NASH HASH TRASH

BANDARBAN – 21st to 23rd February, 2008

 

The Assembled Company (note Josh’s legs seem to be pissed)

 Where to begin, and where to end in the tale of this year’s Nash Hash in Bandarban?  Josh began it reasonably well pissed getting onto the train at the Airport Station on Wednesday evening and ended it shit-faced getting off the bus at DIT 2 on Saturday night.  There may have been minor fluctuations in his blood/alcohol level in between, but nothing too serious.  For a young Harrier of only some 20 Hashes he embodied the true spirit of the Nash Hash.

However, given the average (or even maximum) attention span of the DMH or any other Hashers who might inadvertently stray onto this webshite, some thanks are in order at the beginning, rather than the end.  Firstly to Geli and Warm & Fluffy for the overall organisation which involved much work and patience with idiot Hashers, second to the generous sponsor, HОШБOΠЦЭ (Tee-shirts by Sucker!!!), third to Cloth Balls for managing the BEER, the Hash Pants and other things besides (like offering me first refusal with Tuneless Cow if he was too pissed to manage) and fourth to Pubic Hare for designing the Tee-shirts.  Can’t Pull – many thanks for your generous support without which the BEER would never have made it and thanks are due, I believe, to Chicken Fucker (who was not even there!) for the patches.  I suppose all the Hares deserve a vote of thanks as well.  Between them and the local guides we had three great runs and walks, which is what it is all about (if you’re prepared to overlook the BEER side of things).

So, back to the narrative.  We began with a cock up, having somewhat rashly assumed that we all had berths in the same coach, to find that the tour guide was at the front of the train (which was about 3 miles long) as it pulled into the station but early riders Deportee and Pubic Hare were exhorting us to get on somewhere in the middle.  Fortunately the train was prepared to wait whilst we ran up and down the platform cursing, eventually sorting ourselves out and ending up in scattered groups throughout the length of the train.  A few BEERs were supped, more in some compartments than others, and we settled down for some rest, or hit the hard stuff, as the case may be.

Thursday morning saw us early into Chittagong and looking for the bus in the wrong place.  Eventually someone found us and we traipsed all the way out to the front of the station.  Nothing untoward happened on the way up to Bandarban, as long as you don’t count Josh not having his passport as untoward (causing him to have to compose a brief work of fiction at the checkpoint).  What upset me most was that they not only made the foreigners register, but also expected us Imperial Brits to sign in as well.  Minor delays ensued in waiting for an escort that didn’t turn up and we eventually made it to the resort. Breakfast was served at about 1.30 p.m. and it was agreed that we would forego lunch.

Which took us to the first run.

Run 1387 – 15.30, 21st February, 2008                                                                                                     Hashers:  37

Hares:  Cloth Balls, Tuneless Cow, Can’t Pull, Webfart, Slippery Hole and Warm & Fluffy

Milestones:   Cloth Balls – 200 Runs

This was an A to B and, somewhat alarmingly, after the dire warnings from Webfart of drink or die, the bus took us all the way down to the bottom of the hill and through the town and left us there.  First paper was not where the Hares said it was, which was a theme that continued throughout the run.  Having run about 2 clicks down the road, the Hares called us back to the start and off in the direction that the FRBs had been called back from in the first place.  Pissy Puke Up was, as usual, running here, there and everywhere and contributing unwittingly to the Hares’ policy of deliberately misleading the pack whenever they could.

After about 15 minutes we seemed to have run in a big circle and arrived at a point within 50 metres of where we started, but the Hares assured us that this wasn’t so, which meant that we were right (again).  From this point on the general direction in which we headed became a bit more consistent and, reassuringly, in the general direction of the resort.  However, there was just a couple of obstacles in the way, namely a big river and a huge fucking hill.  In order to keep the walkers ahead the running pack were sidetracked away from the direct route to the river (and ferry).  To say that we were once again misled by the Hares would be a slight on their character.  “still” would be a more appropriate word!

At least from the river we could more or less see the resort, as long as we could bend our necks backwards enough to gain the necessary angle of visionary elevation.  We could also see the walkers wandering happily along the opposite bank of the river.

