RIVIERA HASH TRASH 570
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Perth Interhash, 21st - 23rd March 2008
The U.K. Nash Hash 28/08 – 31/08/08. Organised by Edinburgh HHH,
Marathon Bhutan, 7th September 2008
The swingers ball
Hashing on the Côte d'Azur has officially reinvented itself as a cross dressing swinging club in search of live offal to insert in an orifice.
At least, this is what seemed to be happening at the annual Padre end-of-Ramadam-Haggis-Hunt. A brightly coloured crowd largely attired in Tartan turned up at the gates of a miserable sod's estate in Le Rouret to start an afternoon of mayhem. This being Burns day (ish), there was a financial incentive to be Scottish, in the form of a zero run fee. Padre & Cumalot elected for the Russ Abbott inspired red wig & tartan hat approach. Jobsworth totally forgot about it and tore the 2 Scottish pages from his European road map to pretend he had remembered, whilst Perpetch (for me), won the award by being totally mean spirited & declaring that he doesn't like the Scots anyway. Needless to say, neither Perpetch nor Jobsworth were waived their run fee.
Now to the swinging. Padre had gleefully announced that he was going to take Two Cheeky's virginity on this run. Not only that, he was to do so in front of Big End and with her full blessing. Fortunately, the virginity was of a laying variety - flour laying, you dirty minded S&%t - and this was done in typical Padre style by starting the hash down into a gorse filled valley.
Once in the valley, S&M came into the equation, at least for those who could not see what was going on. There was lots of noise of the pain - confused - with - sexual - ecstasy variety as the runners pushed past the walkers and then got caught in the barbed wire style thicket. After the sexual high, the FRBs realised that they were onto a falsie and wound back onto the walkers trail.
Two Cheeky, we have now established, enjoys swinging and S&M. To this must be added voyeurism as her delight at seeing a pack with blood oozing from scratched legs was clear for all to see. Padre, however, was blasé, having witnessed such orgies many times before.
An incredible thing about Padre is that no matter how much you believe you know an area, he discovers more for you. We were in the golden triangle around Opio (alas not opium growing in Northern Thailand) yet nobody had a clue where they were. However, after 45 minutes of thickets, a sign marked "beer" was clear for all to see. Shurely shome mishtake? In fact, no. Padre had decided to be gentle with his virgin and keep the experience short and memorable.
The beer stop was in the delightful back garden (or, should I say, back forest) of Padre's wood chipping friend. Now, longer term residents may remember the case of the daughter of the owner of the Palais de la Mediterranée in Nice. She disappeared in mysterious circumstances some 20 years ago, seemingly in some mafia tit for tat operation. Some say that she was fed to the fish, whilst others believe that her body was interred under tonnes of concrete of what is now the spanking new casino in Nice. I put it to you, m'lud, that this is complete bunkum. She was taken to Le Rouret and disposed of in the wood chipping machine next to which we were holding the beer stop.
Now, the second half began but I have a sneaking suspicion that we left somebody behind.....will they ever be seen again?????
For me the second half was marred by the urgent desire to protect the forest from fires. Unfortunately, the pack was well ahead by the time I finished, so it was a half of following kicked out flour. Not much to report, then, beyond getting caught up in serious undergrowth.....again!
Back at the start, it was yet again a pleasure to see Contessa who, following her age old tradition, decided to arrive in time for the down downs.
Now, Farty Bum has agreed to do the walkers report and also has the down down list, so I leave it to her to comment on that. What it remains for me to say is big thanks to Padre & Two Cheeky for their excellent run and, even more so, big kisses to Big End and her helpers for the excellent spread laid on afterwards.
Well, it was a nice day - not brilliantly sunny, but decently pleasant, and 45 people turned out for the run, with 49 of them staying for the haggis, neeps and taties afterwards. So Padre was satisfied, I should think. And he wants a run report AND a walk report, so we'll see what we can cook up.
First of all, we had to get there. Now Padre has never been noted as a gifted directions-writer. Remember run # 514 - Padre and Sneaky Bastard, somewhere behind Nice, when the directions were so bad that Klingon and Boots showed up two hours late? Yes, that was Padre. He got a down-down for lousy directions that day too.
This time the run was "somewhere near Le Rouret". We were supposed to drive through Roquefort, find the sign indicating Le Rouret, then drive 1.1 kilometers to some traffic lights, continue another 400 meters, and turn left at a MOBALPA sign. So we tried that.
