VENUE UP VARIBOBI WAY (in the famous spot where we gave Maddog his 12 DIOs)


HARE MOUNTAIN GOAT so we knew we were in for quite a lot of it…..and got more than we expected…..






I was aquiver of anticipation waiting for  a repeat performance of making Maddog absolutely legless and then he chickened out and went to Blighty….


Never mind, I had managed to winkle Men-In-Gitis out of the house and into the world of hashers…..the only place I thought would not panic at the sight of his scabby pox ridden face, as he recovered from chicken pox…..he really enjoyed the support and encouragement of his fellow hashers…..as you can imagine and let me assure you that when you check out the photos Prickly Bush didn’t have to use any photoshop trickery to make him look like that….they are all his own spots…..


So what happened in the clearing in the forest that night….should I reveal all…..or at least all I remember, of the ordeal….perhaps it is best to spread light into the murky corners of hashland so we can convert the unbelievers? Or pull a curtain over the sordid tale?


Lets take a little peek and if you feel a bit nauseous or offended in any way…..sue me….


Mountain Goat had called up Dad’s Army to give him a hand to find a new route to baffle us, so Shampoo George, the other George, and his less than talkative silver haired mate, all had a hand in various bits of the trail….shame the bits didn’t fit together and no one had been in charge of the project management side so we never had a chance even if we looked to the hare for advice. FT, Julia and Yianni did our best upfront to find all the Fs and gave up after number 6……we were out in the forest for a long, long time and arrived back in the circle from all points of the compass, much to the surprise of the latecomers and visitors that had managed to find the start a wee bit tardily ( Rimjob and Garibaldi…..and Alzheimer’s Bush and Twisted Tatas).


The walkers were lost as usual so we started without them as Mountain Goat talked them in on his mobile….


So to the real business then….beer drinking and making sure RimJob paid his hash cash…..


Fair Cop also got through a fair bit of a big agenda ensuring our American visitors gave us a song and we all learnt at least the chorus thoroughly so we could add it to our sparse hymn book ( anyone remember it now????)….we gave them a few spare tshirts for making the effort…..


We then turned to poor Men-In-Gitis and finally put paid to his whinging that his name was pathetic and not funny or dirty at all…..He had had his original naming ceremony way back when he was about 10 and had minutes earlier been released from hospital with his recovery from bacterial meningitis…..

So here he was ripe for a re-naming and we had handy ones prepared including POXY and SPOTTY DICK both of which would have covered the main criteria of being a little risqué and slightly humorous ……So we got him seated comfortably in his bowl of ice and started the usual rigmaroles of ‘I am not worthy’ shout outs and all was going to plan UNTIL Mr Rimjob…..possibly as a payback for me suggesting he cough up his 3 euros, stepped in and suggested that as MIG was always sick all the time the best possible name for him was…..SICK MOTHER F*CKER…..and the circle took it up as a rallying cry and he was so named……and how am I supposed to explain that one to his nana when she comes on the Hash eh??


Don’t think much happened after that and so we all went home……