Did I mention the insistence of the Hares in holding the Checks?  We were not allowed to stray a single bloody millimetre from the two dots.  Given who the running Hares were, that was choice.

So eventually we were allowed to get on the ferry and to be poled across the river where we had to wait yet again as there were a couple of blobs of paper on that side of the river as well.  The trail did not go up through the village, where I went, but along the river bank with a series of false trails up into the hinterland to mislead everyone and keep Pukey Piss Up on the move.  Eventually the real trail headed away from the river and along some good trails heading ever deeper into the jungle.  Finally we came to a check where the choice was vertical or horizontal.  Horizontal petered out after a hundred metres or so along a stream gully, so vertical it had to be.

It was a real hands and feet scramble which even Pissy Puke Up acknowledged was not “runnable” (but only once he’d been told not to be so friggin’ stupid by Preggie Pickled Pussy).  Once we got to the top, however, he was off again but this was a relatively gentle run in to the resort requiring a climb of only another couple of hundred feet or so.

Circle 1387

The circle was eventually called to order.  The reason for the delay was so that the various mismanagements of the represented Hashes could work out whose hash this one had been.  Despite the presence of Bumpy Hares, it was agreed that this was the DHHH run so Dunny Gone stepped in as GM.

We had one leaver, Bashir, but since he’d already gone it only remained to award Cloth Balls his 200 Run certificate before handing over to the RAs.  Yes, RAs, plural.  There were three of the bastards taking it in shifts and alternating between runs.  First in was Bum Deal who alternated with Webfart, if you’ll pardon the expression, for this circle.  There is simply not the space to go into great detail, so suffice it to say that ice featured heavily in the equation (how come we get bloody great slabs of it in the middle of the boondocks yet never have it on regular runs?).  Bum Deal had a moan about sleeping arrangements on the way down, Webfart complained about noisy copulation next door, there was a good moan about the fact that DHHH managed not to provide T-shirts and Jumpy Bumpy and Hairy Crack apparently saw a big cock.  Those on ice were:

Other notables were Hash Hero Shit-Up-To-Here for carrying the Baby Pussy halfway round the walk.  (If they’re both so fit, why the fuck can’t they carry him and someone else can carry the baby – the poor old sod is getting on a bit!)  Also Reg, who reckoned that it was too far up the from the road to the restaurant, given his perilous physical state.

The Evening’s Events

This is not the full account of the evening’s events, as I ducked out of the proceedings at some stage (but don’t have any recollection of exactly what stage that was!).  After the circle there was enough time for a quick shower and change (essential for those who had been on the train) before dinner and then we all wandered out onto the terrace to appreciate the beauty of the night and indulge in the occasional BEER.

At some stage we did a bit of singing led by Webfart and myself, but otherwise I don’t recall any organised activity other than drinking.  Apparently the party carried on after my departure in more select groups, with some serious attacks being made on the hard stuff.

The Next Morning

I have never, ever, in this life or previous ones, seen anyone so hung over as Warm & Fluffy was, and that includes living for 20 years in Scotland.  Ill did not come into it – she was a prime candidate for intensive care.  Meanwhile her alleged co-drinkers, Two Bottles and AK 47 were their usual bright and cheerful selves.

Party Animals

The kitchen managed to get the instructions on the bacon wrong and fry up half of it that morning when it was meant to be saved for the morrow.  Never mind, it was most welcome and not overcooked like foreigners do it, but soft, fat and greasy – just the thing for hangovers.

The GM, Penis, had her usual nag about people not wearing Nash Hash T-Shirts.  My excuse was genuine – I had actually managed to lose this invaluable souvenir within about 20 minutes of receiving it on the previous day.  It was later found in Cloth Balls’ room, so maybe  …..??  Who knows! (literate Australians and others with short memories, refer back to paragraph 2 on page 1).  Then it was off for the second run.

Run 1388 – 11.00, 22nd February, 2008                                                                                                   Hashers:  34

Hares:  Trek or Treat, Camel Jockey, Deportee, Blow job and Ménage a Tina

If we thought Webfart’s briefing for yesterday’s run was alarming, Trek or Treat presented a 10 minute treatise on the risks involved in this run.  What it amounted to was that there was a point marked by a “W” beyond which the faint hearted should not progress.  Given the nature of the dire warnings along the lines of “don’t go if you only have two arms and two legs but no prehensile tail and would rather live to see tomorrow”, it was a major surprise that the whole pack didn’t just bugger off and get stuck into the BEER straight away.

