|Himalayan Men's Hash Run No 0044||Monday 25 August 1980|
|Location||Roger Binks's house, Jawalakhel||Hares||Robinson and Binks|
|Hashit||Oddsocks. Walking stick to Malcolm Gough||Scribe||Pagella?|
The Masters had promised to show us what a really well laid Hash was like so we all turned up at Roger Bink's house in expectation of something quite different. Things however started with the usual general depression all round. This time we sighted the beer all right before setting off but it was WARM. What are we coming to if the Masters can't even get it right?
From Roger's house we set off at a furious pace led by HM Robinson. After a mile somebody said he hadn't seen any paper yet. We all agreed so back we went to Roger's house and started again. David Young had somehow managed to find paper (never been known, before) and was out in the front cursing his bad fortune. He stopped dead however at the first check to let everyone else to the hard work. Hope to see you up front again about Run No. 90, David. Duncan found paper going down to the river below Jawalakhel where we were tricked for the first time. The trail led out to the river and then doubled back through about 1500m all on clearly laid paper. The Masters could be seen in the distance so forgetting about looking down again we headed towards them. Their smiles widened as we got closer - sorry no paper you dummies so back we went again to find the right trail. The next check stopped us at the Ring Road. After some time we found paper on the other side and were soon checked again. This time it was a real nasty. We found paper on a narrow track leading up to a house but it stopped there with no check. Twenty-four people, six dogs, three didis and a bewildered farmer milling around the front yard was the result of a FALSE TRAIL. Anyway, it had the desired result and turned the run inside out. For future reference chaps; false trail is five closely spaced blobs of paper.
We were soon away again down towards another stretch of river where we were checked on an island. The young and foolish crossed over getting nice and wet. Odd Socks and his mate Frandsen, who are old and wily, didn't cross and found paper which eventually led us to the bottom of Kathmandu's new sewage works. "Last time we'll run across here without being up to our eyes in xxxx" was heard muttered as we slogged across a very wet sewage lagoon. Two more checks brought us back to the Ring Road where the Scribe left you all floundering around the brickworks while he took off a clear mile ahead having scented beer. We re-entered Roger's house in a number of novel ways. Several spent valuable drinking time trying to get down from a 15 ft. (sorry, 5m) wall.
Odd Socks got thrown in the pool for not bringing the Hashit (there is a terrible rumour that he lost it in a drunken stupor the previous Monday). We all eventually ended up in the pool leaving behind a thick and smelly scum on the surface.
A motley collection of girlfriends, mistresses and wives (fellas, you were asked to bring ladies) turned up for the ON-ON-ON and the Hash Mash. As usual we outstayed our welcome. Many thanks Roger and Riainan.
Hashit - to Odd Socks again.