RIVIERA HASH TRASH 611
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Never Cums

The U.K. Nash Hash 28/08 – 31/08/09. Organised by Edinburgh HHH,
Details here.
Porquerolles Weekend 18th - 20th September 2009
Brief details here.


Red Mill productions present Mme Mouton & Contessa in a saucy production of « Qui diable est Chagalle ? »


St Paul de Vence has seen nothing like it since, I don’t know, maybe the time that Bill Wyman moved in with his just-about-legal wife a few decades back. This time it was the turn of the female dancing girls (well , they all looked female to me, even the hairy one…..) to take over the town and to generally amaze and annoy locals and tourists alike in equal measures.

A good sized pack turned out in the Fondation Maeght car park for the start of the hash. Quite a lot of hashers turned out for it too. As always in RHHH , the turnout favoured the w**kers over the runners, but never mind.

The run started on time and went up the hill just to give us no opportunity to warm up. The more awake, sober & observant of the pack reckoned that the run would go into the forest and end up at Mme Mouton’s house in Vence for a beer stop. Unfortunately , such musings were destroyed by a check that went the wrong way – downhill towards the coast & not continuing upwards to Vence. A very long on-road downhill stretch followed, punctuated only by a lack of flour meaning that we all lost time but actually acted as a good regroup.

Hash reconvened, Padre (I think but this is written 10 days after the event) found the missing flour. So on we ran until we found the main road between La Colle sur Loup & St Paul. Padre took the high road, Dingus took the low road & Contessa was in Scotland, sorry St Paul, before them. Just before sighting Contessa the pack did its good deed for the day. 2 elderly English ladies were lost and in search of their coach (which was by the start of the hash). The only problem was that they were infirm and one was using what I could best describe as a zimmerframe. Well, that and the fact that they were about 500 metres away from the coach – both in distance and vertically. Dingus, Pedo & Jobsworth put the ladies right and went back to the job in hand of accosting Contessa at the entrance to St Paul.

Good thing she was there as there was no flour except for a cross. Pointed in the right direction, we ran over a boules game and continued along a road round the back of the village. We continued to follow the flour until…..errrr…..we hit a private gate. Turns out that the trail marking forgot to follow the route and go off road. Problem over, we continued down into the bottom of the valley.

At the bottom the flour continued until it, well, didn’t (if you get what I mean). All was getting very confusing. No fear, Pedo put us right by announcing that the beer car was near at hand. But the flour was found again – going vertically up hill back to St Paul. All hashers except Pedo obediently followed uphill, even when it ran out (again). Eventually we encountered Contessa once more, who pointed us towards the cemetery. The greater spotted hash variety of Dingus, Jobsworth & others followed the flour around the ramparts until it finished as a cross at the far end of St Paul. Perplexed, they ran back to Contessa who informed them that they should have followed into the cemetery to pay respects to Chagalle (Shag All ? Sounds like a good hash name).

Another informal regroup was convened and we ran all the way back down to the bottom of the valley, whence we had started. Here we found a beer car, lots of walkers and a very smug Pedo who was happy that he had short cut the reclimb to St Paul.

Much needed beer and the world’s last stock of Walkers Lime Sensations later, it was back up the hill for a much simpler second half – straight back through the village. Unfortunately , simple is the word for those who know St Paul but not for phoneless and cashless visitors from Edinburgh. It turns out that Rugrat was very taken by St Paul’s bric a brac (or is that tack ?) but forgot everything, not least of which was the trail and her fellow hashers. Once back to the start, a rescue party had to be sent out to find her.

A very enjoyable and ecologically sound (on the basis of saving unnecessary flour) run over, the rain started to come down. But Mme Mouton was determined that it was not going to rain on her 30th anniversary-in-France parade. She had organised a group of dancing ladies to perform the Can Can for the hash.

To add spice and, in recognition of Susan Boyle’s attempts on Britain’s Got Talent, the hash organised a judgement. Simon (Sneaky) Cowell loved it, especially the girl on the end with the fake boobs. He advised her to ditch the rest and to go it alone. Amanda (Allison) Holden commented that they are all welcome to join her and perform at her Tennessee Country Music Festival. And Piers (Jobsworth) Morgan could not take his eyes off the sexy vixen on the end – the one with the moustache & hairy legs.