Once again this was an A to B run and the bus headed off ominously down the hill again.  However it did not go as far down as the previous day before the run started and we were launched into a steep climb immediately (well, more or less immediately once 15 cameras had been used to take the hash photo).  However, once we got to the top of the hill, the bloody trail went even further down again.  The Hares had introduced some minor diversions in the way of false trails just to keep the interest going, and we ended up back at the bottom of this particular hill again fairly soon.  Here the hash turned into something more akin to a cultural tour-cum-shopping trip as we went up into a lovely village to see turmeric being processed in the traditional way (which explained why the Grand Mattress looked like she had a bad case of jaundice for the rest of the run.  Halfway up through the village we came across England 6 – Scotland 9 who had elected for the cultural tour rather than the walk, complete with local guide and armed guard.  This prompted the majority of Bumpies to break off and negotiate deals on local products for him to bring back.

For some bizarre reason, the trail went up again from here, continuing up a dirt road until we reached a point a little short of the main road.  Here it was that the dreaded “W”, (for “Wimps this Way”) was encountered, but not before Icky Puss Puke had been sidetracked half a mile or so in the wrong direction on a Camel Jockey false trail.  A number of the runners (well, Sucker at least) had to be physically restrained from continuing with the run.

A little way up the road and we were launched off into steep downhill jungle.  Tricky for those like Two Bottles who had shoes without tread on the soles and not a lot to hang onto that was firm (as Bum Deal was overheard to say).  Once we had negotiated the suicidally steep descent the bastards took us straight back up again, only pausing to take us through a few colonies of fire ants (ask Challenger) then it got fairly easy for a while, with only the occasional wicked thorn bush to negotiate.  Soon we started another descent that got steadily steeper until at last there was a final schuss on the bum into a small stream.  Absolutely beautiful country.

From here it was then a fairly “straightforward” run down the stream bed and across some paddy before joining a small river and on to the on in.  This had to be, for me, the run of the weekend.

Circle 1388

Led by Penis, the DMH GM herself, and with no leavers, virgins, returnees etc., once the Hares had been duly feted for a really great run and walk, Penis decided to give Pubic Hare his just desserts for the Nash Hash T-shirt design, and a slightly different reward for the producer of the shirt, Sucker.  RAs for this Circle were Five-Year-Old-Shit and Webfart, who were delegated the decision as to how long Sucker was to stay on the ice.

Wrong!

Disgusted

Right!!

Ice Abuse

Sucker was quite rightly kept on the ice for some considerable time, in a variety of positions and with what I believe are termed “assists” in American sporting circles from a selection of the circle mismanagement.  Meanwhile, Challenger was done for undressing on the run (something about fire ants), Minty Hole for rock fucking, Two Bottles for being a sole-less crasher (and taking out the few handholds available for those of us that had to follow the bastard) and Geli for washing his shoes before getting to the On-In.  At this point the GM decided the wrap her legs around Sucker’s neck.

Webfart took over as RA and proceeded to castigate walkers Hare, Blow Job, for getting lost within 150m of the start, and Pradeep and Warm & Fluffy for being terminally ill on the walk but then ran out of things to say, so handed back to FYOS.  In the midst of enquiring about Challenger’s expertise in breaking and entering, FYOS was interrupted by Sucker playing with his squeezy bottle, so he put him face-down on the ice where he received support from, or rather provide support for the circle mismanagement.  Shortly after, Sucker was finally allowed off the ice, but not before he had been given a big down-down.  FYOS then wittered on for a while, the most notable tale being the comment from Bum Deal of “I thought it was firm until I went down” overheard when she was somewhere in the bushes.

Geli then was put on the ice for telling Webfart to get some pussy on the ice, but he was only on for a short time before his wishes were granted and Penis and Bum Deal were put on for confusing a Hash with a shopping trip.  What wasn’t recorded that the third shopper, as recorded by the camera, was none other than Geli himself!  Lots of other down-downs followed, with Blow Job and Ménage a Tina in as Hash Heroes for stepping in to set the walk, and Pradeep onto the ice for ducking out of haring, but then he was quickly replaced by Blow Job herself for banging on the bus.

