Scribes 2002

Aberdeen Hash House Harriers

Run 1044

Sun 27th October 2002 

On On: Dunnottar Woods, St One Haven 

On Inn: Royal Hotel

Hare: The Penguin

Scribe: Sonic

Sunday 27/10/02 

Slowly open my eyes and look out of the French windows at the morning sunlight shining on the tower of the cathedral in the old town, the view filtered by the branches of the olive tree just beyond the front patio. The clock in the tower has chimed 9, twice, it does that to give people working in the fields (and slobs like me) a second chance to catch the time. Roll over and my hand lands across Thruppenies Bits - all is well with the world. Get up have a shower and walk up to the old town to buy fresh croissants for breakfast, return, taking in the view to the foothills of the alps on the way back, sit out in the rear garden and consume said croissants with fresh brew coffee and orange juice. Have to make a difficult decision which beach to go to today as its 20-21 degrees in the shade.

Sunday 27/10/02 

Slowly open my eyes, its pitch black. “Where the f**k am I??” And “what is that F*****g noise??” Realisation kicks in its Portlethen and the four horsemen of the Apocalypse are whipping up a storm outside the window. Shout at them to piss off, roll over and my hand lands across a wet pussy (cat that is) having been rescued by Thruppeny Bits from one of the more ugly horsemen. Grudgingly get up, have a shower and make sure that the house is securely battened down. Breakfast is more like the last meal of a condemned man. Have to make a series of difficult decisions! How many layers do I put on? Shall I wear my dri-fit socks? How many towels will I take??????

Wave jealously at Thruppenies and brats as they shut and bolt the door after me. On down to Stonehaven and the Hash.

Pre run down down to:

• Hippo for his sterling efforts to get 'Big Jim' to hospital after the run at Lord throat you have to see the pictures in last weeks Hashsheet to appreciate the task. I wouldn't have wanted Jim leaking claret over my upholstery...

The Penguin mutters something about the Mearns Hash setting a very similar run the day before and we are off.. 

On on down through Dunnottar Woods, out to the main road, up Dunnottar Braes, down in to the old town, back up to Dunnottar Braes (b*****d), along the cliff to Dunnottar Castle (it’s as much as I can remember as I was peering through eye slits due to the driving rain), watch Tonto in conversation about cans of beer or was it Canberra??, Up to the car park to find hare and beer check.. From there a nice jog back along the sunny leafy lane (sorry I was hallucinating due to the cold at that stage) back to the cars.

Down downs to: 

• Harley for leaving his hat lying around 

• New runners (Christine, mate of Fire Flaps and the rest) 

• Sergio being heard to utter 'sorry I can't eat any more' (sounds unlikely I know, but true)

• Tonto for picking up an Aussie 

• Fire Flaps for 10 runs 

• Joint Hashshit The Penguin and Piglron for nicking each-others run 

P.S. I just love the Scottish weather (NOT) 

On On 

Sonic 

Run No. 1003

Date: 03.02.02

Hare: Well Laid

On On: Tyrebagger

Question - What do you do on a cold wet Sunday morning in Aberdeen in early February?

Answer - lie in for a while then obtain the Sunday papers and enjoy a leisurely breakfast/brunch/lunch... whilst reading of the previous days triumphs on the rugby field (sorry promised not to mention the rugby!).

Unfortunately being a Hasher I got this question wrong, and after a detour via the “usual' Tyrebagger car park found myself standing in the rain at an alternative location, close enough to the published map reference for most lost souls to assemble by the usual 11'ish.

Before allowing us to commence activities Little Shit as JM welcomed the new runners and visitors and awarded Sergio his 250th run mug. A mighty impressive 'performance' this was too - I still recall Sergio's first run (and the tracksuit in all its sartorial elegance) not much more than 5 years ago, hardly a run missed since!

So the next hour or so was spent, very enjoyable I must say, in familiar territory – with a twist - fallen trees! The gales that had made the original car park ‘off limits' had also done significant damage through the forest. Still great Hashing country, plenty of shiggy, and incidents too numerous to recall, however, the image of More Butt driving home in her underwear conjured up after a particularly expert shaggy attack by the Wild Local still sticks in the memory... (Something to do with a hangover and failing to bring spare clothes).

