LAKESIDE HASH HOUSE HARRIERS HASH TRASH
Run no: 936 26 June 2002 Port Melbourne Life Saving Club
Hare: The EX GM – Ms. E.B. Pie
——————————————————————————–
And good riddance!
I thought I had arrived early but there was no sign of hashers apart from some grunting and rustling in the shrubbery around the Port Melbourne Yacht Club. After IBM emerged looking flustered, we determined from his careful and persistent attempts to break into the building that the event was actually down the beach at the Port Melbourne Life Saving Club. So, with a few late additions, the Lakeside HHH packed a respectable 101 hashers into the concrete and glass box that is the PMLSC. Good work by the hare and now former GM at choosing a venue small enough to make it look like people like us, they really, really like us!
And a fair spread of hashers from near and far it was indeed. The high and mighty (and lowdown and dirty) from Western Suburbs, Melbourne Ladies, Ball-a-rat, Peninsula Ladies, Full Moon, and Geelong showed up on the pretence of paying their disrespects to the outgoing committee. In reality, they just wanted pizza and lots of it.
After much milling around, trying on of socks, and pre-run carbo loading the 7:00 run was off to a prompt 7:30ish start. The pack shuffled out and off into the night, the ocean breeze at their backs and the promise of a long and confusing run ahead. Calls came from every direction as walkers, SCBs, and FRBs randomly ran hither and yon through the stylish streets and back alleys of Port Melbourne. At some point the stylish streets emptied us into a suburban wasteland of beige concrete townhouses and cul-de-sacs before converging again at the beer and lolly stop in pissing distance from the fairy peer.
Revived and rejuvenated, it was a straight dash back to the PMLSC where things were about to take a turn for the worse. The hapless bakers of Smokin Dough’s Mobile Wood-Fired Catering (0418 569 058 for all your party needs!) were taken aback by the ravenous pack and opportunistic committee members took it upon themselves to brave the mob (and maybe scoop up a few pieces for themselves along the way). Despite all efforts, the local seagulls were put to shame by a swooping pack of hashers who hardly let a pizza more than two steps through the door.
Eventually their ravenous hunger was satiated the circle was called to no semblance of order. E&B was immediately called to account for a run that the vox populi labelled “shithouse”. A more sympathetic Queen B said the trail was “well laid” and the hare agreed that she would indeed be well laid now that she plans on wasting less time and effort on the hash. Cooch immediately copped it for the Best Root of the Year, with lesser run-related certificates distributed evenly among outgoing committee members. I had hoped that a list would be published in the yearbook as I was too busy drinking. If you really care enough, ask E&B for details.
Visiting GMs made some meaningless announcements and the charges resumed.
a.. The baristas were renamed The Sopranos and given a beer. b.. Deeper charged E&B for having a nautical twist c.. The scribe was charged for being ‘not on’ d.. Highly Infectious still hasn’t learned not to wear NEW SHOES to the hash e.. Baabaaraa received his last Grogmaster charge for bringing ‘olds and colds’ (we have enough of them on the hash already!) f.. The virgins got just what they needed. g.. Scrubber was charged for losing letters in her cleavage h.. Tangles showed us all his culturally sensitive side while pointing out that The Sopranos had worn their “dago shoes to the hash” (wherever you go, dey go) At last, the old committee was called together for one last hurrah, then told to piss off and make room for new blood. It was the moment we all were waiting for. Who would the new GM be? What poor sap would get stuck with that thankless task this year? Anticipation was thick in the air. But we didn’t have to wait long before Morocco Mole bounded in, speech in hand.
No, wait, it was none other than erstwhile scribe Mummie’s Boy in casbah mufti! The new committee was hailed in with a round of Carlton’s finest, the prevalence of red shirts demonstrating once again the hash tendency for continuity and maintaining the status quo.
With that, the raffle was drawn, prizes awarded and everyone told to go home and watch the Germans put the Turks in their place. Most everyone promptly did, leaving a few dedicated (read: stupid enough not to have left earlier) hashers who were left with the unenviable task of cleaning up.
On-on
TDTD