Mauritius Hash Trash 621

13-05-2012 Henrietta Mark and Didier BYO #621

VENUE: Tarin Falls / Henrietta

HARES: Didier & Mark

The On On was located in a remote outpost far enough beyond the perilous site of the tourist enclave of Tamarind Falls not to become concerned about the safety of our vehicles. The entourage had happily settled there for quite some time engaging in a myriad of vibrant activities (e.g. exchanging pleasantries, settling their financial commitments & stretching limbs) when the relative calm was interrupted by the partners of the Hares who announced that the On-On was further along the same track. Suddenly the Hashers were scurrying in all directions to get into their vehicles (probably in a rush to claim the best parking spot); just at that time, a Police van rolled past & looked suspiciously at this conspicuous band of bandits & must have thought that they were witnessing a re-enactment of the inmates day out scene in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. The displacement irritated Perry who perhaps would have just headed back home to take his pet wolverines for a Sunday walk but who would not have dared suggested such a thing to Tusha lest he bear the wrath of female disaffection. Kay emerged from the shadows walking as gingerly as a violated flamingo & the Scribe, scraping the absolute bottom of his toilet humour barrel, was thoughtless in thinking the unthinkable. Kay also thought it unthinkable that the Scribe thought the unthinkable & thought it thoughtful to land a spiral roundhouse kick square on the insolent’s jaw. It transpired that her discomfort was as a result of valiantly competing & completing the 15k Gecko trail the previous day

The handsome haresome twinsome of Didier & Mark arrived at base camp just at the witching hour & the crimson suction marks on the former’s face was attributed to the thirsty mosquito although cynics at the circle mumbled that it was more likely to be attributable to his co-hosts amorous overzealousness. The duo explained that we needed to pay particular attention to flour on the foliage adding that there was also a surprise en route which had the collective licking their lips in anticipation of a liquid refueling station. And with that engaging thought the pack set forth on a brilliant trail that proved that these master event planners are in the same breath master trailsetters. The picturesque route took us through fields, forests, wild undergrowth & even vegetable plantations with the “surprise’ coming in the form of a stream that would not have been out of place in a Territorial Army assault course. In her usual feline display of ladylike behaviour, Tusha removed socks and shoes to traverse the rheumy obstacle in her bare feet with the Hash Halt at the other side giving her ample time to restore sartorial proprietary without being cast adrift at the back of the peloton. Thoroughbred Tim Cartwright, suffering multiple muscular disorders after completing Saturday’s 35K Royal Raid on a training regime that would have been equivalent to a bandicoot’s pellet in defecation measurement, still had more than enough vigour in his reserves of willful craziness to bounce home ahead of the stragglers. The motto “Just Do It” was invented for the stoic anti-human and Tim’s stamina/willpower suitably fitted this overhyped moniker like an iron glove….Truly bonkers or he may just have had some Happy Pills for breakfast. Bagless Ellie stumbled home in an enhanced state of discomfort having been brutally assaulted by a legion of mosquitos & bore a tortuous expression as if she was sucking ammonia sulphate from a nettle – at least she can take comfort that she must have quality plasma judging by her popularity among the vertebrae kingdom. Jacquie usually has trouble in staying upright for the entire trail & did not disappoint this time when losing her balance & sliding on the lower cheeks thus ensuring a machine wash for her apparel on the “heavily soiled” cycle at the Leeds household.
The GM was highly conspicuous by his absence & reports had claimed that he was participating in a charity walk for the SACIN society somewhere in the North, However, Philida did spot him in Pharmacie St Jean investing in a supply of “performance enhancing” supplements that would perhaps indicate that he might have been engaging in an illicit encounter “avec so trente cinq”. Still we were treated with the furlined presence of Leslie as deputy Master Of Ceremonies for the day. The circle was united to a man in acknowledging the Hares’ fine flourwork & the dynamic duet was suitably decorated for their travails. The first timers who had forsaken the road to Damascus to follow the road to Nowhere unmasked themselves thus –
1)Annick – and the Scribe completely missed her introduction (he may have lapsed into microsleep mode) but nevertheless we hope she comes back to visit us.
2)Kelly – who found it a bit of an ordeal but still rather enjoyed the experience.
3)Chris – who had just recently arrived in Mauritius from London & who looked to be in rudely fine physical condition.
4)Manoj – an invitee of Snow White Juliette & who enjoyed his day so much that he even revealed his age (34 if you’re interested).
5)Carole – another Albionette from the coastal city of Brighton & who is staying with friends who were undisclosed.
It was the turn of Elvira, Baby Case & 3 others (whose names escaped the Scribe – the grey matter does go greyer as time advances) to accept their ordination into the ranks of the fraternity.