To keep us alive in the arctic conditions the hare had thoughtfully laid not one, but two 'sweetie checks' the first taking on the disorganised appearance of the Scotland line-out of the previous day as the Mars bars were sent skywards (sorry I wasn't going to mention the rugby was I). A good long run-in after the second of these, with some expect short-cutting lead by Hippo and Little Shit allowed for some welcome warming-up before the cars came into view.

By the time the circle was called to order by the RA's – The Wild Local and Aids, the rain had finally stopped and the Hash “steaming' made quite a sight. Down-downs were awarded for the usual random mixture of gossip, tall tales and occasional fact to;

Alec and Eric – new'ish runners who seemed to enjoy the run. Time will tell, however, whether they enjoyed it enough to actually come back.

Well Laid - Our Hare for the day for a good run. On a personal note I found this run excellent. A simple trail, in good country, suitable even for our 'typical winter conditions. Other Hares take note – keep it simple and you too can avoid Hashit! (Apologies for making a serious point but if I must scribe I will use the power of the pen as I see fit ... anybody got a problem with that?)

Little Shit - 650 runs (last week but missed by all)

Life Boats for trying to obtain a 450th run hat without bothering to do the runs.

Errant scribes (Toungey and (Ed-help?) – for not bothering and trying to do justice to the 1000th run in one paragraph respectively.

And finally an apparently well-deserved Hashit for the Penguin for becoming Addled on Addlestones at the rugby (but then I promised not to mention the rugby didn't I!

On On! Pigpen

The Run 1002

The Hare: Wotzoff

North Donside

Pre Run Down Downs:

- Willie Wotzoff was awarded the Toilet Seat again because he hadn't put his name on it last year. (I thought it was bums you put on toilet seats ....)

 - Penguin for losing his fleece.

- Olymprick for his pie throwing prowess.

Walkie Talkies progressed very very slowly along beach, kids enjoyed playing chicken with the big waves coming in and invariably getting thoroughly soaked. Tim put his bum down three times on the beach at least I could scoop it up in sand. Tim is a dog by the way. We impressed the golfers by waiting for them to tee off before tramping all over their golf-course. There had been some wild notion that we might make it to the Brig O'Balgownie but between kids, the beach, dog, golfers etc. I think we did well to make it back to the circle before nightfall.

The pack as usual headed off in their customary excited fashion all bright and bushy tailed and ran down along the beach on a false trail naturally. They picked up the flour which took them through reeds and brambles oh joy............. They ended up half way back to the Donview uphill towards the houses and into the golf course (I bet they wouldn't wait for anybody teeing off!) A few cheeky checks through into the former barracks now flats and startled a few residents. Now here's a bit of technical information supplied by my other half. They covered a mile and a half of trail folded into a quarter square mile of space within the barracks. Sounds like origami.

On, on to Ellon Road back past Donview over bridge a check sent some errant hashers along the beach despite a back check at the bird watching hut. The clever hashers followed the true trail across the road along path and south of Don towards Brig O'Balgownie. That's me knackered already and I'm only scribing this.

Aids and Mad Cyclist came to the check at the corner of Seaton Park and despite checking 1...2....3... and finding no more flour a fair number of hashers proceeded to shout ON ON......... ..Pack spread out Mad Cyclist took high road through the woods Aids took the low road along the river. I feel a song coming on. Aids sniffed out the flour first and this led them uphill out the west end of Seaton Park past the scenic beauty of Tillydrone down beside the river again toward Crombie footbridge where they were met by(this bit was dictated by my husband) a most unusual sight Harley ahead of the pack and on trail shouting “ON ON” at the opposite side of the river. After crossing the Don at Crombie Mill we followed the river bank up through Campus One, onto Balgownie Road, down past the Shed Maker (Thanks for the sponsoring us "been laid in” sawdust). At the head of the steps above Brig O'Balgownie we came across a check but it wasn't hard to guess where to go - down to the Brig. Unfortunately for 99% of the pack, we were not led past the concealed beer check under the bridge so we all had to settle for beer back at the car park. Harley and White Trash were darn smug for being the only ones to find the beer stop! At least they both missed the sandwiches that appeared from Sergio's car boot and Harley gained a down-down for the offence of not shouting when on beer! The other down down went to Suzie for finding long lost car keys still hidden under the bumper where she left them a year before. New runner Ib decided to walk his first outing just in case he was embarrassed against the athleticism of the Aberdeen Hash - NOT! We now need to find him a nickname shorter than Ib. Any suggestions?