After 1.1 kilometers we seemed to be in the middle of bush, with no sign of any traffic lights, so we thought maybe we hadn't been paying attention, and everyone told Farty Bum to shut up, and we turned around and drove back to Roquefort to try again. Just as we were turning around Virgin Mouth said, "Oh, look! Here comes Pedo!" Pedo honked and continued straight on.
The second time we left Roquefort, we all kept quiet and watched for traffic lights. We were driving through a construction site when we suddenly shot past the MOBALBA sign as we rounded a bend. And Confusion said, "So THAT's why there are no lights - it's a construction site, and they don't use the lights on Sundays". (But do they take them home?)
So we had to turn around, and we overshot the MOBALBA sign a second time (meanwhile we saw Jobsworth drive straight through the spot where we had just turned around). But the third time we managed it, and turned into the MOBALBA road.
Then we were supposed to go downhill for 30 meters and turn RIGHT, into a tennis road. But after about 400 meters we still hadn't found a place to turn right, so once again we turned around, and drove all the way back to the main road, and we STILL didn't find a spot to turn (we were watching on the left this time, of course, since we were now going the opposite direction). So we turned around AGAIN, and drove the 400 meters AGAIN (searching on the right again), and then we saw the tennis sign (and a hash arrow) on the LEFT, so we turned LEFT and continued on our way. And we weren't there yet - all this is just to give you an idea - an idea of all the to-ing and fro-ing one goes through when following "directions" prepared by Padre.
Eventually we arrived at the site, where we found a large crowd of hashers, some in orange hair and red tam-o'shanters, some wrapped up in tarten blankets, some wearing plaid trousers or scarves, and all these people got out of paying their run fees, since they had obeyed the instructions to "dress Scottish". Confusion wasn't wearing anything Scottish, but she was carrying a tarten box of Scottish gingerbread (brought purely by accident, after she had failed to unload it at her book club the previous day) and Big End thought this was clever, so Confusion scraped through and got in free. Jobsworth, on the other hand, had hastily torn the map of Scotland out of his car atlas and tied it round his neck, but this was not deemed good enough and he was obliged to pay.
We were sorry not to have Klingon or Incredible Hulk, as they surely would have come in kilts - who can forget the snowy haggis run three years ago, when the kilted, knickerless Klingon straddled a barbed-wire fence, to the delight of Supermarket Trolley? But we were pleased to have Slasher, Roadrunner and Procul, who were all at the haggis run last year (frightening everyone out of their wits in that long dark tunnel), and we were particularly happy to see Idle Bitch, who hadn't been to a hash in about three years.
Dingus blew the whistle and called everyone together for pre-departure instructions, and Padre presented his virgin co-hare, Two Cheeky, who after many years of hashing was finally taking the plunge and learning the secrets of being a hare. I am sure everyone had heard the shocking rumours circulating throughout the hash - how Two Cheeky had been driven to the limits of endurance by her tyrannical supervisor (Padre), who had even forbidden her to go out on Saturday night and have fun!! He expected her to show up at the CRACK OF DAWN on Sunday to start laying the trail!!
Dingus blew the whistle again, and runners and walkers alike started down a hillside of widely spaced small trees and piles of dead leaves. I found myself walking beside Danish Bacon (who was looking very Scottish) and informed her that we had a new hasher called Finnish Fly, and Danish Bacon replied, "Yes, I've heard, and she's here today!!" We continued down for several minutes until Danish Bacon suddenly cried, "Is that her?", and I looked up to see Finnish Fly jogging by a short distance away. "Yes, that's her," I said, and Danish Bacon became quite excited, excused herself, and sprinted off to join her fellow nordic. Perhaps she should have gotten a down-down for this - "Scandinavian exclusiveness" - but we never remember incidents like this when we're in the circle, do we?
About this point the runners and walkers separated, with the runners continuing downhill, and the walkers turning leftwards onto a path. Here we found our virgin co-hare in quite a stew as she didn't know whether she was supposed to be at the front, leading, or at the back, watching for stragglers, and she wanted very badly to be doing the correct thing. We all told her that it was Shepherd's Bush's job to stay at the back, and we pointed him out to her, planted on the hillside, directing walkers off the downhill route and onto the walkers' trail. We told Two Cheeky that HER job was at the front, so she rushed off to the front.