Our neighborhood friendly Religious & Sex Advisor took the stage in the confident manner of someone that is comfortable in his own skin. And the theme of his parable revolved around a lesser known Lady Hasher who visited an eminent psychiatrist in Floreal as she was in great distress over her husband’s alarming identity complex. Veronique had a particularly anguished expression on her face as she explained the symptoms in a quivering voice “Well it’s Pierre Andre he thinks he is a horse. He sleeps standing up, he neighs instead of talk, he wears a sheepskin noseband & blinkers whilst he insists on being fed oats in a bag tied around his neck. He also has an annoying habit of breaking into an effeminate dressage routine when I play Ravel’s Bolero on my iPod & sometimes he jumps over the low back settee when he does steeplechase training. He wakes up every morning at 5.00 a.m. for his dawn canter at Jardin Balfour, he frequently gallops to Tangs Way & firmly believes that that our son is Johnny Geroudis. I am at the end of my tether & I just don’t know what to do with him apart from grooming him on a Sunday morning after breakfast”
“But how long has this been going on”? asked the Doctor
“Six, maybe eight months” sighed Veronique
“Oh but you’ve let things go too far” replied the Doctor “Your husband will require specialist psychotherapist intervention but I do know of an expert based in Australia who has intimate knowledge of acute dissociative personality disorders. However, his services are very expensive but he does carry with him a formidable reputation among his peers with his pioneering treatment. His methods normally involve not only pharmacological support but a variety of therapeutic modalities focusing on the underlying trauma of this depersonalization condition. And he does boast a very high success rate”.
“I don’t care about expense” said Veronique “I will pay anything, anything at all to make Pierre Andre stop thinking that he is a horse”
“But this treatment will cost thousands & thousands of rupees & is not covered under your MCB sponsored medical insurance. Can you afford this amount of money?” asked the Doctor
“Why, of course we can, we have more money now than we ever did before” smiled Veronique, “He’s already won the the Barbe and the Maiden, and he will be crowned Horse of the Year at the end of the season”

The R.A. then showed the magnanimous side of his bewitching personality by handing out sweets to the kids (insert your own brandy balls joke here). However, in a completely unexpected turn of events, Summer screwed up her face in disgust, rejected the benign offer & sought immediate refuge from the arms of her parents. The dissenter has obviously has been well schooled by her parents about taking sweets from strangers.
The R.A. then sought to punish the latecomers who may or may not have been Jean Marie & Jasmine principally because the illegible scrawled notes looked like they were written by a Parkinson’s Disease sufferer. Punishment was then administered to the following villains & villainesses for improprietous behaviour-
1)Veronique, Pierre Andre & Vincent for the unforgivable sin of shortcutting. They may have had a crash course on economical orienteering expert (cheating is a harsh word) Dodoman Grihault, a leftfield subject that may yet be featured in one of his ultra-tedious MCA broadcasts.
2)The very same Sir Alan Grihault – was made responsible for parking at the wrong spot & transforming the On On into something akin to a musical chairs farce. He was given his beer in a transparent glass so that the circle could ensure that he did not cheat on the down down.
3)The Scribe – the poisoned pixie with the poisoned pen could not have expected anything else in the wake of his unkind & unmerited character assassination of the reverential R.A.in the previous edition of the Trash. The Devout One did not spare a moment to remind the circle of his irredeemable personal attributes. He proudly claimed that he shows goodwill to all men, all women, all children, all animals & other random life forms…and yes this kindness is also regularly shown to disingenuous deciduous altitude-affected dwarves regardless of their unmitigating illiteracy. The R.A. even showed clemency to the Agent Provocateur by allowing only a single measure of beer when he did call for a large double. He could even have had the mini-me drinking from the algae infested plastic urinal chamber or even have had him supping from his own sweaty shoe. But our adorable R.A. turned the other cheek & let sleeping dogs lie. Ah yes the hallowed theologian is destined to sit among the charmed Commune of Gods when the call is eventually answered.
Heckled by the Scribe on account of Liverpool’s wretched Cup Final performance, The venerable Ryan Leeds skipped into the circle to remind everyone that the city of Manchester would crown new Premiership champions that same evening unaware that he was but a mere tantalizing 60 seconds from eating a sizable tranche of humble pie. Oh yes & he did mention that Ravi & Sharma would be doing their maiden Hash next time.