Frivolities over, it was time for the circle. Unfortunately, as I am not official scribe, I remember very little. What I do remember/make up is this :

Many thanks to Mme Mouton & Contessa for a really great run Ummm…..not much else, honestly. Except for the angry lady who was going to barricade us into the car park until Pedo used his charm to calm her down. As for Shit of the week, I know that Sneaky Bastard was in the running (I could even assume that when he does not turn up). On the basis that my brain’s addled, I therefore hereby declare him the winner. Even if he wasn’t.

And on that note, the rain came down even harder and the hash reconvened in the local pizzeria to continue the festivities.

So there.

Walkers report

RUN # 611 MME MOOTON & CONTESSA 31 MAY 09
This is the walk report for Madame Mooton’s “Thirty Years in France” anniversary run , held in St Paul de Vence and highlighted by a special appearance of the spectacular “(In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe” doing the can-can.

The co-hare was Contessa, who responded to Madame Mooton’s request for a helper despite the fact that she is the hare for the VERY NEXT run. So three cheers to Contessa for finding the time (in her busy love life) to hare two runs in a row.

So these two ladies got together and started preparing their trail. And then they were bombarded by phone calls from Padre!! Padre did not have confidence in their ability to prepare a trail !! He called repeatedly, urging them to make sure that the trail would be extremely long, exceptionally challenging, and contain “more than the average” number of false trails, since Hairspray and Rug Rat, two TOP CLASS, EXTREMELY FIT hashers, were going to be visiting from Scotland.

Thanks to this interference from Padre, the run nearly ended in catastrophe. Our intrepid hares began adding extra false trails, and on the morning of the run were confronted by security guards while laying flour on one of these extra trails, on a private hillside belonging to the Fondation Maeght. They were escorted to their car and told in no uncertain terms to clear out, and it was only by a miracle that their flour was not confiscated. Just imagine – how would we have coped if there had been NO FLOUR on the trail ???

As it was, this incident caused great stress to Madame Mooton, because this very same Fondation Maeght parking lot was the place where the (In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe was scheduled to do their ONLY practice, and it was also the MEETING PLACE for the hash. Madame Mooton called Farty Bum in a panic, wondering if she should direct people to park at the restaurant down the road instead, and Farty Bum said, “What?? Fill up the restaurant parking lot with hash vehicles four hours before we’re due to eat??? On the Pentecost long weekend?? They’d have us arrested!”

Fortunately, the hash was scheduled for 4 PM, and the Fondation Maeght security guards had largely forgotten the incident by the time hashers started arriving and surreptitiously parking their cars amongst the innocent tourist vehicles in the Maeght parking lot. All the same, everyone was extremely nervous, and Dingus was ordered not to blow his whistle. The (In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe had a VERY insufficient warm-up, down in the bushes by the creek.

So, who came? Besides visitors Hairspray and Rug Rat, there was French Sophie (Madame Mooton’s cultural assistant), and a new runner, Allison, who came from the Fayence area. Then the two French girls Catherine and Veronique, who first appeared at Pedo’s very rainy run in Gourdon back in November, showed up again, bringing three girls – nine-year-old Kenza , and eleven-year-olds Myriam and Inès. These three girls made great hashers. Kenza was observed several times running effortlessly up the steepest hill.

Dingus blew his whistle and – oops, I just said he was ordered not to. Well, maybe he didn’t, then. Anyway, when it was time to start, we started. Walkers were directed to follow Madame Mooton, and Contessa announced that she would be “liaising with” the runners.

The runners took off somewhere and we didn’t see them again until the beer-stop. The walkers set off down that long side road where all the cars park (if you know St Paul), and then we crossed over into the village. But we didn’t go into the town – at that corner where the men play boules we turned left and went down a bushy hillside by a narrow rock staircase. Madame Mooton held us all up for awhile (in a very long, single file line-up) while she clipped away tons of prickly vines. Whores In had the nerve to call down and ask her why she hadn’t done this trail preparation the day before.

