Stick 'em up!

Look out, circle!

Date: Saturday, January 21st, 2012.

Hares: Tarzan and Gin.

Location: State Lodge hinterlands.

Hash Number 1651.

Drink up, ladies.

What a fantastic hash and a new location to boot! Passing the Leopard’s Hill roadblock, the start of this hash felt like any other. With Tord Steiro in tow (a visiting Scandy who Knee Trembler was very excited about – not many hotties down Monzi way, apparently), we passed by the usual turn-offs to the forest reserve on the left and headed on in convoy.

There was some confusion with hashers stopping and starting their vehicles, gesticulating madly out the windows and generally causing  nuisance on the roads, until the white arrows appeared and we pulled over on to a most agreeable green lawn and fish pond. There was not a rain cloud in the sky.

Child labour.

Again, a great turn out with 12 newcomers – Americans, Germans and the usual gaggle of Scandewegians (seriously – is there anyone left up there?) – taking the numbers to well over 60!

Subs were duly paid and the circle formed up.  Tarzan led the runners while Gin herded the walkers on their way. Hash Trash was relieved that the pace was a little slower than previous weeks. And the pack seemed to agree.

Doggy down-down.

We trundled along a stream and through a stinky building site, much to the mirth of the builder, and weaved our way up into the hills. As several hang overs were sweated off, the hills got steeper and the going a little tougher. The pack stretched out as Orca – clad in a little red number­ - trumpeted across the valley.

And then another hill. Now Hash trash don’t like no hills. They hurt legs and make you see in pins and needles (yes, it is possible, I assure you). We’ve had some real crackers over the past couple of weeks; big ones, small ones, steep ones, but, as we trundled on, along came the other type – the never-ending ones. You know, those ones where you keep going up for about 3kms. They really hurt.

Cheers, Titillator.

Up we went, for ages, until we came to a hash-hold. We sat there gasping in the sun as the pack caught up with itself. The pace was leisurely after that as our thoughts (well, mine anyway) turned to a cold one from Titillator – snigger, snigger.

Hash Sh*t!

Up through the power lines we went until the pack was given a choice: Another 83km or a shortcut back to the Mosi in 5 minutes. Squits lead the way back to the beers and the diehard runners (seriously, what’s that all about?!) split off for more of those nasty never-ending hills.

Back at the circle, the walkers had returned and were dipping their feet in the pond.  Out came the T-shirts and mugs as Look If You Like peddled her wares like a pro and the rest of the pack soon joined the short-cutters!

Circle was called and we all fell in for the usual.  Lothario led the proceedings as our illustrious leader stepped in to be RA - Hamster had gone missing (no obvious Richard Gere jokes, please).

In the name of the Mosi.

Called up first was Chipolopolo-clad Titillator and treacherous Senegal supporter Goodison Two Shoes.   The pair sank a down-down to the football and it was agreed by all that Senegal are a load of rubbish and that it was nailed on that Zambia are going all the way.

Awwwwww!

There were more crimes to fashion as a neon-wearer was penalised for looking like a glow stick and two dogs were penalised for being, well, dogs.  Room service was lambasted for something or other, possibly being nouveau riche, and a triple was ordered up for  the feet fetishists (is that even a word?).

Shelley was called forth and duly baptised as Well Thumbed  (she’s a librarian at LICS… geddit?) while Gyros was aptly named Dreadful thanks to his flowing locks.

Stick 'em up!

Bin Dealin’ celebrated a whopping 250 runs, which left just the dreaded hash sh*t nominations! Now every hasher should know not to bring a water pistol to the hash. Every hasher should also know it isn’t a good idea to squirt Lothario with one, either - especially when he’s acting HM.

Oh dear, Knee Trembler. Out came the plastic Mosi-filled toilet and off came her T-shirt, which was duly replaced with the new PC non-muddy T-shirt. Now there’s a lesson learned! On-On.

Quite a crowd

Date: Saturday, January 15th, 2012.

Hares: Bin Dealin’ and Bin Breedin’.

Location: Leopard’s Hill Forest Reserve – deepest darkest bit.