On On Mad Cyclist - on behalf of Mrs MC

The inside story of AH3's real 1000th run, or how we wuz Robb’d

“O wad some Pow'r the giftie gie us

To see oursels as others see us!”

Robert Burns

Aberdeen Hashers, this is your lucky day. God being an Englishman, as you're all well aware, and Him and me thick as thieves, I've been given the job of sprinkling insight on you from a great height. Naturally, I've used a jumble of code names to allow individual members of AH3 to kid themselves the character defects mentioned in this write-up belong to someone else. The jumble wasn't intentional; but I'm having a bit of trouble with nightmares about chilli pies and lifted kilts, Tongueys, Drillbits and Rock-it-powered bagpipes.

Before travelling up, I did a bit of research. The people of Aberdeen, according to the English Tourist Board, have long been associated with fish. Not that there's any fishing from the port, it's just a reference to their personal hygiene. This is why the city is known throughout Scotland as Auld Reekie. The city also has the country's greatest concentration of old people's homes, giving rise to its other nickname: The Granny'd City. Armed with these facts, I didn't expect to have a good time.

But I didn't rush to judgement; there was the chance of some fun at a preliminary event: the joint run with MEARNS H3 and the ad hoc Aberdeen Haggis H3 (historical note: formed for the day to stop the AH3 clock at 999). At the pick-up point the first Hasher to greet me was Olymprick, wearing a face that looked like it caught fire and was put out with a shovel - truly the Face of Aberdeen Hangover. I'd missed the Friday night piss-up and was looking all the better for it. But what about MEARNS? I'd never heard of it. The Penguin gave me some romantic crap about it being a swathe of Aberdeenshire countryside known through the ages as the Howe of the Mearns. When the bus got to the run site off Slug Road (Slug Road?) and I saw the MEARNS runners gathered there, it was obvious that M.E.A.R.N.S. was a description of the membership: Macho Englishmen And Raving Nancy-boy Scotsmen. The Howe was how the hell anyone would want to be associated with this lot.

Let's get the run out of the way - we went up a muddy track, through a pine forest, emerged onto a patch of snow, had a snow-fight, ran back into the woods, clambered over some fallen trees (no easy matter when fallen pines are like giant bog-brushes), crossed some open heath where the sun shone briefly, causing the woods on the distant slopes to take on the hues of a Crawford's Tartan Shortbread tin. All it needed was the skirl of the pipes - and blow me if we weren't piped in by Rock-it. It was beginning to feel like Scotland.

For Joy Boy it was beginning to feel like Hell. One of the spines on the bog-brush trees had pierced his scrotum and he was desperately seeking a kilt-lifter at the ON-ON to suck out the poison. The MEARNS women, and even the MEARNS men, refused; but he'd approached the wrong group, because a full 20 minutes after the last runners had reached the beer, Hippo and Chicken Shit ran down the hill together, grinning like members of the club that dare not speak its name (“If you like a lot of chocolate on your biscuit, join our...”)

The Penguin administered Down-Downs with time-honoured malice. To the Hares White Trash and Dutch Cap; to Tonto and Joy Boy; to reps of visiting Hashes – Guildford, West London, East Grinstead and Quorn, and finally a chilli pie Down-Down to Drillbit and Little Shit for whom Burns Night was going to come a wee bit early.

Unfortunately nothing came my way in the drinks line, and I was glad to get on the bus to the On-Inn at Stonehaven where there was at least the prospect of mixed showers and hot grub. I was sorely disappointed to find that the naked displays by our women at the EGH3 500th, so hard fought for, weren't reciprocated in the showers at the County Hotel Showering with MEARNS men, it's best to keep your eyes to the ground, which is how I noticed the shampoo suds around Olymprick's feet turn a pretty shade of yellow. Is it common knowledge he uses cheap highlights?

ON-ON The seating arrangements for that night's dinner didn't look promising. With EGH3's Leatherback at the table, our food supply was threatened by the one-man locust swarm, and with Dad Dad in the drinks rota (Dad Dad - so mean he sent the removal van back for the wallpaper), there was little hope of getting pissed. Any move to start the girly jigging-about they call Scottish dancing would just put the seal on it. And it got worse. Rock-it marched in pipes a-howling, followed by something on a plate. Well, it looked like the bagpipes had been for a shit and it was following them back in. Lone Ranger made a kind of mystical incantation over the item, using much of the Burns poem “To A Haggis”, then I was served some. No further proof was needed of the barbarity of the northern tribes. Dad Dad, fearing a lawsuit, poured single malt after single malt down my throat until I stopped gagging. This gobbledegook somehow made perfect sense. Somehow I was brilliant at Scottish dancing - inventing several new moves. Somehow I made it back to the hotel.