Now that I think about it, could this be the spot where we lost Virgin Mouth and Carolyn? We learned at the end of the run (when they got a congratulatory down-down) that these two walkers had stumbled onto the runners' trail somehow, and kept up with them all the way to the beer-stop. Did Shepherd's Bush fail to point them in the proper direction? Perhaps he too deserved a down-down, for sloppy shepherding.
I now found myself walking with Idle Bitch. We continued along the walkers path for awhile, and then I remember going up a hillside of scattered small trees again, with lots of small rocks hidden under the heaps of dead leaves. It wasn't the steepest hill we've ever climbed, but with three years of Idle Bitch's life to catch up on, we were fairly puffed out by the time we arrived at the top. Then we went along a road, I think, and after awhile came to a fork in the trail where a large group of walkers was waiting at a check for Two Cheeky to tell them which way to go. "I'm not supposed to tell you!!" said the innocent virgin co-hare. "You're supposed to find out!!"
"You're not supposed to tell the RUNNERS!!" cried a chorus of walkers. "It's okay to tell US!!" "Are you sure?" asked Two Cheeky dubiously. "Of course we're sure!" said someone, possibly Confusion. "Now show us the way!!" So Two Cheeky indicated the path to the right, and all the walkers resumed their conversations as they headed into another bushy area.
Speaking of the innocence of the co-hare, I forgot to say earlier on that she was also quite astonished when she tried to pay her run fees and discovered she didn't have to. "I know I don't have to pay for the run," said Two Cheeky, who was decked out in a tarten ensemble, "but I want to stay for the meal." "You're a hare," said Farty Bum. "The hares don't pay. They get their meal free." Two Cheeky could hardly believe her good fortune. If only someone had told her this when she joined the hash, she would surely have lost her virginity years ago!!
Getting back to the trail, the next thing I remember is walking up a road and being called back by the people behind. We in turn shouted "Come back!!" to the ones up ahead, some of whom were out of sight around a bend, and then we turned back, wondering how Two Cheeky had managed to let so many walkers go so far on an incorrect trail. Hadn't we told her she was supposed to be LEADING us?
We got back to a clearing, and were greeted by the sight of a grinning Contessa, late as usual, but feeling very pleased with herself for finding and following the trail all alone, and catching up to us well before the beer-stop for a change.
In the confusion of retracing our steps I had gotten separated from Idle Bitch, and now found myself walking with Contessa. The next section of the trail is therefore a total blank in my memory - I couldn't tell you whether we were in bush or on tarmac, going uphill or down, or even whether it was raining or sunny. But I COULD tell you some exciting tidbits about Contessa's love life. Unfortunately, that is outside the scope of this run report. This is surely the moment to suggest to the hash bosses that they try to appoint the run reporter BEFORE the run so that he/she can avoid walking beside people like Contessa, who make it extremely difficult to concentrate on the trail. Unfortunately for all concerned, a large section of Padre's trail here will forever remain a mystery - un-noticed, unreported and unremembered.
I do recall Contessa getting caught up in trailing prickles several times, and I also recall being just behind Two Cheeky when she too got caught up in some nasty prickles. This caused her to cry out in pain so, leaving Contessa to disentangle herself from her own prickles, I caught up to Two Cheeky to offer consolation, and to inspect the bloody scratch on her hand. It was here that Two Cheeky informed me (I THINK) that in spite of Padre's orders, she had actually been out dancing until 4 a.m. the previous night, and still managed to arrive at the crack of dawn to start laying the trail. But please don't file this in your brain under "fact", because I'm not certain whether she actually told me this, or whether I dreamed it.
Shortly after this we arrived at the beer-stop, in the back yard of a lumberjack who had cut some trees for Padre and was now participating in the run as Virgin Jonathan. Seeing late- arrival Contessa (and also Procul) at the beer-stop reminded several walkers that Madame Mooton had also been en route to the hash so Confusion, wondering what had become of her, decided to give her a call. She found out that Madame Mooton had been nearly all the way to the hash (well past the MOBALBA sign) when she had gotten lost, and not wanting to be late, had phoned Padre to ask for help (as instructed on the directions - "Any problems call 0622473910"). And Padre had told her, "There are forty people here already - if they could find it, so can you." And he REFUSED to help her!!! This made Madame Mooton so upset and angry that she lost her ability to think straight. She got more and more lost, and finally, realizing that the run had now started, she gave up and drove home. And then she phoned Padre again and left a rude message.
