Aberdeen Hash House Harriers

Run 1233

Sun 23 Apr 2006

Burn O Vat to Ballater

Hares: Harley & Farmer

Scribe: T-Rex Cock

St George’s Naught to B run

A sunny St. George’s day dawned, making your scribe feel poetical. 

“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.”

Of course, this could have something to do with Harley’s new tactic of having the bus leave the pick-up points 10 minutes before the scheduled time.

“For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,”

… strange then that the bus driver then waited 10 minutes for Numbskull who was hiding in the long grass at the drum oak

“This day shall gentle his condition.”

Although miracles might take a bit longer

“And gentlemen in England now abed

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,”

Presumably this includes all those gentlemen now at bus stops scattered around Aberdeen

“And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That hashed with us upon Saint George's day.”

Although the only manhood holding was the loo stop at Banchory, although I couldn’t see what **** and **** were holding at the back of the bus.

The mystery destination became clear as we passed through Birnam wood to Dinnet National Nature Reserve, famous for wetlands, streams, slippery rocks, moss, slimy frogs, rain, lochs, glacial remains, wet leaves, slippery snakes, outlaws, deserted dungeons, but hopefully no dragons.

Sergio’s 450th run won him a full AH3 cap.  (Well done that man. Ed) Hopefully, being now so appointed, he will now cast his ancient battered blue relic aside.

We had hardly had time for anyone to lose the trail (especially as the main culprits were setting the run) when a we were waylaid by a scurrilous ragamuffin hidden in the Vat Burn furtively thrusting shots of Vat 69 into our hands.  Dutch courage for what was to come?

The trail passed through wild and wonderful highland scenery.  There was a problem when got onto the flatter, country park part of the trail – you know, with proper paths, and with lochs and walls for landmarks, not to mention dog-walkers in fur coats who actually owned all the territory we were trespassing on and needed to remind us of this fact very loudly – we had been sabotaged by malevolent farmers, or possible savage sheep.  Anyway, there was no trial, it had gone with the wind, and the pack had split up into a myriad of splinters. Some wanted to head north to an ancient settlement at Cambus-something they set a trail at 17 years ago, other wanted to follow on the path through the gate, because it looked rather pretty.  Lost!  No-one answered the call of the horn. Lost!  Now this could have been a problem for hashers on an A to B run, to be in the middle of the highlands, not knowing where you are or where you are meant to be.  Sunset was only 5 hours away.  But, were we downhearted? Yes we were. 

Being scribe, I thought I’d better try again to rally the troops:

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our hashing dead.

In training there's nothing so becomes a hasher

As modest stillness and humility;

But when hash horn’s blast blows in our ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger:

Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

To his full height. On, on, you noblest hasher.

Be copy now to men of grosser blood,

And teach them how to trail. And you, good hashers,

Whose limbs were made of iron, show us here

The mettle of your pasture; let us swear

That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; (even Litteshit?)

For there is none of you so mean and base, even Numbskull,

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start.  The game's afoot… “

But I was cut short by a phrase I would never have imagined Fifi’s immaculately formed lips, so I gave up and sulked for the rest of the run.  Fortunately, coming out of the mist appeared the eerie figure of the small but perfect lady, Shirley Valentine, who, didn’t have a lamp, but led us back onto the right course.

Eventually, after a long but strangely enjoyable slog we caught up with the bas, which had mysteriously found its way to B without us, and enjoyed a few beers and changes of clothes in the warm sun.  All of us that is except Numbskull, who we unfortunately picked up on the road back to Banchory for steak pies at the George Hotel (sorry artistic licence here, it was actually the Burnett arms). 

So, we had survived another Harley and Farmer extravaganza:

“He that outlives this day and comes safe home

Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named

And rouse him at the call for on-on.

He that shall see this day and live t'old age

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours

And say, "Tomorrow is Saint George’s run."

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars

And say, "These wounds I had on George's day."

