Scribes

Sunday 20th December 2009
Hare: Magane

On On; Tarland, Crossroads Motel
On Inn: Crossroads Motel

A pleasant and crisp morning saw the diehards brave the icy road conditions to travel the 15 miles past Echt, which felt more like 50 miles, especially at a snails pace following Thrup'ny Bits. Who upon reaching the OnOn claimed she was going slow to allow me to overtake, hmmm...

Oh well, we made it in one piece with time to spare before the On Circle, where the hare, aka Magane was arranging parking. Sweeties for us brave souls where liberally handed round, Tiger Feet called us to attention, eyes front and squint. For my part I was still mid way through a tale of hashing exploits and was duly awarded the orange scribe vest and horn, "hoot hoot"!

Hippo was told he was guest RA'ing cos the real RA was doing something else! So already being asked to be RA, I was then made guest, guest RA and awarded The Dutchess (Ann-Marie) a 50 run T-shirt, but it appears she has done more like 60 odd runs with her first being Hash 180 on Monday 1st September 1986 (hares for that run where Uxters and FiFi and the OnOn was Scolty Hill), what an anorak I am!!!!

The hare was called to elicit some details of the trail - white flour on snow, arrows and double back flips, with mince pies whisky checks, beers stops and lots of back checks. Sounds good to me! On up the hill to the first back check, bugger! The flour had turned a funny blue colour, I need to get the recipe. Back up the other side of the hill, a swift left and up to another back check, good old (young in comparison to me) Trouser Shredder managed to drag most of the pack up to the top. On back down to follow the trail to an arrow pointing the wrong way............. we are supposed to ignore this arrow until we find it again later on, Errrrrrrrr, ok, I'll go the opposite way to the arrow.

At the top of the hill we got the view and the mince pies, lovely day to be out in the country, the stay at homes missed a glorious day out. Ziggy back down the hill, to the beer check and then into a full blown snow ball fight with Mrs T, FiFi, JC, Hippo, Tiger Feet, Sharnie, Toyboy Tom and Trouser Shredder. where was Numbskull, and where was the Dutchess..........

On back to the hash dray, and pre poured gluevine, that's where Numskull had got to!

Circle was called and RA Hippo brushed back his greying locks and blames Trouser Shredder for tiring out Canna-b-arsed, who apparently was in Aberdeen slurping hot coffee.
At this point in the proceeding, Streaker wonders into the circle looking decidedly the worse for wear. A night in A&E, stomach pumps and allsorts of things inserted in to unmentionable places - hare of the dog and another handle Drip-on-line.

On to the On Inn.

Sitting in a bar with Hippo is a pleasant affair, a meeting of like minds, a refreshing look at the world through beer tinted goggles (have to stop shaking the bottle before removing the cap. Ed). When these points of view are aired some say we are grumpy old bastards, but life is not fair and the world continues to revolve and beer still gets more and more expensive. The BPI (beer price index) has gone up 93 (1500%) points since 1970, that's some inflation! Some of us can still remember the time he could go out with 5 bob, have ten pints, including getting a round in (probably the last time he did. Ed) and get a fish supper on the way home, some can remember even cheaper nights out, especially those with short arms and deep pockets!

The price of beer has always been a problem, and has tended to over shadow other hashing gripes and grumps, not that after a few beers these areas of world shattering importance do not get resurrected and discussed in great detail. The nice thing is, all the answers to the universe and everything (42. Ed) get forgotten with the morning hangover and have to wait for the next session to re-invigorate.

I'm sitting here having a beer and poking a finger through a thread bare twenty year old hash t-shirt, admiring the simplicity of design, and its longevity and how it has evolved to fit my still svelte frame (keg stomach and builder bum. Ed.). No longer are t-shirts so well built, allowing mud and beer to produce a historical picture how we have lived our hashing lives. Dry flo, I think they call it, soaks away the sweat and beer and if a lighted cigarette comes near, crinkles into a charred lump. These shirts are not for hashers, how are we supposed to carry our hashing exploits around, and to show them off with pride. A sad world we now live in.

Looking down at my boots with my toes hanging out the front like a hot Labradors tongue, the laces are starting to rot, cheap shoes, only lasted five years of hashing. I may have to start looking for a replacement pair, but then again I should get another couple of year out of these. My mind then turns to what do you replace them with! Gortex trail shoes, guaranteed to last all of 3 hashes - not likely, that is the slippery road to wearing heart rate monitors and Global Positioning Systems, not to mention the dreaded mobile phone!

I remember a time when technology was absolutely frowned upon by the hashing fraternity, hash shits were regularly warded for a mobile phone announcing its presence in the circle. Once upon a time the humble OS map was new technology and these were duly awarded criminal status.

I suppose a time will come when trails are virtually laid using a lap top and the pack wears sensor devices on their arms that "beep" when they are on and goes "blah" when not on. Sad times, sad times…..

My head is beginning to hurt, time for another beer, "On On", did I hear you say. Another hash past time that is receding like my hairline, calling on trail or the art of keeping the pack together during a day out in the country. Sad times, which brings me back to the subject of beer and the quality of it awarded at down downs, with the excuse, that it gets chucked and not drunk. Is this because religious advisers do not have the hash sense to award down downs to those that will drink them, under a mistaken belief that they have to involve everyone in the circle, even if they aren't interested, even when the reward is chucked rather than imbibed. A sad time indeed!

Another problem associated with beer, is that after a shed load you end up visiting the urinal on a more regular basis, this is not normally an issue, unless one of those new fangled toilet blocks is available instead of a tree stump. It appears that designs have changed and toilet stalls are larger than they use to be, when the latch is broke the doors is always too far away to keep closed with my foot (some hashers have had the is problem all the time. Ed.). Then there is the problem of the automatic dispensers that only allow one sheet of paper at a time to be removed, then the roll winds back, leaving you hunched over trying to find the lost end. What ever happened to the reading material that used to be supplied, sometimes even neatly cut into squares and attached by a piece of string to a hook? At least in a toilet block you can wash your hands, if you remember that is, and the warning sign on the back of the door is not too much of a blur to remind you - then the next problem - roller towels that are not long enough and the end is sodden and wet. Thank god for hand driers - I have spent many a happy hour after a winter shiggy run drying my bits under the hand drier (nuf said. Ed).

If you are reading this grump, you may be at Nash Hash 2009, in which case you may also be living in a tent, sharing your every bodily noise with your neighbours. Back to basics hashing, unless that is, you are one of the namby-pamby brigade with a 6 birth camper with an on-suit. No wearing the same hash gear for 4 days for you, no hose down from a hose pipe in the evenings. Not that I'm complaining, I'm just jealous.

Oh well, bollox to any more of this, I'm going to get another beer, reminiscing is hard work and makes you thirsty. So, to all you grmpy old bastards out there - "drink it down, down, down - over the head",

"Yep" I said head (I'll have some of that. Ed)

OnOn to 2010

Little Shit