3 October – Ealing

Note to self: in future, make sure you do not find yourself loitering around a checkpoint in the company of Dingo and the Pope, when scribe duties are still to be handed out. Better to head off and pretend to be breaking the check than to stick around and get dumped on. Anyway, I digress. By the time this incident occurred I, and much of the rest of the pack, were recovering from the life-threating experience of crossing the North Circular in full late-rush-hour spate. But more on that later. The run started with the customary welcome to visitors, returnees, etc, which included hashers from Texas and Australia (who was, I believe, considering joining WLH permanently). Birthday boy for the day was Kiss My Ass, who was duly issued with the birthday cake hat and the bare ass pants. The spare set of ass pants were allocated to All Fours, for no particular reason that I could discern, although this did give rise to certain ungentlemanly activity later in the run. Then it was time to head On On into the wilds of Ealing Our hares for the evening, Ryde and TableWhine, had felt it necessary for us to experience some of the newly reclaimed scenic woodland pathways adjacent to the Brentham Estate, and this necessitated the perilous North Circular Road crossing. Having just returned from a few days working in Bangkok, a city not renowned for its courteous driving, I was fortunate enough to have picked up a few road crossing survival techniques. The best tip, in my view, is to wait for some local to attempt the crossing first, then follow closely behind, but keeping a good 10m or so downstream. That way, the cars hit the other guy first, which slows them down a bit. Anyway, this technique worked OK for me, and I got to the other side largely unscathed, and then just kept on running to drown out the sound of car horns and the dull thud of metal against flesh. It was only later, as we were running along the A40 that I saw the fleet of ambulances, presumably heading to the scene of carnage on the North Circular. But I guess the attrition rate was not that excessive, since there seemed to be more people at the circle than there were at the start. And so we progressed along some of the more obscure back alleys of North Ealing, encountering more checks than a bad game of chess, and more false trails than an Agatha Christie novel. Sometimes, we were even running along the intended trail set by the hares, although this is more likely to have been the result of luck rather than judgment as many hashers had omitted to bring along a torch. (Apparently instructions should have gone out to remind hashers to come suitably equipped, but this had somehow failed to be passed on). To give the hares credit where it is due, they did manage to make good use of the limited bits of greenery available in this otherwise rather suburban environment. On several occasions throughout the run, Optimist was observed flashing at people in various dark alleyways. If he has not been reported to the Police for this behaviour, then hopefully we may see some entertaining photos on the site shortly. Arriving back in the Haven Arms after, I thought, having been among the front 2 or 3 FRBs towards the latter part of the run, I was not entirely surprised to see several fellow hashers sitting at the bar already half way through their first pint! They (no names to protect the guilty) had obviously got the practice of short-cutting down to a fine art. And then on to the circle, with our RA for the evening, Butt Plug, awarding down downs to all the usual suspects including the hares, visitors, etc. A special penalty was awarded to Bhopal, Stayover, and Kiss My Ass for molesting All Fours en-route. (I did not witness the event in question, but apparently it involved some sort of interaction with her bare ass pants.) Her revenge was to give them a good whacking on their bare ass pants with a wooden plank. I felt that Bhopal was probably enjoying the experience a bit too much as he asked for more, whereas Stayover had clearly experienced repeated corporal punishment in his schooldays and was quick to slide additional bum protection into his pants before he received his whacking. I’m sure they have all learned their lesson, but don’t ask me what.

On On New Balls (Please)

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