He wanted cold pussy

Girls on ice

Cop-out Hare

Blow Job shrinks as she gets colder

Telephone man

 

The final down-down was for the runners guide, who easily kept up with Pussy Pick Up and did it all in flip flops, and the circle concluded with an athletic warming down with Father Abraham and Webfart.

The bus ran us back down to the resort for a quick lunch and a rest before we dragged our aching bodies out for the third and final run.

Run 1389 – 15.30, 22nd February, 2008                                                                                                   Hashers:  33

Hares:  Challenger, Minty Hole, Pussy Pick Up, Bjorn Again & Josh

Milestones:  Bjorn Again – 25 Runs; Blow Job – 25 Runs                        Visitors:  LBH!! (who declined the run)

The briefing this time was less dire than for the first two runs.  There would be false trails and a new feature – a “Y” laid in paper meaning you had to ask yourself “Y” the fuck you were doing this in the first place.  Looking at the numbers on each run, it is impressive that the attrition rate was so low.

Just for a change, this run started at the resort and we were allowed to run down the friggin’ hill instead of taking the bus.  So we ran all the bloody way down to the river, then we ran back up the hill to a point even further up the road than the end of the morning’s run.  Then we did some shopping for an hour or so waiting for the bus that never came.  What an absolute friggin’ disaster!

There was a bit more in between, however.

There were a few false trails on the way down, clearly set by Pussy Pick Up as he ran them all as well but eventually we were forced into the realisation that we could not go straight back up the hill to the BEER, and had to head across the river, this time with no namby pamby boats but doing it like men, on our own two feet.  Paper on the other side was, at times, confusing, especially the point where we had gone to check a trail, found paper, but then met the rest of the pack coming in the opposite direction, also on paper.  So after meandering around through a couple of villages we returned to the river, those on paper reaching it sooner than those of us who were not (me & Can’t Pull and the local guide who had come along for a laugh).  Clearly we had to cross, so we did it like men again, ignoring the fact that there actually was a boat there this time.  Geli was the

The River Crossings

Easy going north – ankle deep for most, fanny deep for Penis

Not so easy coming back

The Vulgar Boatman

first to realise that the water was a tad deeper than at the earlier crossing as the water level reached his moustache and then continued to rise.  By then it was too late to turn back so we swam the remaining few yards.  Meanwhile the wimps were in the boat, being poled in completely the wrong direction by Camel Jockey.  Geli proceeded to soak everyone including the boatmen, regardless of things like cameras.

Paper was quickly found and the trail took us up a the bed of a small tributary of the main river, through a few checks but always continuing in the river bed until we struck off uphill through the pineapple plantations.  From here it was a fairly straightforward climb of a few thousand feet with a couple of checks and a “Y” on the way.  Horse’s Arse managed to find his love shack on the way up, but no bumpies were prepared to take him up on his offers.  Finally we reached the village and, after a run down some brick roads, we reached the main road.  Sadly, there didn’t appear to be a bus waiting for us so we took advantage of the situation by supporting the local tourist industry and buying blankets and big seed pods.  Eventually it was decided that we should start walking as the bus was possibly at the finish of the morning run about 400 metres further down the road, which proved to be the case.

The walkers, in the meantime, appeared to have had an interesting stroll, taking in the vertical ascent that the runners did at the end of run 1387.  All, that is, except whoever was carrying Zolie as they decided it wasn’t a great idea.

Circle 1389

This run was hosted by the Full Moon Hash so Webfart, the height of sartorial elegance in an extremely loud Tee-shirt, was our GM for the circle.  Walkers Hares Bjorn Again and Josh were straight onto the ice for losing half the walking pack, but it was another great run.  Visitor LBH was next in, having declined to either walk or run (he’d have loved the river!) because he had scratched his big toe and then it was the turn of leavers Tuneless Cow who is off to Berlin, Webfart who is heading for UK and Pussy Pick Up who was not available for comment.  25 Run certificates were awarded to Bjorn Again and Blow Job (or would have been if she’d been around) and England 6 – Scotland 9 finally returned from his guided tour.

