DHAKA MIXED HASH – RUN NO 1347						30^th June 2007
Location: ISD, Bashundara
Hares: Dunny Gone, LBH, Deportee and a last minute Pubic Hare							Hashers: 46
Virgins: Abdul				New Runners: none
Returnees: Omar, Penis, Challenger, Dirty Girl, Blow Pipe					Leavers: Penis, Challenger, Fart Echo, Motolola, Hash Who
Landmarks: Challenger 125 Runs
Main Photo: As fine a bunch of athletes as you could wish to see What are they looking so happy about?		The Run Firstly, an apology for mis-spelling the Australian for shithouse last week. Apparently, it is Dunny, as the gentleman in question proudly told me on Thursday evening. Quite what there is about being named after a shithouse to be so chuffed about, I’m not sure – I used to have a Kiwi mate whose kids called me Jerry The Dag, and I kept quiet about that! Blame it on Syphie who sent me the stats (and spelled it wrong again this week). So we, all 46 of us, assembled at ISD and eventually Penis realised that she was supposed to be in charge and squeaked proceedings to order. Three hares plus a last minute conscript to the post of Walking Hare in the form of Pubic Hare. The briefing was fairly inconclusive other than to explain who the Hares were and to advise all drivers to follow the white Toyota to the B point. We were also warned that there may be old paper on the trail and we should not be confused by it. Still, better than spending the first 5 minutes of last week’s run looking for flour! So off we set, persistently checking in the wrong direction in the forlorn hope that the run would head out into open country. Not so, and we wended our way through the lanes and alleys in a generally westerly direction until alleys opened up into streets and eventually to the railway at which point many of the non-bumpies suggested that this was simply a re-lay of Monday’s men’s run. In all fairness to the Hares, they managed to keep the pack together very well and we had little time to wait at checks for the slower runners to catch up. I’ll not mention the fact that this was achieved by setting checks at around 400m intervals in the early part of the run, and paper within 50 metres of checks. Once we got a bit more strung out, LBH revealed that he’d told the guys at the back where the B point was so we could just carry on. From the railway we took the delightfully scenic (and familiar) route alongside the babbling brook that flows into Gulshan lake and down to the inevitable check by Rickshaw Bridge. Pleasant trotting through the leafy lanes of Gulshan followed, although poor Omar was so exhausted that Dad had to pop him in a rickshaw at this stage. They headed off, accompanied by Can’t Pull and a couple of others in completely the wrong direction (on the dubious assumption that paper was the right direction) and left the rest of us to work our way across to the top of the lake running down to Banani. A pleasant run along the lakeside and across Kamal Ataturk saw us safely to the rooftop On-In.
Tiptoeing through the quagmire
Geli, getting up a tight passage
Hashers closely grouped around the check and, if you look closely, … ….		The Circle The GM was off out for dinner, so the circle was called to order before the slow runners and at least one Hare were back. Megaphone in hand all objections to such unseemly rush were over-ruled and the Hares were called to account, or at least those who were back were. It turned out that Deportee was actually in the shower, prettying himself up for the return of the great lady and he scuttled into the circle at the last minute, smelling sweetly. I’m not sure whether too many opinions on the run were passed, but in short order the GM called in Virgin Abdul, who was welcomed in the traditional way with a beer and an abusive song. He’s from France, see, so the two adopted Canucks thought they could speak French and claimed to be able interpreters because the poor sod couldn’t make himself understood. This is because Americans cant speak English, let alone French. A number of returning sex tourists followed – Omar who may not qualify for the description due to his age and the fact that he hasn’t been out of Dhaka, Blow Pipe who was in Scotland, Dirty Girl who’d been getting rid of the kids in Cape Town and, climax of climaxes, Penis and Challenger who’d been to Tibet and Nepal. Penis was immensely proud of having had sex with Challenger at Everest base camp (what is called 5,300 metres up, if you’ll pardon the exaggeration). If I’d had sex with Challenger anywhere in the world, I sure as f**k wouldn’t brag about it. Leavers were next in – Penis, Challenger, Hash Who, Motolola and fart Echo, going variously to UK and France, to see his mother-in-law (HER mother), Oregon and the UK/Kasexstan. Challenger was then, rather appropriately, certified for having done it 125 times (mostly at sea level though). Exhausted by her recollections of Everest Base Camp, the GM handed over to Five-Year-Old-Shit as stand in RA. FYOS duly castigated LBH for the “follow the white Toyota” gaff, Homeless for not knowing where Taipei was (why the f**k should he – its miles away from Bangladesh) and Hung(?) for covering up her pink T-shirt with a disgusting shirt from last week. FYOS then proceeded to wax lyrical about those extremely poverty-stricken hashers who couldn’t afford anything more than a plastic bag to bring their kit in, but had clearly fallen on even harder times. Bag man Bjorn Again was the offender with the brown paper kit bag, closely followed by Blow Pipe for a technological offence (why someone who works for Ericsson should complain about mobile phone use is beyond me). Challenger was next in line for the acting RA’s wrath. What, exactly, had he been doing at the first check? The poor sod had only been taking a leak, but had to do so amidst a hail of stones thrown by Sucker. Being something of a techno guru (or at least those of us with Ericsson phones hope he is) the ARA hauled Can’t Pull in for thinking that a loose wire he noted at check 4 came from a satellite. Having run out of further technical piss-takes Five Year Old Shit graciously left the circle to the tender mercies of the GM, or so he thought. Not so. Foreskin (Fourskin? – I’d hate to upset another Aussie by mis-spelling a name he’s proud of) called the long suffering virgin Abdul back in for speaking a foreign language on the run when we all should know that English is the language of the Hash. As with the GM, Abdul, a fluent English speaker, couldn’t understand a word the Antipodean bastard said. A quick chorus of “ou est le papier” ensued before the dinner engagement forced closure of the circle. Minty, nowhere to be found, was supposed to be next week’s Hare but no-one had a clue as to where it was planned. On On Towed
… Homeless scanning the “apartments to let” signs!
It does say “Walkers this way” – they just can’t spell
Can’t Pull, laughing at French people
My bloke’s got a huge … certificate
Ghandi and Hung	Pisser and Piss Taker		My Dad made me get in the rickshaw, honest					Linguistic Issues