Hash 477 : 12.7.08 : Ocean Gardens Fountains

Hares: Roger & Out / Maid in Macau           Scribe: Nancy Boy
It felt strange gathering at Ocean Gardens fountains without the sky emptying on our heads as it had done for weeks. This time the weather men had predicted thunder and lightning, so we were looking forward to a glorious sunny day’s hashing with Roger & Out’s birthday chucked in for a bit of icing.
We set off, with Cunter Ass streaking down one side of the road and the rest of us keeping to the other in more modest attire. We couldn’t understand how he managed to keep going as it seemed to us that the flour was all on our side. Imagine our delight when we got around the first corner to discover that we had just run the shortest trail in history, for there it was: ‘ON IN’.
Tempting though it was to take advantage of this sudden good fortune, nobody would ever believe that we had got around the whole trail in under 4 minutes without jet propulsion, and we would no doubt face severe punishment for extreme SCB’ing. Crestfallen, we turned around and tramped off after Cunter Ass. Unfortunately, this took us straight to the stairs leading up to the Little Taipa trail.
Once we had sweated our way to a check at the top of the steps the trail turned left, twisted full circle through the bushes and dumped us right back at the top of the steps. Off we went again, and rather than spending the rest of eternity following the fabled oozle bird which runs around in ever-decreasing circles before disappearing up its’ own arsehole, we ignored the trail this time and set off into the great unknown.
Yes, there was more flour further along the trail, and shortly after that there wasn’t because there was another check. We scouted in every direction we could think of without digging or flying but try as we might we couldn’t find any flour - until some magically appeared a couple of paces further along the trail than we had already looked. Well, it was a hot day and some of us couldn’t see very well, with self-induced headaches from the night before and all the stress of being a flour scout. No dib-dib-dib or dob-dob-dob there then.
Back on track, we made our way to the stairs under the bandstand, with Shit House bemoaning the hares’ parentage, and then down to a check on the road below. True trail went towards the Hyatt, and so did we. It was a long time ago, and with short-term memory failure now an established feature in your reporter’s daily life the details are a bit vague, but somehow we ended up running up the road opposite Taipa graveyard to the junction at the top, where the trail crossed to a check on the other side.
Hasher Steve (who has since acquired the esteemed title Buck F**k) checked left, and followed flour to the steps opposite the top of the cemetery leading up to the graves in the shiggy. Halfway up the steps the hares had drawn a frowning face and written ‘BAS****S’. Well, we thought, they could have found a more diplomatic way to set a check-back, but we took the hint anyway and set off towards Kingsville, searching Water Tank Road, the ornamental pond and every other possibility, all in vain. So we went back to try again, and just beyond the frowning face was more flour. We decided there and then who the BAS****S were, and followed their tracks all the way up to the top trail.
There we circuited left to a check by the lakes, and from there staggered up the great humpback steps to the top of the hill, where we looped right onto the new bulldozer trail, down the freshly-cut stairs, left at the bottom and on to the water tank. It was hot, we were still miles away from home, and I think we may have been on the verge of tears.
Short-term memory failure aside, I believe we then did a long-distance sprint (more of a stroll really, but a really fast one) through the museum houses, on through Taipa Village, on past the Jockey Club, on through Ocean Gardens tunnel and on back to the fountains via the ‘in’ trail which we were quite familiar with by now. There we were greeted as long-lost friends, or it may have been something a little less polite, which is just how we felt as everyone else had been in for ages.
Once we had eaten Roger & Out’s birthday cake, we got down to grilling him (it was a hot day, remember). Why the short circuit at the top of the steps? What was the frowning face all about? R&O tried to explain that the short circuit all had been part of a grand plan and not a cock-up, but would you have believed him? Apparently the frowning face was related to a pile of garbage that someone had dumped on the steps, which the pack was not meant to take personally, but we decided to take it personally anyway, and carried on with the grilling.
The circle was marshalled by Pubic Plucker, who kept us all on a tight leash, or she probably would have had we not been in such a public place. Maybe Abu Ghraib would suit her better? All were punished mercilessly for the slightest transgression, real or imaginary, so we all had a nice time until it was time to go, when the Bollockmobile decided that it liked the circle and didn’t want to leave.
In response to Bolton Bollocks’ suggestion that the Bollockmobile is available for Hash logistical support, i.e. trucking beer, may I ask anyone who has driven it apart from him for their opinion? This was the last time it ventured from its bunker in the bowels (pardon the pun) of the earth below Hac Sa, and it will also be the last time for a while I’m afraid.
Not content with needing 3 attempts to make it out of the Miramar car park after a men’s hash a few weeks earlier, it had stalled 5 times on the way to Ocean Gardens. Ok, it may only have been looking for flour, but now, no matter how we tried to coax it with offers of a nice wax job and a new set of door handles, it wouldn’t budge. We couldn’t argue: after all, there are worse things in life than to be stuck in a broken down beer truck, but that’s hashing for you, so a few of us helped to reduce its’ heavy burden as much as possible by drinking beer and carrying cans by hand and then headed for the Irish Bar instead.
That’s all for now...both short- and long-term memory banks at critically low level...more beer...
On on
Nancy Boy