After the beer-stop I was walking along a road for quite awhile with Mr Pizza, who told me a lot of interesting stuff about all the different mouth muscles involved in playing the saxophone. He also told me that he sometimes goes for jam sessions at this place in Antibes, and one night a camera crew showed up and filmed them, and Pedo saw it on TV! That was another down-down we missed.
We came to a place with two large Ws and two large arrows, one set pointing straight ahead, and one set pointing right. It was obvious that the virgin co-hare, in marking the out-trail, had not realized she should erase the in-trail flour she had placed there at dawn. Sneaky Bastard, Contessa, Tosspot and Lindsay, I believe, were studying the markings and arguing over the pros and cons of going in each direction (having no idea where they were). We joined the discussion but still no one could decide which trail to follow. Delboy and Janet arrived and, without batting an eyelid, Janet said, "That's the way we went this morning. I remember that signpost." And we realized immediately that she was right, and were full of wonderment that such an inexperienced hasher should so easily solve a problem that had eluded six of the "best". She just might have deserved a down-down for that but, once again, when Dingus asked for crimes and misdemeanours etc, our memories failed us.
Soon after this we were picking our way down the hillside I had ascended earlier with Idle Bitch, trying not to twist our ankles on the rocks hidden under the dead leaves, and then we were back at the car park. Two Cheeky, our very French virgin co-hare, who had been wearing a sort of tarten sash descending from a rosette on her shoulder, now slipped into a matching ankle-length skirt (which she could never have worn in the prickly bush) and reigned over the circle, looked resplendently Scottish. She out-did us all - the only thing that was missing from her outfit was a set of bagpipes. So three cheers for Two McCheeky!
Hares: McPadre and Two McCheeky
Leaving rude messages: Mme Mooton (down-down postponed due to absence of M Mooton)
Talking to traffic lights in Roquefort-les-pins (observed by Jobsworth): Harley D (who was in fact lost, and looking for the elusive traffic lights in Padre's "directions".)
GPS problem (even the GPS system couldn't understand Padre's directions): Finnish Fly
Returners: Idle Bitch, Tidal Dave, Ambidextrus, Slasher, Roadrunner, Procul
Decals for doing 25 runs: Contessa, Dire Rear, Mr Pizza, Henry, Rachel, Mudwrestler
Not coming since last haggis run: Slasher
Environmental Vandalism and Identity Theft: Padre, for wantonly discarding a bag of shredded paper that had been offered to him for marking the trail in grassy areas. The identity theft part is because all the tiny strips of papers had "Helen Pegg" typed on them.
Beastiality: Lindsay (for something, not sure just what)
Taking the runners' route and surviving: Virgin Mouth and Carolyn
Being a lumberjack and a virgin: Jonathan
Flashy new shoes: Prestressed, Procul, Two Cheeky
Competetiveness: Dingus, Sudsucker, Perpetch, Tidal Dave
Promoting competetivesness: Contessa for handing out flyers advertising all the long-distance competitive runs in southern France over the next two years
NAMING: Henry is now officially "Undergrowth"
Littering: Contessa, Jobsworth for pissing, Delboy for lost gloves
Walkers' helplessness when faced with multiple-choice arrows and 'WW's: Proposed by scornful Roadrunner, but who took the down-down?
Birthdays: Padre, Fairy Plunger, Anne of Cleavage
Randomly-chosen Australians: Mad Max, Skinny A, Cum Cum
Shit-of-the-Week: Padre - but NOT because of his poor directions or his unhelpfulness to Madame Mooton, but simply because he didn't drink for a month so wanted to be SoW in order to have another beer.
After the down-downs everyone assembled at Padre and Big End's for a scrumptious meal of soup, haggis, neeps, taties, whiskey and gravey, and a selection of yummy deserts, and where Sadist gave us a stirring rendition of one of Burn's more excellent poems, in a most admirable Scottish accent that could be heard in every corner of the room, and with dramatic waving of arms in all the right places.
Thank-you Padre and Two-Cheeky for an excellent run.
Thank-you Big End and Stella Artois for a wonderful meal.
Also see the Receeding Hare Line!
R*n 571: NEXT HASH 10-Feb
Where : La Gaude Village Car Park