When you're in a foreign country, surrounded by many of the tribes mentioned in Jane's Fighting Jocks, and you have to get to a remote spot like Hazelhead Park for a very important ceremony, you don't want to miss the bus. I missed the bus. I missed the bus because members of the AH3 tribe sitting in the windows didn't recognize the sophisticated arm signals and facial expressions that the EGH3 tribe employ when approaching from the side at speed. “I thought I saw Someone waving”, Mad Cyclist's son, David, said.  As in tribute?  No matter, the taxi driver spoke sterling.

More than 80 Hashers gathered at the OnOn for Aberdeen H3's Real 1000th Run. In addition to the visitors from the previous day, there were Hashers from as far afield as New Zealand and Edinburgh, eager to celebrate this landmark event in Aberdeen's history. Forget shipbuilding, forget oil – it's the Down-Down industry that has made this city what it is today, and we were there to prove it. It fell to the GM 2am to open the proceedings with celebratory Down-Downs for some of the founder members: Alan McGregor, Gaye McGregor, Bob Elder and Jane Elder, the last of whom claimed credit only for immoral support. (Other founder members couldn't be present because they're currently hiding in a cave complex called Torragh Borragh somewhere to the east of Aberdeen.) Wild Local was given one for being the Almost Man - almost on the first run, almost doing the most runs, almost human, whereas Little Shit unquestionably deserved his for having completed the most runs - 648 for the anoraks out there. Failing to disguise his jealousy, 2am also credited Little Shit with having laid the most Hares, before correcting this to laying the most trails.

We were ready for the off, but first the pack had to be ritually panicked. It was going to be an A to B run, so all the car drivers were f*cked. The panic subsided when they were told the bus would be waiting for them at B to bring them back to A. A happy crowd then made a mad dash across the playing fields of Hazelhead Park, aiming to be first to the first check on this historic day. All bar one. Olymprick had decided to make sure the bus driver knew where pick-up point B was. So the driver showed him the map he'd been given with point A connected to point B by a sort of Hash trail with things called checks every few inches. Olymprick kept mum, knowing that finally his prayers had been answered - for once, and on the most important run in history, he wasn't going to be the last man in.

To me the trail seemed to go from golf course to woods, then back to golf course and more woods, offering a shop window on Scotland: buy the woods, get the tax break, then just play golf. Not much of the money is spent on education locally, as evidenced by the vast and thriving Hash membership, and the diabolical checks that could only be the product of idle minds. Thus I found myself slipping further and further behind, keeping company with the likes of Fifi and Pink Panther, and runners who hadn't worked out that the OnInn at the Waterwheel Inn must be within a caber toss of point B, so head for it. They know who they were.

I took a breather about half way round, which allowed some of the older members of AH3 to catch up. Among them was Dad Dad - a hard man to ignore, but well worth the effort. He was regaling the gang with his exploits from the old days on EGH3. Let me put the record straight: as with all things in this man's world, he received more than he gave, and this applies double to his shiggy quota. Still, I thought he might be useful for hauling us back within sight of the pack, which had disappeared into the woods on the far side of a stud farm. I thought wrong. We risked our necks sprinting along the half-mile of tarmacadam that every Scottish Hare inserts into a run as a reminder of one of the best things to come out of Scotland (i.e. the road to England); but by the next check in the woods we were even further behind. Some walkers directed us to the right, so I ran to the right. However, Dad Dad muttered “Milltimber” and veered off to the left. I thought "Nil timber” was him playing out one of his phobias, and ignored him. Suddenly I was alone in the trees and well off-trail with only the Hash anthem for comfort: “O Flour of Scotland, when will we see, your like again..." Quite soon afterwards, as it turned out. Rock-it's bagpipes were piping-in the runners at the Half-Way Sip and that's the sound I followed, dangerously close to being the last one in.