Claudine the cowgirl with the cowbell had three potential recipients for the Hash Hostage award, the first nomination being the Scribe because he is …wait for it… a “sexy man” which ultimately proves that the poor woman must have severe retinal damage or has a mischievous sense of humour. Perry was also singled out because of his long hard crooked stick (that would be the makeshift walking cane that he carries with him….). But she eventually plumped for Rey because he led a wayward group of hashers twice through the same muddy terrain & got their footwear dirty.

The Divine Mrs Farrow chose to model the new neayly appointed Hash handbag & smiled effervescently whilst doing her catwalk diva pose. In a certain light, she could have passed for the epitome of the modeling world’s English Rose, Kate Moss.

And the fair young damsel Natalie brought along a rather delicious cake to mark her birthday although she would not reveal the number of years she has graced the earth.. Happy Birthday, Natalie!!

THE LAST WORD
With a virtual boycott of this confessional by active participants of the Hash, The Scribe has been forced to rebrand the feature as a cultural item of surrogate disinterest. This week, we have the pleasure in inviting you into the clandestine underworld of poet, minstrel, folk singer & voice of a generation, a certain Mr. Robert Zimmerman born in Duluth, Minnesota May 24th 1941. The music afficianados among you will know that this troubadour decided to use the alias Bob Dylan to channel his talent and to become one of popular music’s most foremost inspirational & iconic singer/songwriters.
Hi Bob. Welcome to the eclectic dislocated underground e-zine, the Hash Trash & on behalf of our readers (I think that the plural form is accurate), we would like to thank you for giving up your time for them. Well here we go with first question –
1)What attracted you to folk music in the first place. Conventional wisdom believes that it was your appreciation of Depression era singers like Woody Guthrie but is this legend true?
Hi, Johnny, good to be here & it always a pleasure to talk to you. Well, I started out in Minnesota playing electric guitar in a rock group. In actual fact, the first voice to turn my attention to folk singing was Odetta. I heard a song of hers in a record store back when you could listen to records in the store, around 1958. She had a vital vibrant quality to her voice which had the ache of a classic bruised torch singer & I learned all the songs on that record; “Mule Skinner”, “Jack of Diamonds”, “Water Boy” and ” ‘Buked & Scorned”. Right then & there I traded my electric guitar & amplifier for an acoustic flat top Gibson. After that, I moved on to Harry Belafonte, the Kingston Trio & soon I was doing covers of the Carter Family & Jesse Fuller material. After a while, I became fanatical about what I wanted to do after I learned about 200 Woody Guthrie numbers. I visited him regularly in Morristown hospital, New Jersey when he was suffering from Huntington’s Chorea. I took the bus from New York, sat with him & sang his songs. I became friendly with him after these visits.
2)When did you learn to play the guitar?
I saved the money I made working on my father’s truck & bought a Silverstone guitar from Sears Roebuck. I was 12 then. I just bought a book of chords & began to play.
3)What was the first song you wrote?
The first song I wrote was a song to Brigitte Bardot, it had only one chord but I don’t remember the tune or the lyrics. I recall then that I was a little enraptured by that potent cocktail of raw sensuality & alluring vulnerability. She was the vixen that awoke my adolescence.
4)At the Newport Festival 1965 you went “electric” to widespread disapproval from your fans.
