hidden within a 50-metre radius. Aha, geography! This sounded simple enough, so off we trotted in search of photos, the first being somewhere near Haagen Daz, the Taipa Village laundry.
It was a warm afternoon so we fanned out looking for the photo, and whilst I was behind the OTT, the others found it and took off. When I got back to Haagen Daz there wasn’t a sole to be seen, nor could I find the photo. I ran around in a panic, and glimpsed Colonic disappearing around a corner in the distance. I duly followed, guessing that he must have some idea of where he was going, and as I got to the corner St. Peter appeared behind me, assuming that I knew where I was going...
There wasn’t another hasher in sight. We were tempted to skip school for the rest of the afternoon to help with the eskies, but fear of an angry teacher and six of the best kept us going. Using our brains as instructed we calculated that the next check must be at a well-known landmark, and as we were en route to the Guia Lighthouse we passed the Fountains Roundabout, where our classmates were running around shouting ‘Are you’ and some other things I’d better not repeat. ‘It must be playtime’, we decided, and happily joined in, but it turned out that this was the next check and nobody could find the photo. Twenty minutes later after looking everywhere we could think of we had drawn a blank, or at least we would have if we had had some chalk with us.
In the end some teacher's pet found the photo and shouted 'On-on'. Playtime was over and we were on our way to Taipa post office. At this point some of us decided that we should stick together, especially the ones who didn't know where Taipa post office was. Craig and Candice had been there but hadn’t seen any photo, so we wandered about in ever-increasing circles until the photo was spotted, hidden behind a concrete barrier. 'Oh cripes, it's all the way to Ocean Gardens tunnel', we said, and loped off with a wistful glance as we passed the locked doors of the Irish Bar.
We milled about at the tunnel entrance until the swot who was good at geography realised that we were at the wrong end, found the photo at the other end and led us straight back to the Irish Bar. It was still closed, saving us from temptation and dire punishment later. Someone found a nice photo nearby, which took us back along the road we had come down 20 minutes earlier, past the photo of the tunnel, and on to CTM. If there had been any flour we’d have been running back and forth along the same bit of trail for the rest of the day, or at least until the Irish opened.
We crossed the escalator bridge to the panda cafe, had a nice wander about in the garden centre, and then found ourselves at the filling station opposite Kingsville. We hadn’t lost ourselves really, but we had kept losing the trail. A photo of the little park at the foot of the road up Taipa Hill sent us scurrying along to the little park at the foot of the road up Taipa Hill. No photo. Passing motorists must have wondered at the sanity of a group of adults climbing over graveyard walls, peering under picnic tables and playground equipment, behind trees and under bridges, over and over again. St. Peter, who was on his last run and ready to move on to greater intellectual challenges, used his brain again and decided that the park in the photo must be the one by Park‘n’shop. His brain must have been getting tired by now though because a passing glance at the photo by the petrol station showed us that it was clearly the little park at the foot of the road up Taipa Hill.
Back we went. We didn’t know where to look any more, but I think someone must have given up on their brain and used their mobile instead, because next thing I knew we were all trudging up the road up Taipa Hill. At the water tank at the top we found a photo of the radar station at the summit, and suddenly realised that it was already after six o’clock and we should really be getting back to the eskies, otherwise Teacher would be worrying about us. Bush Pussy and Tittyana wanted to go all the way but the men decided that they had finished coming and wanted to go instead, so we left them to scale the heights whilst we worked out the straightest route to the eskies.
Back at the pagoda we found out what had gone wrong. The more intellectually gifted had understood that there was actually a runner-walker split and that Pubic and Wan Cum had walked to the little park at the foot of the road up Taipa Hill (I love copy & paste) before the runners. Sadly, not being among the ‘gifted’ group they had taken down the photo of the next check as a keepsake of their education, leaving all who followed with the greatest intellectual challenge of all: telepathy. This being the hash, there was little chance of anyone overcoming that obstacle, even though St. Peter had had a go, so the naughty girls were severely punished. ‘Get them down’ we shouted, and they DID! They drank several down-downs and promised not to be so naughty again.
Meanwhile the down downs were taking their toll and we forgot all about the most important event. I blame our new GM, who happens to be the husband of our Russian heroine: not quite giving birth at the coal face, but Betty’s Boobs was indeed hashing only 3 days before the arrival of the new little Cossack, and on her 100th run at the same time, but nobody noticed...well it is the hash, isn’t it?
On on
Nancy Boy