It was obvious from the dregs that the party had been in full swing for some time. There wasn't much beer left, but there were thousands of chilli pies. Hunger, and the belief that anyone who'd survived EGH3's 10th Anniversary boil-in-a-bin roadkill curry could eat anything, caused me to wolf down several of those pastry-crust anti-personnel mines. That was a mistake. What happened during the rest of the afternoon is a blur. While I could still see, I clocked the arrival of Olymprick a full 15 minutes after me. A roar went up when he appeared - Last Man to the end today of all days with the whole world jeering. For Olymprick, knowledge of the route hadn't been enough to overcome the enormous drag factor of his athletic ability.

Before we moved off I picked up a snitch. The Lum had decided to dress for the run in a short kilt and Lycra tartan tights, like a Javanese lady-boy on the pull in Surabaya. He claimed it didn't compromise his sexuality. Wild Local agreed: “Aye, there's still a big c*** underneath”. (I only report what I'm told.)

After the Sip, the walkie-talkies were pointed in the direction of the bus, while the runners were directed the opposite way into a swamp. It was of course another devilish falsie, but it had the benefit of bunching everyone for the final leg to the car park that formed point B. There wasn't long to wait after that for the Circle to form.

I began to have trouble concentrating because it felt like an alien life form had emerged from the pies in my guts and it was lighting matches to read the instructions for Phase II. I think this is what I saw: 

Two Hashers shared the RA job: AIDS and Wild Local (imagine Rab C. Nesbitt with a Scottish Higher). 

Down Downs went to: -

• The Hares and the Pipes: Drillbit and Little Shit / Rock-it  

• Representing the visitors: Brewer from Edinburgh.

• Virgin Hashers: Martin from NZ, and Stewart, son of Mad Cyclist.

• Most runs: Little Shit again.

• Birthday Boy: Mint Sauce.

• Founder Members: Wild Local / Tonto / Pink Panther / Mrs T / Bob Elder (somehow a different set of Founder Members from the start of the run).

• Flashers’ Award: Silver, for taking pictures of naked men with no film in the camera.

• Event organizers: JC / Thrombosis / Thrapolectomy / Thrush (here Wild Local went on some kind of medical mystery tour with references to Just Conscious / A Slow-moving Clot / A Pain in the Neck / Irritating C***).

• More helpers: Tongue Lasher and the bus driver (the bus driver mistook me for a reporter from The Northern Scot. “The name's Geordie, G-E-O-R-D-I-E.” Thanks, I'll make sure that gets into print. My notebook was the back of the commemorative 1000th Run Hash Sheet; the one Cannae Be Arsed was so, so proud of; the one that dated the 1000th Run as the 13th February 2002).

• SAS fans: Pink Panther and Trouser Shredder, who, contrary to the menace implied in her name, switched to Not In This Mouth You Don't mood and threw the entire contents of the jar over Tonguey.

Finally it came to the Hashit award. 

Wild Local hauled me out. Gawd no, the chilli hordes were at the gates; I couldn't walk AND keep my cheeks clenched. Luckily I was merely required to identify the face in the bus window – David, son of Mad Cyclist. His father was doomed. Yet there was another contender - Harley. Harley was stunned to have a fez returned to him that was supposed to have been lost for all time. I can only speculate as to why the return of a hat could have caused such consternation. Had he lost it in Cairo giving head to Big Fatima's bigger sister? Whatever the details, the issue was lost in the clamour for one of them to be chosen and the other condemned. Even under New Labour, AH3 voted Barabas, and Harley got the Hashit shirt. The offensive article was hauled out of a muddy pool with a stick, and Harley, true to the badge that bears his name, donned it. Liquid shiggy ran down his legs.

ON-ON. That was enough for me. I made a dash for the airport and an appointment with Easyjet. As I took my seat in the gents for the first in a series of easy jets, I thought of all the people on AH3 who'd made the weekend so memorable: Hippo, Farmer, Lifeboats, Wotzoff, Thrupenny Bit, White Trash, Well Laid, and many more fantastic characters whom I'll always remember as, well, people I met.

I am writing to you from a rather undignified position in the Specialist Burns Unit of Queen Mary's, my arsehole like a dragon's nostril, for which I'd like to thank the Lord of the Rings, the Olymprick rings - Masterbaker. The man has without knowing it done much for mathematics in Scotland. When you want to know the area of your circle, say "pie arse queered”.

ON ON to the 2000th.

ON-ON

Blue Suit

The 1000th Aberdeen Hash (Scribe - Hillary)

This was an  A to B run starting at Hazlehead Park. The hares were Little Shit and Drillbit. The walkie talkies were given a lift by the coach driver to the mid-point. However they didn't want to walk through Countesswells Forest with their loved ones and continually 'texted Little Shit for shortcuts.