We got down to the bottom and then walked along a road for awhile, with pleasant trees and fields on either side. I don’t remember too many details because I was having a conversation with Sneaky Bastard. After awhile we came to a large paved area and Madame Mooton said, “This is where I was planning to have my beer-stop, but Contessa said it was WAY too soon. So we have to continue.”

So we turned onto a path and climbed back up through the bush to the village above. It reminded me a bit of when we started up that path above Jobsworth’s swimming pool a few weeks ago, where we lost the trail and wandered aimlessly through the woods, only this time we didn’t get lost. After awhile we came out at what I thought at first was a canal, but it was a steep road. It took us a good ten minutes of huffing and puffing to get up it. This was where we first observed Kenza going up at a run.

Eventually we arrived at the top, and found ourselves beside a cemetery at the back end of St Paul. We didn’t go into town by the large gate that was there, but turned left and walked along beside the ramparts, all the way around to the front of St Paul. This was the part of the trail everyone liked best. It was great walking along beside those towering walls, with the village perched above us and the hillside dropping away on our left to the valley below.

When we got round to the front of the village, we went in through the main gate, but once again we didn’t go up the street where all the expensive shops are, but immediately inside the gate turned right and went up a staircase so that we found ourselves at the top of the ramparts looking down at the trail below, where we had just been walking.

Then we walked along the ramparts, mixed in with crowds of tourists so that you had to pay attention to who you were following, until we went down a staircase and came out at the back end of St Paul, by the cemetery again.

Contessa said that since the runners were 45 minutes behind us (thanks to Padre’s instructions to make their trail extra long and extra challenging), we had time to look at the tomb of Marc Chagall, so we all trouped into the cemetery. Since Chagall was Jewish, there was a little pile of pebbles on his tomb. While Sophie, our cultural assistant, told us a few things about Chagall, the three girls, Kenza, Miriam and Inès, arranged all the pebbles on the tomb into heart shapes.

We noticed Padre and Cumalot and the new runner, Allison, skulking around among the graves. What were they doing there? They were certainly not following flour.

We left the cemetery and started back down the steep road we had come up earlier. It was hard on the knees and someone remarked that these steep hills are actually easier to go UP than DOWN. “You think so?” said Contessa. “Good, because you’ll be coming back up here again after the beer stop.” Well, we felt like turning around right then and there, and forgetting about the beer stop altogether. But we finally decided we had no choice but to go down to the beer stop if we wanted some of Madame Mooton’s Kier Royale, so down, down, down we went.

At the beer stop we found the runners, plus two strangers who turned out to be some virgins who had called Contessa from their car on the way to the run. They had arrived late and started after us thinking they were supposed to be following “flowers”. Fortunately, since Contessa had given them a general outline of the route, they somehow, miraculously, managed to find the trail, and they might even have seen some flour somewhere along the way. They had not been told how to recognize hashers, but when they encountered the runners, blowing whistles and shouting “On! On!”, they intelligently guessed that this must be the crowd they were seeking.

After the beer stop we had the joy of gasping our way up the steep road again, while the runners were sent off in another direction with five more checks to decipher. Contessa informed us that it would take exactly fifteen minutes to get to the top of our road, since we were one third lower down than the first time, when we had joined it after climbing up the hillside. Contessa kept telling us that SHE had gone up this road several times with TEN KILOS OF FLOUR on her back. I have to admit, I was impressed. And Kenza was again observed RUNNING up this nasty incline.

This time when we got to the top, everyone went into St Paul through the back gate and we passed through town, some going by the middle street with all the expensive shops, and others going along by the ramparts, and then we exited by the front gate and headed back to the Maeght parking lot. It was now lightly raining.

The first thing we noticed on arriving back at the carpark was Padre and a very panicky-looking Hairspray zooming off in Padre’s vehicle to look for Rug Rat, that TOP CLASS, EXTREMELY EXPERIENCED hash visitor, who had gone astray deep in the woods.

