Where: Segar Road HDB Car Park
Hares: A gaggle of Celts – Impossible, Footrot, Bagless and Phoney Dick
Occasion: Celtic Pride
A group of representatives from a number of weird little minority tribal groups that have been hanging on to the fringes of – let’s face it – England by their fingernails for the last thousand years or so decided to try and rake up a bit of Celtic pride by setting a combined run. (And I thought they still wore woad – Ed) Yes – but only in the privacy of their own homes where they do other freaky things like play the bagpipes and wear skirts. Rather sad, really. Still, they add colour to the place, don’t they?
And who were these disparate members of strange races bolted together by a common hatred of dear old Blighty? Phoney Dick was Wales, Bagels was Scotland, Impossible was Ireland and Footrot was – er – Brittany. Don’t worry – no one else has heard of it either, including the French. It’s a strange little windswept outpost where they communicate in a bizarre language composed of grunts – (Enough of this Celtic bashing before someone reminds you of your Irish roots – Ed.) Look, it was just a bit of scene setting and poetic licence, okay?
Right – back to
the run. We congregated on the top floor of Block
Ah, the Celts! Or
should I say “Selts”? That’s they way Indy introduced the hares when she called
them in. Stash noted that this was from an English teacher as voices were raised
in derision. Unfazed, Indy just decided she was pronouncing it the Australian
way. So the Selts came in to a heartfelt call of
good run, which indeed it was. Phoney
announced the on on at a “virgin” restaurant – Chan Sheng Yuan Seafood
Restaurant on Upper Bukit Timah Road, near to Karu’s Curry. And he was very
pleased with himself when he announced that some ol’ farts would remember the ol’
days when we used to get
And while he was in the circle he decided to do an impromptu Hare Whip. He had been standing at the entrance to the car park road to direct traffic when Gecko – blind as a bat, obviously – went sailing past him in his silver beast, screeched to a halt fifty yards away, and then did a bit of highly illegal high speed reversing. Phoney Dick was much miffed that he’d missed the best-looking hash sign in existence….
Front Arse now hove into the circle to add his comment on the hares. This run was so well organised, he noted, that at the Monday committee meeting, Bagless didn’t even know where the run was going to be and hadn’t done a single recce.
Now all this was against a background of unrestrained private partying from all corners of the circle (Surely you can’t have corners in a -) Oh shut up, Ed. You’re so pedantic. Indy had been doing her usual prowl – or stagger, actually, since her stilettos kept getting stuck in the soft earth. She managed to get Corny Linguist, though, and Dickless was supposed to keep him company but he took his name rather literally and sat on CL’s lap girly fashion. It was gently suggested to him that this was not really a good idea, particularly as Fanny Flasher was hauled in as well and looked much more like a girly than he did. And the two lads sportingly laid bare their bits to do the ice thing.
suffered, next week’s run was announced. The hares for next week are definitely
an improvement in the looks department. It’s the Eurasian run and the hares are
Indecent Exposure, Poser and Puss in Boots. It’s at Pasir Panjang Road near Pub
Now it was time for the virgins to introduce themselves. In came Peter and Pat – Dickless’s sister and brother-in-law – from Johannesburg. Also Rene and May.
It was all change on the ice now as Shit Fit, who was being really talkative – and a protesting Coo Chi Coo were dragged in.
A couple of visitors had found their way – Two Lips from Pretoria and Sad Bastard – another one – from Cairo.
And a welcome returnee visitor was Lumberjack.
Mystery Whip time, and in sauntered Dirty Hacker in the Aussie Cork Hare Hat from last week. Coo Chi Coo suggested he was being a social climber. DH called in Mother Mary and Phoney Dick and held an identity parade with and without said silly hat. Yes, even with the silly hat, he established, both were easily identifiable. And then he called in your hard working, talented, dedicated and – yes – occasionally fallible (Hah – occasionally? – Ed.) scribe to admit to the bit in last week’s newsletter when I said that Mother Mary was peeking sexily through the corks when in fact it was Phoney Dick. A pretty understandable piece of margarita inspired confusion, I would say. Actually, it was just a deliberate error to see if anyone read the circle report. Well, that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
Whip was Big Hammer. Now I don’t need margaritas to get confused with this lad,
so bear with me. He wanted a representative from the Dog Hash and picked on
Kamikaze. Then he wanted a representative from Lion City and picked on Indy. At
this point Coo Chi Coo, who obviously feels that old jokes improve with age like
wine, suggested that Indy represented both hashes. Ho ho. Haven’t heard that one
before, have we, Indy? Big Hammer and Gecko were supposed to be setting the Dog
Hash next month but were shoe- horned in at the last minute to do Saturday’s,
And they were supposed be doing a run for Lion City last week but then got moved
to just before the AGM. And now Saturday’s K
His second charge was about Bouncer, visiting from Batam. The cops are a bit more laid back over there. After a long session at the pub Bouncer is waved down by the police. Have you been to the pub, sir? Mmm – you bet! Had a few too many, have we? Yup – way, way too many! I thought so, because I have to tell you that your wife fell out on the last bend. Thank God for that, says Bouncer, I thought I’d gone deaf. Boom boom! And they tell me that I embellish my stories!