The run itself was over in a flash and we all arrived at the beer check for curried pies supplied by Olymprick. Rock-it played his bagpipes. Olymprick was so delighted that he got his tash got stuck in has beer can and Penguin came to his rescue. Runners came from all over including New Zealand or hobbiton as it is now called after the Lord of the Rings. A young hobbit called Stuart was introduced as a virgin runner. In fact there were so many visitors the tight fisted Aberdeen lot decided that they couldn't afford to give them all a down-down! Little Shit got down-downs for running the most hashes at 648 and for being the most prolific hare ever. It was Mint Sauce's birthday – she got a down-down and was promised fun later! Silver got a down-down for taking lots of pictures of naked men only to discover that there was no film in the camera – or was she too frightened to get it processed? Many thanks went to the organisers of the 1000 hash. These included Sergio, Harley, Trouser shredder and Can't be Assed. The hash shirt was particularly dirty and was awarded to Harley for losing his Fez – which was found during the 1000 hash. The coach driver was offered a non-alcoholic down-down for his contribution. He then took uş to the Onn-Inn carvery at the Water Wheel Inn.

They are finally out again. You all know about the Darwin Awards – It's an annual honour given to the person who did the gene pool the biggest service by killing themselves in the most extraordinarily stupid way. Last year's winner was the fellow who was killed by a Coke machine which toppled over on top of him as he was attempting to tip a free soda out of it.

This year’s winner is:

The Arizona Highway Patrol came upon a pile of smouldering metal embedded into the side of a cliff rising above the road at the apex of a curve. The wreckage resembled the site of an airplane crash, but it was a car. The type of car was unidentifiable at the scene. The lab finally figured out what it was and what had happened. It seems that a guy had somehow gotten hold of a JATO unit (Jet Assisted Take Office - actually a solid fuel rocket) that is used to give heavy military transport planes an extra "push" for taking off from short airfields. He had driven his Chevy Impala out into the desert and found a long and straight stretch of road. Then he attached the JATO unit to this car, jumped in, got up some speed and fired off the JATO!

The facts as best as could be determined are that the operator of the 1967 Impala hit the JATO ignition as a distance of approximately 3 miles from the crash site. This was established by the prominent scorched and melted asphalt at that location. The JATO, if operating properly, would have reached maximum thrust within 5 seconds, causing the Chevy to reach speeds well in excess of 350 mph and continuing at full power for an additional 20-25 seconds. The driver, and soon to be pilot, most likely would have experienced G-forces usually reserved for dog fighting F-14 jocks under full afterburners, causing him to become insignificant for the remainder of the event. However, the automobile remained on the straight highway for about 2.5 miles (15-20 seconds) before the driver applied and completely melted the brakes, blowing the tires and leaving thick rubber marks on the road surface, then becoming airborne for an additional 1.4 miles and impacting the cliff face at a height of 125 feet leaving a blackened crater 3 feet deep in the rock. Most of the driver's remains were not recoverable; however, small fragments of bone, teeth and hair were extracted from the crater and fingernail and bone shards were removed from a piece of debris believed to be a portion of the steering wheel. Epilogue: It has been calculated that this moron nearly reached Mach I, attaining a ground speed of approximately 420 mph

Bus from to Abz and afternoon party at County Hotel

RUN 999

6th January 2002

Hares: Tonto & Tonguelasher

On-On: Banchory Main Car Park

Scribe: Sergio

On-Inn: Scott Skinner's

999 – The Emergency Services Run

I was early for once and was able to witness, first hand, costumes being put on as the pack arrived: the theme being emergency services, of course. Pink Panther was one of the first to get her overalls on - along with a fireman's hose as well! Quite a few followed this type of theme - Sonic and Hippo anyway. Piss Poor and Tongue Lasher (briefly, anyway) represented the (PVC) Police and Little Shit and The Lum did something with doctors and nurses - not together I hasten to add. Olymprick looked extremely comfortable in his well-fitting convicts outfit. Alas, no sweet young hashers in skimpy nurse's outfits – perhaps the freezing temperature had something to do with it?

