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Mauritius Hash Trash 624

24-06-2012 Riambel Alan & Leslie BYO #624

VENUE: Riambel

HARES: Alan & Leslie


Another Sabbath & another long road trip to the South of the Island with all paths leading to a most tranquil grand beachside seashore setting at something geographically like Pomponette.
The Scribe overestimated his ETA & arrived at the On On not too far beyond half past the hour of nine o’clock & was stunned to find the lone figure of events organizer Mark furtively ruminating alone in his car surveying the scenery with the ultra suspicious eyes of a serial killer as if he had just committed a most heinous crime. With no fleshtextured evidence of the Hares within a spitting distance of Mark’s vehicle, the Scribe himself became suspicious & taking on the role of a cowboy renegade vigilante he began investigating the scene more closely. He casually opened the passenger’s door on the premise of offering convivial felicitations & was immediately overcome with a malodorous stench of bodily fumes although there was no evidence of corrosive human remains inside the vehicle; as soon as the occupant of the vehicle returned pleasantries with a sudden salutary movement of his left hand, the defective detective was overwhelmed by a rush of malodourous aroma which made the sleuth quickly realized that there must have been an early morning CWA water outage at Mark’s house.
Our star-studded celebrity ‘A’ list guest hares were none other than the tried and tested triumphant triumvirate of yes you’ve guessed it, Dodoman Grihault, Furry Nimmo & the elegant eglantine Marie Claude.
As the circle convened for the opening ceremony, the Hares promised that the trail would have something for everyone & a bit of everything….well except for a beer stop with the furrified Leslie franking the “Scots are parsimonious” legend by happily confessing that he was a liquid pitstop atheist…and for whom charitable gestures stop at unburdening the wallet. Indeed, it is widely acknowledged that Leslie is so advanced in his frugality skill sets that he is able to peel a pomegranate in his pocket with a boxing glove without anybody knowing what he is up to although sometimes the prurient mistakenly believe that he is conducting serpent deep breathing exercises.
As you would expect from the Black Belts of the Haring fraternity, they took us on an exceptional voyage of discovery making exceptional use of the topography made available to them. The merry dance took the rabble through rugged wastelands and putrid refuse dumps littered with broken bottles that would have been best housed in a recycle bin. We were also confronted with shards of broken coconuts strewn in the middle of nowhere indicating the afterglow of an archaic black magic ritual. In stark contrast, we did a partial circumnavigation of the antiseptic Shanti Maurice resort though it bore the hallmark of an abandoned lodge with no lifeforms lying lifelessly on the beach luxuriating in the warmth of sun. The pack was halted in their tracks by 2 strategically placed Hash Halt boxes (one beside a tranquil reservoir) whilst a couple of backchecks ensured that the front running bastards had to work hard to keep their bastard noses in front. There were also an abundance of checkpoints almost all of which The Scribe participated in by seeking out the false trails providing him with an extra-long training session.

Meanwhile back at the On On, Tusha showed her philanthropic nature by bringing along a box of succulent mandarins freshly plucked from her bountiful orchard at home; apparently the word on the grapevine claimed that our Polish Pantheress trod on a cow pat somewhere along the route…but I have no doubt the magnanimous Perry would have faithfully done his marital duty by handbrushing them clean with Persil (expect to be treated with the soft aroma of Exotic Lavender fragrance coming from Tusha’s feet on the next Hash).
The Grandmaster sparked the unwhole & unwholesome circle into life by inviting a brace of Virgin, namely the Cupido couplet, the parental combination apparently responsible for inflicting Case on to humanity’s rich tapestry. Second timers, The Baker Twins saved our GM from a liquefied fate out of the dreaded plastic urinal chamber. The R.A. was on sabbatical this week probably waving his Union Jack in downtown Beverley celebrating the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee (that would be the monarch & not the famous Pomp Rock group) but we had a more than an able replacement in the chunk-sized form of the venerable Ryan Leeds. He was the picture of sartorial elegance wearing a matching nuclear disarmament spectacles & ear ring set with the more (perhaps) myopic onlookers likening the look to that well known diva of the celebrity classes, Dame Elton John (insert your own pianist or Rocket Man joke here). He (that would be Ryan, not Dame Elton) topped off the dress code with a deep purple (that would be the colour, not the beardy 70’s rock legends) crushed velvet jacket that was several sizes too small for his larger than life frame (either he has outgrown the garment or it has not been washed on the “delicates” cycle). He also sported a macho cardboard medallion in the shape of a metallic silver cardboard circle with the sharp end of an arrow protruding from the side (that would be the side of the circle & not the side of Ryan); the necklace may have been a graphic symbol for a chromosome doubtless representing zygote XX. The Sub RA decided on a participative approach to his “sermon” by asking the congregation to repeat metronomic mantras using visual enhancements to add an element of artistic class. The subject matter was a button factory & the circle had to emulate various methods of applying buttons using various parts of the body polished off in a gospel type call & response vocal background. The ultimate result was nothing sort of human carnage as the circle hilariously hopped, jumped, tripped, stumbled & fumbled through the performance like a buffoon squad of mental degenerates especially as the final button manufacturing method involved flicking out the tongue like an amphibious fly catcher. Luckily the sinister white coat brigade was not in evidence or the entire troupe would have enjoyed a one way ticket to the noble institution of Brown Sequard with each member enjoying a private padded booth (keys definitely thrown away). Once the disfiguration abated, the RA did not stop to hold breath before the punishment interlude was upon us & admonished the following list of victims cleverly introducing Chinese bowls for the down down just to make the ordeal more memorable –
1)Delynda & Jacqueline – the RA certainly wasted no time in abusing the power of office by humiliating members of his family suggesting that there may have been a couple decades of resentment swelling up inside like untempered volcanic magma. His wife was reprimanded for losing the keys in the trees at home (quite why she threw then that high is anyone’s guess unless of course they happened to be those of the bonsai variety) & thus making the Leeds’ franchise late for duty. In a pique of matriarchal dissension, Jacqueline, having endured a lifetime of sacrifice for thankless second born, was reprimanded for perpetually criticizing Ryan at his perpetual lateness in getting to the Hash but not holding the same grudge for his wife.
2)Ravin – being a Liverpool aficionado, Ryan took sadistic pleasure in calling out poor Ravin for being an Everton supporter. Isn’t being a Toffee enough of a punishment in itself?
At this point, the Scribe has mislaid his notes & therefore is not able to complete the list of punishees. But he does remember that for a third Hash in a row, the cowbell was missing in action & The Scribe fears that Rey may have donated the item to the Kosovo Hash during an East European hostel vacation.
And also we must all raise our glasses in celebration of Fran’s 60th birthday & GM Ramiah’s 77th(?) birthday. And to mark these milestones/millstones (delete as applicable) a delicious piece of cake was passed around.