Indy dragged in the prancing Corny Linguist who capered manically round the ice as if it was the headsman’s block and he was Ann Boleyn. (You’re getting very weird! – Ed.) Just trying to help people visualise the scene. He refused to sit alone so Indy got a Selt to keep him company. Footrot and CL showed that it is possible to drop the lot incredibly discreetly by doing very odd things with their t-shirts. Don’t ask. Indy finally managed to shut them up by clamping her hands over their mouths and looking very stern.
Ayam Kampong came in with the Prick of the Week, which she has had for two weeks. The batteries are still working though as she’s been too busy to avail herself of its delights. She had trouble finding a charge but in the end got Indy because two weeks ago Indy was at a farewell party and was obviously slightly compromised ‘cos she staggered around looking for all of her myriad bags and still managed to leave one behind. “I’ve never seen her pissed!” declared AK to the amazed crowd. “That’s ‘cos you’ve never seen her sober,” crowed an ungallant Kamikaze.
This story went on for so long that Corny Linguist and Footrot had turned blue and their bits had stuck to the ice. For humanitarian reasons they were allowed to retire and seek immediate medical attention.
AOB, finally. Dickless commented on the recent guidebook e-mail about suggested conduct on the hash. He’s a bit worried about the content of his favourite songs. Is he now supposed to sing: “My sister Belinda urinated out the window”? He wanted to call in Gypsy – he originated the suggested guidelines - but in his absence dragged in Indecent Exposure – she’s now officially banned – and Gecko, who gave us his last moon. Yes, it’s decorum all the way now, folks.
Poor old Indecent Exposure was getting hammered tonight. BA called her in for being spotted living up to her name and having a pee at a check. (And of course, men never ever do anything like that – do they? Ed.) Perish the thought.
Then there was a Sunday Hash announcement, which led to a Dog Hash announcement, which led to loads of people weighing in to announce Tuesday, next week, my mum’s birthday etc.
The last bit of AOB was from Corny Linguist. It went on for a couple of days so I’ll cut it down a bit. There seems to be a syndicate making money. Kamikaze suggested he should pronounce it kyndicate. Oh, don’t say you’ve forgotten the beginning of the newsletter already! Celt, Selt – Geddit? Oh, never mind. Anyway, losers have been Astronut, Armless and himself. Who were the winners? The French, who have been winning all bets on the rugby. And yet still Impossible is hoping for the impossible and betting that Ireland will beat France. Footrot and Puss in Boots were the scheming, and now rich, winners. Puss in Boots danced around with ants in her pants as she crowed about what she was going to do with the money.
Bagless had done a sterling job keeping up with the innumerable down downs in the circle but now he was looking grim as he squeezed the last can for the last dregs. So off it was to the on on – for most of us.
Indy made the mistake of taking a lift with me and I made the mistake of thinking she was a better navigator than I. And maybe she was ‘cos this time we were only lost around Bukit Panjang for half an hour – it was forty minutes the last time I wandered around that pathless wasteland. So they were halfway through the makan by the time we arrived and all the tables were groaning with food and satisfied customers. Never mind – there was lots of enthusiastic singing including – gasp! - some songs with rude words. I was halfway through Irian Jaya when I realised there was still a table of innocent civilians so tried to follow the guidelines and find innocuous words for expressions like arse, erection and foreskin. (You were just taking the piss, weren’t you? – Ed.) Difficult to think and stand on a chair at the same time at that time of night, I can tell you. Dear gentlemanly Dickless thought my incipient Alzheimer’s had exploded big time and leapt up to help me with the words. Sweetie. Anyway, it was a great on on and continued into the early hours with lots of entertainment from the likes of Aye Aye, Dickless and Gecko, a strange song from the Swedes that involved bouncing up and down (!!!) and various Celtic anthems all sung together incomprehensibly. Great fun all round. Thanks for an excellent evening and t-shirt, hares.
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