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words -

Farmer the GM, Wotsoff and Sergio,

Fifi and Meganne, Littleshit and Lifeboats -

Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

And take their spirit; and make loud this charge

Cry 'God for Harley, Farmer, and Saint George!'”

T.Rex Cock

Those who attended:

Incredibly Ugly Bastard, Harley, Little Shit, Sharnie, Watzoff, Goatwrestler, Pigiron, Stainless, T-Rex Cock, Farmer, Binliner, Sergio, Numbskull, Threadbare, Megane, Lifeboats, JC, FiFi, Sir, Shirley Valentine

Aberdeen Hash House Harriers

Run no; 1222

Sun 05 Feb 2006

Location; Somewhere in a wood near Blairdaft

Hare; T Rex Cock

Scribe: Canna-b-arsed

It’s Sunday again and as you would expect, a large contingent of the Hash is lost without a map. This became more apparent as the run progressed and more faces popped out of the undergrowth than there were at the start of the run. Bloody shocking what some Hashers will do to avoid a pre run down-down or scribe duty.

Pre run down-down I have to confess I don’t have a bloody clue about, as I was far to busy protesting the fact that I wasn’t going to be at home this week and would therefore be unable to fool fill my scribing duties.

Our beloved RA then handed over to our fabulous Hare for the day and then I paid attention. Although why I bothered I’ll never know, but at least I paid attention unlike the RA and stand in GM, who between them wouldn’t have found a flour trail in Thain’s bakery today!

The word of the Hare was “one spot and your on and don’t go threw the back checks” and we were off. So far so good. A nice gentle start to the first check, broken to the left and we merrily ran onwards to the next check. Please note the use of the word merrily cause it’s the last time your going to see it in this scribe, from here on in I’m going to use some of the more vernacular terms employed by Hippo.

Second check, we were feeling far to confidant. The first check was shattered never mind broken so the second should have been a piece of pish. Oh how we forgot to allow for the devious and dastardly nature of Hares. After finding the fourth back check from this one simple little check Hippo was heard to question the Hares parentage/ability to copulate/sex and even if he was a member of the human race. Eventually you’ll be glad to hear we got ourselves sorted out and buggerd off to the third check.

Check three and were starting to get horrible premonitions of how this run is going to go. After the third back check we were off towards the fourth check which was set in a rather pleasant spot called deja bloody vu.

All told the run had eight checks, but these were coshed into submission by the fact that every bloody check seemed to have between 4 and “he’s taking the piss now” back checks. Isn’t that right RA and stand in GM? Oh what’s that? You ran threw a back check and got lost? Ended up on the wrong side of the wrong hill? Had to give up and run back to the cars where you heard us calling beer check from? Gosh, fancy that.

That’s it. The runs over and we’ve all trooped back to the cars for some tasty gluhwein and the RA’s charges with a little help from his partner in lostness the stand in GM.

Trouser Shredder & Ann Other for wearing similar colours to the losing rugby teams.

Harley for not being aware that the Irish won and he couldn’t pick on somebody in green.

Lights Out I think but I don’t know why.

Wotzoff for having gnarly old toes.

Cannae Be Arsed for rear ending some woman’s car then having his car rear ended by a taxi whilst it was still in the garage.

Stiffy for going to Australia or coming back from there.

Teeheeheeheehee Rex COCK for being a nasty Hare, but laying a great run. Cheers.

My humblest apollo geese to any and all down-down recipients I missed or named fraudulently. But with the GM being away and not having handed over the scribe kit to his stand in GM I was left with out a pen to write with. Oh the shame of it all.

Those that attended:

Threadbare, Megane, Harley, T-Rex Cock, Hippo, Mrs T, Sergio, One Foot, Pigiron, Stainless, Cannae’B’Arsed, Trouser Shredder, Wotzoff, Bruce Almighty, Stiffee, Head Teuchter, Sharnie, Little Shit, Thrupneybits, Hippy Chick, Mad Cyclist, Lights out, Numbskull