Then the RAs, Bum Deal and Five-Year-Old-Shit, got going, and did they go?  On and friggin’ on and on.  Half the pack had died from starvation before they finished.  Most of the circle had a couple of down-downs for some puerile reason or other and the ice was melting from hot bums faster than the Antarctic ice cap is receding from global warming.

Halfway through Five-Year-Old-Shit’s first stint Ménage a Tina arrived back with the half of the walkers that Josh and Bjorn Again had abandoned.  For the rest of the circle, going down seemed to be something of a recurring theme – Blow Job apparently had problems going down, Extortionist likes going down and Ménage a Tina apparently went down on Josh.  Other notable awards were made to:

 

Global warming has nothing on this lot melting ice

Finally, control was handed back to Webfart to complete the honours for those who had been missing at the start:  25th runners Blow Job and Bjorn Again, who received his certificate on ice, Indian Kama Sutra sex tourist leaver Pussy Pick Up and a few words for the organisation, or rather Penis managing to refrain from micro-managing, and finally to the sponsors Homebound (and Chicken Fucker for the patches), and organisers Geli and Warm & Fluffy.

The Second Evening’s Events

The day’s runs had obviously taken their toll on most of us as the after dinner period was remarkably quiet.  I was so knackered that I went off to bed before any party had started so was oblivious to the more intimate details of what went on.  However, I do recall waking at something around 2 a.m. to hear Webfart pontificating about something or nothing.  It later transpired that this was only the start of things, with Horse’s Arse and Josh having moved out from the restaurant to the gazebo, presumably when they got thrown out, and there ensued an entertaining morning for them, at least, if not for others ending with Josh curling up in the gazebo for what was left of the night and the other two heading for bed.

Final word was, however, from the much maligned rat.  One appeared to have taken exception to all the abuse, especially Trek or Treat’s offer of bounty for confirmed rat kills, so it sniffed out his bag in the middle of the night and gnawed its way through to the packet of nuts that he had in there and ate them all!

The Bus Home

It wasn’t until 11.30 that we finally managed to set off.  Breakfast had been a fairly moveable feast with Penis at last slipping into her usual management role and rationing the bacon to one slice per person.  In the end there was plenty for everyone and an excellent breakfast was had by all (or almost all).  After a little lovers’ tiff between Geli and Horse’s Arse regarding, I think, the issue of ice for the BEER, we headed off but stopped soon in Bandarban to collect said ice.  Yet another bus fuck-up (we’ll meet you on the bridge) where the jeep with the bags went to one bridge and the bus to another.  After a while waiting, the bus driver went off in a rickshaw to find them and of course they appeared from the opposite direction, with ice, moments later.  After that it was fairly seamless with little delay at the checkpoint and we were soon on our Shyamoli business class luxury busliner and heading for Dhaka with around 45 cold BEERs and four litres of Bloody Mary in the eski.

In an effort to brighten the tedium of looking forward to 10 hours in the bus, Reg decided to do a bit of busking on his harmonica and raise a bit of hash cash at the same time.  Eventually I think he was paid to shut up and those at the back of the bus relaxed whilst the serious crew at the front hit the bottle.  It’s a shame Reg is from Goa and not Kerala, otherwise he could be christened Buskerala.

There’s not a lot more to say about the bus trip.  Dunny Gone threatened to take the bus driver outside and punch his lights out and Josh regaled us with what developed into a criminal inquiry as to the whereabouts of the six BEERs that he had purchased from Cloth Balls the previous evening but had no recollection of drinking (are we surprised or not??!).  Horse’s Arse did his best to divert attention away from himself as the main suspect and on to Webfart, who wasn’t there to defend himself, and to Sucker, who was but couldn’t give a shit.  We arrived eventually at DIT2 around 21.30 and headed for our respective homes or, in some cases, the Bagha!

Once again, thanks to the organisers, Hares and Sponsors for a great weekend.  Special thanks must, however, go to Josh for making sure that none of the boring old farts on the bus home were allowed to miss a single moment of the journey home by inadvertently nodding off.

And a final plea:  would the bastard who nicked his six BEERs please never do it again so that the rest of us can have some peace.

On and Friggin’ On and On

Towed