Yeah. The word on the grapevine was that I was doing something alternative & different at the festival although no-one had any real idea what this direction was. I had been rehearsing with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band at a friend’s mansion in Newport. Al Kooper turned up & we got him to play keyboards. When we took to the stage, we started off with Maggie’s Farm which was a bit of a disaster as drummer Sam Lay was playing the wrong beat. The microphones were also messed up & at one point it looked like I was singing with the volume off. The crowd didn’t appreciate the performance & started to heckle their disappointment. They had paid a lot of money for their tickets & only got 3 badly executed songs. I think that the fans were more upset that they were treated to a lousy sparse set rather than that the set was amplified. Still, looking back, they had reason to feel aggrieved.
5)You first heard the Beatles on a local radio station in Colorado & although you liked what you heard, publically you dismissed them as teenyboppers & their music as bubblegum. But you eventually met the Fab Four during their ’64 U.S. tour.
Yeah, I really thought that their sound was cool & I guess that I was just trying to preserve my authentic folk artist status by hiding my fascination for their populist music. I first met them at the Hotel Delmonico in Park Avenue, New York & initially it was a bit like Billy The Kid & The Jesse James Gang acting like bashful little girls. I was surprised to learn that they had never smoked weed so I rolled a few U.S. style pure marijuana joints. John (Lennon) designated Ringo Starr to be the “royal taster”, to have the first puff. But Ringo smoked the lot himself & began to feel disembodied. Paul (Mc Cartney) said that ’til that time they had only been Scotch & Coke men.
6)The infamous motor cycle accident on 29th June 1966 gave way to an extended break from recording & touring. Did that give you the chance to escape the rat race?
Definitely -a lucky accident. At that period, I was dispensing with sleep & food but smoking like a laboratory dog. My friend, beat poet Allen Ginsberg even referred to me as a methedrine clown. The concert tour process was wiping me out, I was facing extra pressure from my publishers (Mc Millan) to complete my novel (Tarantula) and my manager (Albert Grossman) had already booked an extensive tour of the U.S., Europe & Australia for the fall. I thought then that I was living in a suicidal hex.
7)How did spend that sabbatical period?
Well I had a chance to free myself from the corporate loop & to take time to recharge my creative battery but I was not sitting around looking at the ceiling or contemplating my navel. I had the time to review the Tarantula manuscript & became involved in editing documentary footage that became Eat the Document. I was also recording music with the Hawks (later renamed The Band, his legendary support musicians) at my home in Greenwich Village. These sessions were later released as the Basement Tapes in ’75
8)1974 was another difficult period for you. You were in your mid-thirties, unsure of your relevance to your musical fanbase & your 9 year marriage to Sara Lowndes was on the brink of collapse. And then came Blood On the Tracks, one of my favourite albums that was critically eulogized for its stark honesty.
Prior to the album I was taking art lessons from New York guru, Norman Raeben who taught me to put my head, mind & eye together and to understand shadow & light. And I tried to use this technique to inform the narrative on the album that basically chronicled the painful disintegration of a relationship. I think that I got a lot of therapeutic relief by baring my soul & I think that this was instrumental in being able to look beyond the discoloured horizon of the impending crisis.
9)You created further controversy with fans & fellow musicians by becoming a born again Christian in the late 70’s which led into your first gospel album, Slow Train Comin’.
Yeah, I effectively abandoned tolerant liberalism & secularism; and started to rage at the world through a narrow chauvinistic prism. At that time, I had the notion that personal grandeur was mere temporal vanity because truth was really about service to the Lord. I became extremely evangelical with Jerry Wexler (producer of Slow Train Comin’) but he refused enlightenment & said to me “Bob, you’re dealing with a 62 year old Jewish atheist. Let’s just make some music”. The dude was not for turning.

Take me on a trip upon your magic swirling ship……..
THE SCRIBE