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The Mad March Haggis Hunt

There is a well known phenomenon in which memories become reality as time goes by, with the result that one's recollection of an event can be totally wrong but as it is repeated regularly in the mind, fiction becomes fact. To give some examples, Bill Clinton told the world so many times that "he did not have sex with that girl" that he probably now truly believes that nothing happened (and, let's face it, allegations of him spreading the love were so widespread that he genuinely didn't believe it!). Equally, the present UK "Savillegate" enquiry throws up similar problems. People complaining vividly of molestation and rape by B list stars only to find that their memories collapse under cross examination when it is discovered that the key witness (Johnny Briggs, for it was he) did not even know the accused at the time of the allegation or, just as worrying, when the lurid tales of shenanigans in the back of a gold Rolls Royce did not happen due to the inconvenient fact that the accused bought the Roller in the 1980s and the allegations took place in the 1960s. In the interest of balance, I am sure that the accused all believe that they are clean and that they were in no tiny way sleazy. Pull the other one, the kangaroo court can spot sleaze from a distance. You know you were sleazy, don't you? But Rolf Harris? Surely not.

By now you will be wondering what the heck the above has to do with a virtuous run report. Well, your scribe truly believes that he was a downhill skier at the level of Franz Klammer in his youth but anyone who has skied with him will know the fallacy of the belief. Worse, he cannot even remember clearly from a few weeks back so the following Haggis Hash run report may be a little distorted and mixed with another hash.

And so the hashers gathered in the rainy weather in the hills of La Gaude to mark St David's day with a haggis hash run. Cumalot had expertly prepared the first part of the trail with the help of Undergrowth though the memories are interspersed with flashes of St Paul en Forêt where Cumalot metamorphosised into Padre and the other hare PHD was not there due to other commitments in Dublin.

Cums Qwicker was in the kitchen, ably abetted by several hashers who preferred warmth over rain (congratulations to all for a wonderfully productive time there) and Cumalot led the charge round the Domaine de l'Etoile, which still gives a good selection of hills and trails despite ever greater encroachment.

The hashers were kitted in a variety of guises. Padre and Sadist wore their best tartan Welsh dragons whilst Perpetch ran the whole sunny course in the Var with a leek stuck up his shorts (a very carefully designed pun as he comes from a town called Leek). The run was very muddy and slippery in places. Various dogs accompanied the hash, especially the part that was in the beautiful sunny weather in the Var. One big irritation was the motocross bikes that constantly criss crossed the trail, causing mayhem and confusion everywhere they went.

The beer stop was in the rain and allowed latecummers such as Levrette and Procul to catch up with the pack. The second half started through an assault course of brambles that made sure that Sadist was not the only one to be covered in blood. Once through the brambles, it was an exercise in marvelling at what next housing estate will be built in the area, to judge from the earthworks going on under our feet.

And so the run finished, details unfortunately lost in the ether of time or interspersed with St David's day memories from the Var. What more to say? Excellent run - the both of them, though wait for the official St David's Day run report rather than this offal (get it?) attempt at a haggis hash run report.
Little is remembered from the haggis down downs except that they took place in Cumalot's car port to escape the rain. Cumalot and Undergrowth were applauded for a great run but no other memories exist apart from a vision of Levrette getting sh*t of the week and her (supposedly very introverted) other half being named something to do with Nuts (but definitely not Nice Nuts as she was trying to suggest). Memories are hazy, timescales are mixed but look to your social media for lots of photos of this naming ceremony in the definitely-not-rainy St Paul en Forêt hash.

And so everyone retired inside to listen to Pedo's musical talents on the piano and to enjoy Cums Qwicker's excellent haggis, neeps & tatties, sandwiched between her signature Moroccan soup and Cell Queen's trifle, all lovingly prepared with the assistance of Skinny Ahso, Mme Mouton, Iron Lady and others who deserve a mention but, due to aforementioned amnesia, I have forgotten.

Message ends. Memo to self. When you volunteer to write a run report, I suggest you do it immediately. Memo to scribe from Padre's run - please do it more justice than I have!

AWAY WEEKEND 16 - 19 May 2014
16 - 18 May. Usual Format
19 May. Optional Bike Hash
Organizer: Wetspot

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