In an expected turn of events, the Scribe’s selling skills deserted him & was not able to convince anyone within or outwith the Hash community to contribute to the anchor feature of the Trash. It is also with great sadness to note that The Scribe’s high definition LED display crystal ball has been sent to the supplier’s service centre for annual maintenance & therefore a planned interview with Malcolm X had to be cancelled at the last minute.
So, in a last gasp attempt at offering something mildly entertaining, the Last Word this week looks at five conversation topics that will make you long for a life of self-imposed solitude & should be avoided at all costs –
1. TRAVEL – Distinct from holidays in that the narrator pointedly refers to going abroad as travelling and so implies a richer cultural experience than just getting fried to a cinder on a beach in the Costa Del Sol. As a contemporary traveler, Thailand is no longer a cool destination & he has followed the hitchhiking herd to Cambodia thinking he is exploring virgin territory; he swears he has experienced some sort of indefinable enhanced spiritual epiphany which usually comes with photographs of the traveler mingling with local impoverished children & standing inside the temple at Angkor Wat. By the time he gets to the snapshot where he is buying incense sticks at a local market, you will be contemplating that a waterboarding session from the CIA would be a far more preferable experience.
2. FAILED RELATIONSHIPS – Mourning lost love is no longer restricted to the sympathetic ears of close friends & tolerant bar staff. These days the glum stranger who camps himself in the kitchen at a neighbour’s party will think nothing of forensically detailing their private life as if it is a socially acceptable topic of conversation. You know that you are on an express train to Tortureville when they declare in anguish that they were not allowed to own their feelings or worse still when they start examining in detail they & their partner’s conflicting sex drives.
3. DECLINE OF WESTERN CIVILISATION – You may have become mildly irritated on the bus by a couple of elephantine female teenager truants wearing tight fitting denim mini skirts that barely contained their mis-shapen blubber and who were brazenly listening to an explicit version of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way on their iPhone…but that is not conclusive proof that everything has gone downhill since decimalization. And you have clearly forgotten the days of Bay City Rollers when you wore white Staypress trousers with tartan accessorisation ready to do battle with like subhuman losers from the neighbouring village.
4. WINE – Unless you are pretentious “swill ‘n’ spit” professional wine critic or work in the procurement department of Tesco’s, the phrase “decent supermarket red” has no place in casual discourse. Nonetheless the hobby connoisseur will drop such terms along with the obligatory “an appealing & teasing smoky bouquet”, despite the fact that everyone, including them, buys the fruit of the grape based solely on price.
5. DREAMS – Scholars estimate that Joseph slipped on his technicolour dreamcoat somewhere around 1700BC. This is the last time in history that someone actually paid attention to an anecdote beginning with “I had this amazing dream last night”
Th..Th..Th..That’s All Folks

The Hash Mish-Management Team
OfficeThe 2011/ 2012 team
Supreme Being:Jean Ramiah
Hare Line + Trailmasters:Ryan Leeds
Hash Horn:Giresh
Religious and Sex Advisor:Steve
Ice Maiden:Gaetan (For the moment)
Ha$h Ca$h:Claudia
Deputy: Jean-Paul
Drinks for Wimps ‘n Kids:Also Gilbert
Hash Market:Juliette
Deputy: Marinette
Edit Hare:John
Deputy: Kay

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