It was nice to see a big turnout, including a few returnees - Eightsome, No Handle and One Cell, and a number of new runners who with one notable exception were all called Ann. Little Shit called us to order and presented the RA for the day, Wild Local. He awarded a joint pre-run down-down to Well Laid and Drillbit. Well Laid for the best (?) costume - bathers and a t-shirt as he was a lifeguard or something like that. The only life that was in danger was his – from hypothermia!! Drillbit received a sporran flask (I was reliably informed) for reaching the 300 run milestone. Well done Drillbit!

The hares had very complicated instructions for us, and claimed there were 9 checks and 9 false trails (and they were likely to get 9 down-down's as a result). After a predictable falsie to begin we were off through the streets of Banchory, and after just a few minutes we found ourselves at a “P” stop – at the Police Station!

After a quick splash of (pee coloured) Buck's Fizz we were off, and soon into the woods where the trail became extremely icy, and very difficult to negotiate. Lifeboats managed to slide into and knock Hoop over (she probably did it on purpose) at one of the checks.

Further into the woods we went, and I for one was surprised to come across the Bloody Mary transfusion stop in the trees by the “hospital”. Funny looking building, I thought. It was funny seeing Tongue Lasher and Hippo rolling around in the snow on the front lawn too!

Just as I thought this was going to be an easy stroll of a run we started to run away from the town and covered quite some distance. Wotzoff and Plonker, both in fluorescent yellow kept passing me as we tried to sort out all the back checks and false trails. Farmer and Harley decided on a bit of off-trail guesswork at this point and we didn't see them again for some time. J.C. manhandled both Jiffy and the buggy over one fence only to have to repeat the procedure minutes later - another false trail!

Relief was finally at hand – the trail led across a ditch and back onto tarmac. However that wasn't the end of the back checks – there was one particularly nasty one at the bottom of a long, steep hill. Bastards!!

But the going was a lot easier now, and the pack didn't take long to find the trail across the main road and down to the Fire Station and the third of the special 999 checks – the flaming chicken wings stop!! And I suspect the sausages had been given the same treatment – they were charred, to say the least. This was the beer stop – so we regrouped and ate and drank a little. The “must have missed breakfast” awards for desperate hashers definitely went to Penguin for eating a blackened sausage that was more charcoal than anything else, and to Piss Poor for a similarly charred chicken wing!

It wasn't the day to stand around (hence the 1000th run celebrations have been scheduled for June - except for the real 1000"run celebrations which will be in a week's time - is that clear???) and we soon slid, skiied, slipped, skated and stumbled our way back to the car park.

We stood around in the cold sipping gluevine and swapping lies about how we got to the beer check as the walkie-talkies wandered back in. Eventually the circle was brought to order and Wild Local was let loose on the assembled crowd.

The hares, Tonto and Tongue Lasher were first out – a down-down each for providing an excellent and very entertaining 999" run. A fitting prelude to the mega weekend to come

Next - new runners: some had succumbed to the cold and buggered off, so Thruppenies was hauled out to act as a proxy for the lot of them – the Ann's and the others as well! Will we ever see them again I wonder?

No Handle received a down-down for cleverly fooling his other half into believing (for over 2 years) that AH3 is a men only run, therefore no women allowed!! Unfortunately Hash Beer let the cat out of the bag so to speak – perhaps that's why No Handle hasn't been seen on the run for some months???

William Giles was on his final run before departing for a few months to the other side of the world. Apparently he is going on a sailing course of some sort. It seemed a pity to send him on his way without a hash handle so it was decided we should name him Jolly Roger – he should be able to have some fun with that name in the hash bars of Sydney!! An alternative – Avast Behind – was suggested but Farmer claimed there were other members of his family who suited this name better (whoops!!!).

And finally – the prestigious Hash Shit award. This fine award, adorned as it was this day with a shimmering light brown slime, went once again to that RA's dream, Mad Cyclist! Tongue Lasher had advertised her birthday bash the previous night as taking place at “Chez Moi”, Woodend Crescent: Mad Cyclist thought this must be a restaurant, even going so far as to look for it in Yellow Pages! Not content with that he (after finally finding the place) claimed Tongue Lasher was being pestered by kids pressing her door buzzer then running away because every time he heard someone at the entrance to the block press the buzzer he would open the door to Tongue Lasher's 3rd floor flat only to find there was nobody there!

On Inn was at Scott Skinner's and the pack cleared off in double quick time, being chilled to the bone by now. The usual good food and cheerful service made it an enjoyable end to a great run.

On-on to next week and the 1000th! Sergio

Those who ran: