Scribes

RUN 1321 STONEHAVEN

Sunday 2nd December 2007

Hare: Dutchcap

Scribe : Pigiron

24 hapless hashers got out of their fetid pits this sunny Sunday to gather at the site of  the new Tesco/Luxury Apartments/hole-in-the-ground on the outskirts of Stonehaven megalopolis. Sadly deprived of the GM, the hash had to rely once more on Harley to start proceedings. Naturally he mis-awarded the task of hash scribe to one who would have no idea where the run might have gone.

It seems that Harley has finally totaled up his retirement fund, since FiFi (555 runs) and Pigiron (300 staggers) were awarded a small return on their investment in the form of a pair of shorts and a hip flask. (Not one of each, just one each, you fool) . The hipflask is totally useless, surprise, surprise, since introduction of any liquid apart from distilled water will cause it to melt. I cannot possibly comment on the shorts.

Anyway and whatever, Dutchcap was haring this event which more or less guarantees a double marathon, although he was kind enough to recommend finding your own way as a trail-shortening ploy. His advice was eagerly accepted by at least five SGBs who got back PDQ and nearly finished the glueyvine before the real runners got back. I am told by one who knows that the run took in the golf course, beach front, suburbs and Dunnotter woods and was bloody long. Tsk tsk such language! Harley is suspected of running to the Dutch Lair in hopes of a homemade soup beer stop whereas the real thing was at the other end of town in the dark woods. ‘nough said.

The main event at the circle was a muddy arse competition easily won by T Rex Cock. Amazing what captains of industry find to do on Sundays, is it not? Concerned with global warming the RA held Singit up as a man who knows the value of a pound and does not lightly deplete resources by buying new shoes. Unfortunately the now open-topped sandals he wears were unable to hold sufficient beer for a decent down. Warming to his theme, the next down went to the polystyrene-huggers in our midst, Canna be Arsed and Trouser-shredder for driving to the hash from their love-nest just around the corner.

It being chilly the circle then wandered off home.

On ON