And the second thing we noticed when we got back was the (In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe behind a big tree, getting into their dancing gear !! YOUPIE !!! WHAT EXCITEMENT !!! We could hardly wait for the can-can performance to begin !!!

Fortunately, Rug Rat was rapidly located (deep in the midst of St Paul’s expensive boutique quartier), and then the hashers gathered together and the (In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe made its grand entrance – Padre in an orange wig and his red knightie, C More Pussy in a bergundy-coloured velvet dress, No Satisfaction in a red sarong-type thing, with a big red flower in her hair, cultural assistant Sophie in a proper can-can skirt, and Madame Mooton in a stunning see-through blouse with a very plunging neck-line. It was so stunning that quite frankly I never noticed her skirt at all.

It was clear that the (In)famous Hashette Dance Troupe had had only ONE (very insuffisient) practice. Each danced her own way. Only Sophie could flap her skirt properly because the other outfits were TOO TIGHT. But they all kicked up their lovely, sexy legs with great gusto – all except Padre, that is, who spent most of his time trying to keep his plastic tits from sliding down to his knees. (Perhaps if he had worn a belt, they would not have slid down quite so far.) But it didn’t matter that their kicks were out of step – they were still FABULOUS, and we could have watched them for HOURS. But it was raining, remember, and then it started raining much harder, so we had to get on with the circle.

So we were rushing through the down-downs when suddenly a blonde woman exploded into our midst, shouting something to the effect that we were in a PRIVATE PARKING LOT and we should GET OUT !!! Horror of horrors – it was the Fondation Maeght !! We didn’t know whether this blonde lady was the cashier or the security guard, but it was closing time and she wanted to hook the chain across the entrance-way. And she didn’t want US HASHERS on the inside of that chain, defiling the parking lot with our trash and our camp-fires.

“Camp-fires?!!” cried Farty Bum. “We NEVER light fires, Madame!” “Oh sure, that’s what they ALL say!” sneered the woman. And then she turned to Farty Bum and demanded, “Are YOU responsible for this?” “No, Ma’am,” said Farty Bum.

At this, our hare Madame Mooton dashed across from the other side of the circle to admit that SHE was “la responsible”. But several people waved her aside because, quite frankly, we did not think it would help our case to be represented by such a trashy-looking woman, in her extremely see-through, transparent blouse with the very plunging neckline.

Fortunately, Pedo had stepped forward and engaged the woman in conversation, so she didn’t notice the trashy-looking Madame Mooton. Pedo, in his usual charming way, soon had this angry blonde babe laughing and giggling, and a moment later she left, throwing us all a big kiss, and telling us we could stay as long as we liked, and to please lock the chain on our way out and hide the key under the toadstool.

Well, of course everyone cheered Pedo HIP HIP HOORAY for saving the day, and he was given an immediate down-down. And before drinking it, he told us his wonderful, fail-proof method for charming women – always look them in the eye, always smile, and NEVER tell the truth.

“Could you repeat that please,” said Sneaky Bastard, taking out his notebook. So Pedo repeated it and Sneaky Bastard wrote it all down: 1. look in eye 2. smile 3. lie

So, ladies, if Pedo (or Sneaky Bastard, for that matter) ever looks you in the eye and smiles, BEWARE !!!

Down-Downs:
Hares: Madame Mooton & Contessa (a little flat-chested, but they’re all right!) (Madame Mooton announced that Contessa was so wonderful to work with that she should not be called a co-hare, but a JOINT hare.)
Getting lost despite being an extremely experienced, top class hasher: Rug Rat Getting lost and never making it to the beer stop: Mad Max, Sneaky Bastard, Jingle Balls
Cutting off his mustache: Mad Max
Making the adults look old and decrepit: Kenza, Myriam & Inès
Declaring that this trail was even more difficult than a Spare Rib trail: Veronique

Shit of the week: Can’t remember, but it MIGHT have been Sneaky Bastard

Thank-you, Madame Mooton and Joint Hare Contessa for a lovely run!
Upcumming Events
Also see the Receeding Hare Line!

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