Run Write Up Rated 18+
However, Dingo’s canine scent and the geographical competence of those who were meant to hare meant that we actually met up in King’s Cross. To my knowledge the West London Hash is so named due to running anywhere with a ‘W’ in the postcode, within the Greater London area. Obviously the rules have changed as meeting in King’s Cross (N1) is to appease those with Jonathan Woss – esque lisps as to a ‘W’ in the name of the location.
As Mother Nature then downed a slush puppy and then proceeded to open her 888 crack and endow the Hash with the subsequent climatic occurrence, 9 hashers set of a trail to blaze the streets of north London dry. 9 could have been 13 but for four hashers, namely Bhopal, Unacceptable, Rambo and Thunderthighs commenting at the start of the hash as “It’s too rainy, we’ll stay here” and the motivational“I’ll see you at the finish” .
For those who did run, it seemed after the debacle of initial hare raising and the subsequent sorting out of that problem, Mother Nature’s slush puppy p8ss down took the p8ss itself in washing away the trail. To believe that Dingo took the afternoon off to mark a trail led to 7 others, with retrospective awareness, produce helpful remarks such as‘what was the f point…eh?’ Thankfully, what Australians lack in culture they make up in memory and the trail was re-done as we ran. Practically every mark had to be re-done and even the checks, which we still had to check as icicles were falling upon our continually soaking hash gear, but familiarity helped us get back on trail as we ran back into a postcode with a‘W’.
The hash sells itself as a ‘drinking club with a running problem’ but this would have to be re-written as something not before seen was to be focused upon my retinas. There was the usual athletic techniques as shown by Stayover, Dingo, Kiss My A8se and even my-John Barnes athleticism of the late 1990s-self but to my absolute shock… for all he was fat and round, for all he does bounce on the ground, POPE f RAN THE WHOLE f HASH (F it…I’ll give him the whole distance!)!! However, he constantly moaned like a bi8ch about the weather throughout, along with Pickled F who did have reason to moan at a driver who nearly ran him and yours truly over as they didn’t have their f headlights on (yes…the driver was female!) . But West London turned to City Hash in terms of our unforeseen running at speed abilities. If this was a play by the Bard, I’m sure the narrator would come out with a line such as ‘If it’s cold and rainy, one f runs!’
Like midgets we ran back into the hhh who stayed in the pub as they were happily drinking what they had already bought some time ago. The 9 who ran went to the bar and ordered their drinks feeling morally justified for some reason but not sure if that feeling can be put into words just yet. As we jollied and had conversation which included a mention of crap jokes being repeated by Stayover as he went to a stand up show the previous night (I bet that long winter’s evening just flew by!) out of the blue a small group of hashers burst through the door having, would you believe it…RUN. Namely S Fart, Mic-Mac, Charlatan, Spare-Rib and the imaginatively named Lionel had followed the trail re-drawn by Dingo and had made it back. They may have attended late but an enthusiasm of Henry V proportions was shown by the following dialogue between S Fart and Spare Rib.
Spare Rib: “It’s f raining, let’s stay in the pub and drink beer.”
Sperm Fart: No, let’s run, we should earn our beer on the hash!”
Spare Rib: ‘OK’
And On-On to the circle where I would have attended earlier but for Mad Cow’s King John hash cash style of collecting money. Even more possessive was Rambo who had lost his pint, distracted the circle and crieduntil a fellow hasher found a whole pint that was sitting at the bar for the duration of his rant. Dingo was made to drink as she obviously had to celebrate Australia’s ashes but by the time she finished downing her half pint Australia did something more shocking to English eyes and had enough time to develop a culture!
So after more jollying in a north London, dog vomit ridden, bullet holed pub in the back streets of somewhere without a ‘W’in the post code, we hashers pushed towards merriment with the festive season approaching.
Of this Hash, the audience may cry hurrah to those nine, those happy nine who ran in the rain. Hurrah also to those few, those happy few who ran even when late for we are a band of brothers (and sisters…let’s not be sexist!). But to quote Charlatan, to those who know not how to use the calendar sections of their smartphones and to the soft hhh who never earned their beers…
‘To Hash or not to Hash?’ is certainly a question that must be answered!