It is becoming increasingly difficult these days to write a hash write-up that is unique - I mean it's all been done before. I don't subscribe to the ethos that the author should completely ignore the run/pub, but would rather waffle on about current affairs, state of the environment, the failings of the Welsh Rugby or the English National Football teams and similar ramblings that eventually disappear up the arsehole of comprehensive education or political correctness.

No, what's wrong with the "We went here and there, somebody did this or that (either to somebody or something), and back at the pub Spiderman and Lunchbox pontificated on whether the 6X is better than the Pedigree (or vice versa)" style of write-up. And, anyway, hashers are an egotistical bunch of sad ghets and like to see their names in print.

In fact, I think this particular hash should mention the location, the run, the pub and the fact that we had a pair of virgins (the hares) setting their first hash (obviously!!). Lightning's grand-dad used to drink in the Don Johns Cross and mentioned this fact to Short-Bra and Closet. Neither of them had been in the pub or checked it out, but nevertheless our beloved hare-raiser Sweat Monster pencilled in his Dairy Diary the relevant details and the next thing you know, it's on the run sheet as BH3 run number #926.

And so it came to pass that at 11.00, on a bright but crisp morning, that a substantial number of hashers congregated underneath the awning of the St. George Labour Club. (On the 10th March Chaz and Dave are performing here, and this might be a good excuse to get out of Dens Dash that day). Some old boy wearing a pair of cycle clips produced a camera and proceeded to take some photos of the crowd. He turned out to be an old Varsity mate of Duracell's from Liverpool and he followed us around on his bike as he didn't trust chaining it to the nearest railings or bus-shelter - I suppose old habits die hard if you live in Liverpool.

Well, the run seemed to go according to the hares' plan. Down to Crews Hole, along the river and through the modern development that floods when there is more than an inch of rain. Up and down several hills (Nibletts Hill, Gunters Hill), close to some football pitches where both goals are uphill(!) and on to a regroup at Conham Vale. It was quite entertaining watching the bloke with his bike trying to negotiate a particularly slippery slope. He was behind Hallitrosis, and naturally the "parking ones bike" jokes came fast and furious!!! A few more hills and on to the top of Troopers Hill (with excellent views across the city) before returning to the pub an hour later. Kneed was first to change, and proclaimed that the pub smelled of bleach or disinfectant - think he was trying to say that it was one step up from a public convenience and that's how we came to be in the Fire Engine.

St. George has never been renowned for it's drinking establishments - the Fire Engine being the best of a bad bunch - until Weatherspoons opened up the St George's Hall a couple of years back. This has had the desired effect of pushing, prices down, and I am sure that even the Guinness was less than £2.00 a pint!!

Lunchbox was taking advantage of Snackbox by thrashing him on the pool table - next time use the balls, Steve. In fact, he was engrossed so much that he forgot to do any down-downs - shame on you Lunchbox. One topic of conversation centred on hash-names and Short-Bra, not for the first time, announced his dislike of his own, saying he preferred Dipstick which Lunchbox once called him! You're not supposed to like your hash-name, Short Bra!

The final statistics for the hash was 23 runners and 1 cyclist which appear to confound the adage that the nicer the day and the nearer the city centre and the dubiousness of the pub, the fewer runners you'll get!

My one suggestion to all hares is: make sure you check the pub out first, because in an emergency there might not be a Fire Engine just around the corner!

The Fat Controller

TO TOP

Written by Hookey/Knead/Paul etc.

The Palindromic Run

Well you might as well start reading this from the bottom up to make any sense of it.

Dennis' "Palindrome" description of the run number just had to end up in this write up.

Zebras can be considered Palindrome too. ["Er..." - Ed.] Which reminds me of a zebra that died and went to heaven.

The Zebra asked St Peter, "I always wanted to know if I'm a white zebra with black stripes or a black zebra with white stripes."

St Peter answered, "I haven't got a clue mate, but the chap next door will be able to answer your question."

The Zebra approached Jesus and asked, "Am I a white zebra with black stripes or a black zebra with white stripes?"

Jesus replied. "I don't know either! Go to the room next door and the bloke in there will be able to tell you".

So the zebra trots off and returns back to Jesus looking very confused. He says to Jesus, "I still don't bloody know if I'm a white zebra with black stripes or a black zebra with white stripes!".

"Why? What did God say to you?" Jesus asks.

"Well. God told me that you are what you are".

Jesus says, "Then you must be a white zebra with black stripes because if you are a black zebra with white stripes God would have told you 'You is what you is!'"

I just love that joke!!!

And now back to that fateful Sunday morning. [Please - Ed.]

My day started by waking up from a wet dream in Turtle's and Wiffy's house. The dream was getting very interesting when it was shattered by Wiffy waking me up with a cup of tea.
"Damn!" I thought, but at least I had something else wet and hot to slurp on!

The hang over was kicking in already from the over-indulgences of the night before at the T.A.C.H annual meal. It was rumoured that Brian and Alison had their Hen/Stag that evening too but I saw no handcuffs, "L" plates or strippers etc, so it couldn't have been. Brian told me he was available to go out the night before his wedding for a proper Stag run but I didn't think Alison was going to allow it somehow!

Who is going to be next to tie the knot?? Not me J. Hey! That was cool! I tried to do a smilely :) and J popped up. Lets try L, :-), :-(. Sad!!

The weather was gorgeous that Sunday! The Fat Controller couldn't have prayed any harder! There must be a God! Eleven Hashers started the trail and another half a dozen stragglers caught us up. The reason why they were late was because of an accident on the A4.

One straggler eventually caught up with us in the pub! He originally went to the Quarryman's Arms, realised it was the wrong pub and had to drive home again to find out where we were.

The moral of the story is to keep a copy of the run sheet in your car. I can't remember the culprit's name but it rhymes with May Stokes and frequently criticises other peoples runs (except mine of course).

Public Enema made me laugh! He and Sarah were checking out a ploughed field and found two blobs. I encouraged them to look further for the third blob when Public Enema referred to the Hare as the "Thin Controller". On On.