Run 958 - 21 Jan 2020
Run 958 - Mijas
Sunday 21st Jan-Septic Scrotum and Tight Arse
Your scribe - Jack gggrrrrrffffff!
I have berated these two clowns before, so this time with a respectable 7.5 I'll give them the benefit of the doubt.
Itґs usual these days to find most dogs bring their owners, Willy Wanker, Pooper Scooper, Shit Shoveler, Knock out Neptune. Only the Turd on a Rope was missing. Has Turd ran away with the gypsies again?
Despite Septic Scrotum and Tightarse setting the hash, 7 dogs plus 35 hashers turned up.
The Hares looked characteristically smug. Here we were again, half way up the Mijas mountain . What is it with these two and mountains? We're dogs not goats.
Up on to a ridge overlooking the Mijas coastline. Soaring as high as eagles from our vantage point, then rolling down the craggy rock face like Olympic hedgehogs.
It went awry; the hares had us chasing the IN-trail from the outset. On seeing their error, they thought they could get away with it by sending us backwards. Flakey had to intervene and we had to sniff out the Out trail.
Half the hashers were worse for wear and wouldn't have noticed anyway. They had been riding a bucking bronco through the night at Stiffs party. Jeremy 40 years young and giving us canines a run for his money. Happy Barkday! and a big bark to those that made it to the hash.
On on down the valley, past rocks, and streams, dangerous dogs and horses and hens. I was having a field day chasing everything.
Spittoon, the old sea dog pronounced the hash crap and turned back, seeing no end in sight. He didnt need a beer stop, just a tap in to his artery.Fuck Norris gave up and dragged a zimmer frame out of the skip. It had one wheel and we were going round in circles. A check is 360 degrees - he was the man for the job.
Credit due this kept the pack together, and we were chasing our tails.
One and half hours later, shredded paws and tongue hanging on the floor. Bewildered, bedraggled hashers, some of whom had been electrocuted could hear the cry....
"On Up!".
Even in silhouette, the two hares looked pleased with themselves, waving in the distance - "beeeeerrr stopppp!" Through thorn covered scrubland vertically, to reach Tight Arse and Septic and cold cans of beer. I was past caring, all I wanted was water.
A very welcome beer stop refreshed all those who got to the top of the hill. Big bark for Trolley Dolley she was there first. No dog biscuits, I drank from the hash bowl and scavenged some crisps.
Most hashers trekked home on the Camino, Mummy's Boy claiming he was following the trail because he could see it in the distance. My arse, he was knackered. I slinked up the road, satisfied ; fur matted, thick with burrs and smelling of dead goat.
Streaky, whippet like was bucking bronco'd. There's a first.
Only the stalwarts kept to the flour and paper, with renewed vigor, Swiss Roll, Kindergarten, Flakey et al claimed we had short cutted on the best bit. They should start an Everest North Face Hash.
Finally, all the pack were back and I had a growling wish - form a circle and let me konk out. Commando mission over.
For the circle the verdict came in - great thinking but how many Andy Macnab books had these boys read? Enough. Get back to a sensible hash and a Sunday afternoon. Any more and we'll all qualify for a stint in Kabul.
With a fine appetite the hashers moved on for a good hearty pasta ON ON at Venta Los Naranjos in Mijas pueblo. I got a doggy bag.
Not one of us poisoned, all dog muzzles intact. Shaggy and I drove home with the aptly named Bravefart. Any smells guess who got the blame? so I stretched out in the back, cocked an eyebrow, farted and fell asleep.
ON ON ! Ruff!
These photos were taken around Jan 2007 but may or may not apply to this run.
