Run Date: 28th December, 2015
Run No #1836
Hare: Cummalott
Venue: 20 Hawkins Street Bucasia
Hashers: 15
Cummalott found an empty house in Bucasia, so, like a bunch of squatters we moved in. With the festive season in full swing only 15 Hashers turned up to brave the elements…… well, only 13 to start with, before WHP got a call from Daffodil asking where the hell was everyone….. seems he and Corgi had missed the change of venue email, and turned up to a very lonely Botanic Gardens. A quick realignment of the SatNav saw them heading to the Bright Side of Bucasia (actually, it was getting quite dark as storm clouds loomed). After waiting 20 minutes, we decided stuff em, they ain’t comin, so off we went down the hill and around the corner, when in rolled the aforementioned Corgi & Daff, who quickly ditched the car and joined the fray. Across the main road and into the back streets and round and round Bucasia, with the rain getting ever closer, eventually we all returned to the squat. Amid tales of Chrissy Dinner, cash was collected and, after The Monkee had put out some Tun to get warm, the circle was called. A request from last week for some new hash songs was delivered upon, your Monk having done a Google search for hash downdown songs….. easy to find, everyone can have a go!. Down downs were delivered to the Hare Cummalott, Viagra for his 69th birthday, WHP’s son Klinger got 2, one for being a return runner, another for telling a woeful joke, and WHP had one for being on call and answering the phone. Even your Monk had a taste, for reasons that defy belief (insert….. can’t remember) A few more jokes from the Monkee and the Monk and we ran outta things to do. We sang the Hash Song with gusto, and then, before closing, and acting on another request, your Monk revealed a magnificent tenor voice, and delivered a new Hash Song. So now we have 2 to choose from. (Delicious will distribute some copies next week)
Circle closed, and we settled in for a beer or two, followed by a tasty chille sausage stew with spuds and bread, quickly gobbled down. Then, remarkably, the talk turned to how Daffodil got his name, something about Daffodil margarine and taste buds on your tongue, at which point Daff unfurled quite possibly the world’s longest tongue. Squeals of delight from certain Harriettes saw Corgi cringe in embarrassment, whilst the blokes shook their heads and had another beer.
Then the assembled crew bagan to wander off home, leaving Cummalott to squat alone.
Next week’s run will be from our place…12 Douglas Cres Rural View. Bring your mountain boots.
On On, The Monk.
