(Courtesy Brown Finger)
It was the afternoon after the afternoon after the infamous night before – the drunken Animal
Dinner – and still the hangovers lingered.
With Throbbing Ninja the lazy hare for the day, the wise word amidst the aching sculls on the
songthaew was that she would set the trail from the seat of her motorcycle, and would use decent
trails on relatively flat terrain, and it would probably be a long runner’s run, perhaps seven or eight
k. But what the F did we know, fools that we were to think we were able to think at all, let alone
wisely . . .
There had been a bit of a storm earlier in the afternoon and the hare brief – given by Throbbing
Johnson’s infinitely worse half and totally screwed up co-hare – was full of Marvinesque doom and
gloom. “Not sure the paper will be any good now; not sure the checks will still be there, but hey,
you know how it is, all my fault, it’s always me, never her fault, blame me why don’t you, you always
do . . .”
So we set off in totally depressed spirits and without our valuable sniff, Snail Trail, who had decided
to conveniently forget her running shoes so that she could sit in the car and sleep off more of her
alcohol-induced, Animal Dinner malady. And so we headed off understaffed and took ages to find
the trail, which went straight up a very steep incline. This is not what we had anticipated; and the
upward slopes just kept on hitting us in the face, literally for at least one of us.
The ever-whining Chuck Wao – no improvement from Saturday’s hash, still with a grumpy hangover
the size of his massive ego – thankfully went the wrong way down the first V check, and I thankfully
took the right one with a non-drinking-paying Anything following close behind. What the F, I was
thinking, even this notoriously hardened party girl still had a hangover and was taking a break from
the beer? Does that sound right? even vaguely so?
I had it in my thick head that the trail would follow the contours of the hills that formed a kind of
half a toilet bowl around the A site, and thankfully, this time my normally shitty sense of direction
did not let me down. I managed to get the next several checks around the dirty rim right and ended
up quite a long way out in front. But then my luck ran out. As the trail slid down to a road, the
grinning hare was there to meet us on her bike, directing traffic, laughing like a gay hyena on heat
as she pointed the way of the trail – straight back up the steep slopes of the hill. It was then that I
missed a V check, which was made out of sticks (sticks in the Fing forest ??????) and came back
and found it when I noticed that there wasn’t any more paper – the hare hadn’t papered the trail
at V checks – and then went back to check the same way again because I hadn’t gone 100m in that
direction. Needless to say, the relentlessly chugging duo, Crazy Image and Chucky Doo (moaning,
moaning, moaning, groaning, groaning, groaning . . .) caught me up and took the right trail after I
had eventually found the check-back on the other one.
And so it came to pass that we three FRBs came off the hill together, happy, holding hands, waiting
for each other like good little fairy hashing companions – no wait, that’s not right, it can’t have been,
Chucky Doo and Gravy Graven fairies? No, that’s right – that’s not right at all. I remember now, we
came out of the forest into a waterlogged industrial cement enclosure – if that is not too grand a
description – racing each other, pushing and shoving, vying like maddened dogs for the lead. The
paper trail had gone completely, leaving us to frantically search in all directions. But there was only
one conceivable way out, but still we couldn’t find the trail, still we were bustling and pushing, until
one of us finally found the on in; and in true non-competitive FRB fashion, we will lie, cheat and
scratch eyes out to say it was I who found it and not the other lying, cheating, eye-scratching, racist
bastards! So just who found it may never truly be known . . . but I think it was me Ah, yes, that’s
more like it!
So in the end, it wasn’t a long run, about 3.5k, and it definitely wasn’t flat, and if the hare did set it
entirely from the seat of her motorbike, then she is some kind of champion off-road rider . . . oh, and
somehow, Tulips and Frozen Sausage managed to take about an hour and five to complete the trail.
What the F were they doing out there? humping stray dogs for F sake??????
And the circle was kind of cool, in a completely disorganised, uninhibited-by-tradition-and-a –
permanent-GM type of cool, where the hare loosely ran the circle – and I do mean loosely – with
everybody joining in the chaotic fun and frolics. We were so relaxed that the Snail Skid family shared
intimate details of their intimate life together that involved some sort of Brown Finger activity,
which Snail Trail demonstrated on a now smiling and girly-giggling Chuck Wao – what the F . . . And
guess what, CW didn’t say a good circle is a short circle once, and at one point quietly whispered in
my ear that he was actually enjoying himself and might even be a little pissed! What the F . . .? If it
wasn’t for the very astute Graven Image, who realised we were drinking far too many beers for his
highly secured hash cash wallet to bear, we might have been there all night.
Great job the Screwed Ninja team. And thank F that I found out that Anything was drinking after all
– she had brought a leftover bottle of Thai whisky from Friday’s festivities; I just couldn’t have lived
with the frightening thought of a sober and sane Anything , doesn’t work, does it?
And the hangovers from the animal Dinner go on and on and on . . .