Hash 1498


1st October 2006


Hares: S4S + Yet to be named Andy


Scribe: S4S




The ‘Oldest Virgin in Town’ Hash.



Hardened hashers put in serious work on Saturday night making hangovers to be just ready for the Sunday hash on Aegina. We gave up counting empty bottles on Sunday morning and just binned the evidence.


There was a serious delay starting the Sunday hash as Mad Dog and Doggie Style had chosen the slowest ferry to travel on Sunday and when we phoned them to find their position “doggie style” they didn’t say missing their obvious cue, but “Well, we can see land” was all we got from them. So a late start meant we were running (?) at the hottest time of a hot day on our first hash in October. Playboy 2 also distinguished himself by completely misunderstanding the plan for where we would start, where we would circle and what it was all about. He has slowed down a bit since his RA days, hasn’t he? There were lots of monuments, statues, relics and ruins on this hash, and that was just the runners. On this hot trail we passed beaches, mansions and lots of wind.


We passed grumpy locals (these islanders, eh?) who didn’t much like flour being dropped on their doorsteps and the stork wasn’t at home in its nest – a trail highlight. A grumpy female islander ignored the hashers greetings but found time to become animated enough with, and causing delay to, Doggie Style and Leanover.


Women, eh?


Mile after hot mile we treaded until we reached the welcome beer stop. There was some reluctance to leave from this as it was comfortable sitting in the shade with a cool beer at hand. Relaxing.


On and on we had to bully the pack to move their arses for had we not made plans for our dinner? Indeed we had.


We reached the beach and Playboy 2’s, by now perfectly parked motor where we set about our circle. The RA contrived to down-down every one present except for himself – nobody sussed this even though he was the hare. Shame on you all, and drink a warm beer very quickly by way of penance.


Notable down downs included:

            IMF for retuning

IMF’s wife (whose name we are shamefully incapable of remembering) also returned in all of her blonde Finnishness

Andy for being co-hare and doing something, but I can’t remember exactly what, really stupid.

Hamish, Chef de cuisine. Conducting the BBQ with Australian precision (looks about right mate) the night before. Good tucker.

Spanish Fly: for err… sins too numerous to mention

            Mad Dog and Doggie Style for late coming

            Leanover and Doggie Style for chattering like banshees

Playboy2 – now I don’t want anyone to get the impression I am not humble before greatness but he really did fuck up didn’t he?


We are all wonderful and I don't want any of you to ever forget how special you are.


And then, and then, we welcomed the Oldest Virgin every to grace the Athens Hash: George from Aegina via Beverly Hills, Calif. He gave us some old rope about being a movie producer (would you like to come back to my place for an audition girls…?) and PB2 grovelled about how he just happened to have a new screenplay… So Old George was called to the centre and welcomed as a virgin aged 81. Left it a bit late, perhaps. He was even calling Hamish ‘young man’. We, of course asked about himself but when it came to answering the fourth question – yes, the fourth – he began to look confused and his eyes glazed over as he peered into the distant past with the merest hint of a smile crossing his face. We can even forgive the lack of imagination in his name; our fourth r fifth George, or what? Guess he was there first. Anyway his record as oldest AH3 virgin will take some beating.


Mad Dog told some joke about blondes being on the wrong side which went down very well with our Finnish blonde, and IMF redeemed himself by succeeding in bringing over a very brief white bikini which had not escaped our attention. It turned out that it (and its occupant) was Italian from Brescia, called Maria and I won’t tell you what her answer to the fourth question was. Italian women, eh?


We had organised things so we were handy for Paul (from Bolton)’s pub where we had reserved Full English Breakfasts all round. We just squeezed into the shady patio to enjoy a drink while smelling the cooking (yes cooking – as he is from Bolton, it would be cukking only if he was from the south or if it was spelled differently) of imported Danish bacon, pork sausages plus of course black puddings from Bury (near Bolton). We generally found that red wine (not from Bolton) was best suited to this fine dish and so we drank our fill – not knowing all the wine was on the house, otherwise we would have drunk to excess (I’ll drink to that). As the food was served a hush descended on our tables concentrating as we were on getting just the right amount of HP on our rashers until it was interrupted by a sound from outside like the braying of a pack of mules, a cacophony of farts, a din of Tuba players, a blare of ….well, you get the idea. So out we go to check what this is, and surprise….it was a group of Tuba players riding  braying donkeys with flatulence. Next to them we find no other than Preston Pete astride his vintage Triumph legs akimbo, fresh from Preston from whence he had come. He came in the bar to greet the team and then went to park his bike. Half an hour later he came back to join us and breakfast (v. intransitive). His journey details became clearer to us as he took in carbohydrate, he had been to ‘hell and back’ he said. Not the quickest way, perhaps we should buy him a map?


The meal came to an end and tempted though we were to stay and inebriate ourselves further some had appointments to meet, cats to feed, lives to lead…ho hum.


And, finally on the hash principle that it is the ones who turn up who decide things the quorum of mismanagement members present unanimously decided that this hash should be hash-feeless. I’ll drink to that, said we all and went home.