Hash Number: 1651.

72: The numbers of hashers who braved the rains and potholes to make it out into the hillier woods of the forest reserve. Blimey.

Hash Trash rocked up at 3.15pm to find the woods inundated with newcomers  - 33 to be precise -  and a load of returners. Hash Trash applauds their efforts for coming back into the fold. What else is there to do on a Saturday in Lusaka? Exactly.

Look out: Oxygen thief.

The start resembled the London Marathon, with newbies stretching and limbering up for the off.  And off we all went at a blistering pace! Far too fast for Hash Trash as the rain came down and Orca blew her horn.

Beer taps: Boy Blue

Bin Dealin’, renowned for finding hills where there aren’t any, didn’t disappoint and straight away the frontrunners, followed at a more leisurely pace by the old guard, dived down into the bush, with claps of thunder ringing across the forest reserve.

Cries of “on-on” were heard as a big gaggle of Yanks set the pace. The pack skidded and slid down the slopes past mealie meal markings that the heavy rains threatened to wash away.

Thankfully, old pros Bin Dealin’ and Bin Breedin’ had marked the trees and the pack snaked its way through the undergrowth.  And then it happened. Uphill. B*llocks. As the young, fit things made mincemeat of the incline, the rest of us wobbled on, clawing our way up what seemed like the north face of the Eiger.

Neon: Just say no.

 Ears popped and crampons slipped as we rounded the crest of what was surely the only steep section of the route No. There was another. And another.

Up and down we went - the mother of all climbs. Hash Trash made it to the top crawling, white-spotted tunnel vision setting in, while Orca guided in the pack with her trumpet (snigger snigger). Call Boy and Dominatrix rode their hounds to the summit while no-one had seen Boy Blue since the off.

The pack gathered and was off again, the newbies continuing on the path while Bo Pip scampered up the hill counting one, two, three, four, five and then on-on. We levelled off and the pack spread out through a valley.

All Smiles: Despite the rain.

Thankfully the worst was over, the end in sight and the incline not too severe.  Look If You Like, Condom Man and their oxygen thief made a devious short cut which brought them in just in time to flog a load of hash T-shirts and mugs from the back of the Condomobile.

Ladies' favourite: Bo Pip.

The walkers, who had certainly taken the longer of the walking routes, eventually joined the runners and we all waited patiently for the beer taps to arrive with Boy Blue.

And we waited. And waited. A search party was sent out, not with any concerns for Boy Blue’s welfare, as the softies ran out. In the meantime, Call Boy fished a tap out his pocket (as if a beer tap is the most natural thing to carry around in your short pocket) and the beer started to flow.

Eventually, Boy Blue appeared on the horizon to a hearty cheer and all was well. The circle formed and the antics began.

Hash Sh*ts: Call Boy and Dominatrix.

Such was the number of newcomers, their welcome resembled a conveyor belt, each given about 3 seconds to shout their name, as Condom Man and Hamster dished out the beer in a jug. Next up were the returners  - 2 and a half to be precise -  Will, Rachel and their bump.  Batman’s hearty singing was duly noted and the down-downs began.

First up was an absent-minded newcomer who was foolish enough to leave his keys on his car, while a pair of newcomers  were lambasted for their glow-in-the-dark vests.

King of the jungle: Tarzan and co.

Barrel Boy and Matoke’s nuptials were toasted and their return welcomed by all. Child Abuse and Child Abuse 2 were penalised for abusing Hamster on the run (now there’s a sentence you don’t write every day) and Ngweye was penalised for taking a nosedive from his bicycle.

Last, but not least, came hash sh*t nominations. Dragged into the middle were Dominatrix and Call Boy (minus the hounds).

“Their crimes?” I hear you ask? Well, pretty severe.  Engagement without explicit consent of the HM. Out came the hash sh*t T-shirt, freshly iced, and the couple’s misfortune was toasted by all.

On-on.

Live hares and hills

Date: Saturday January 7^th.

Hares: Orca, Nipples and Polar Bear.

Location: Somewhere off Leopard’s Hill Rd, near Adventure City.

Hash Number: 1650

The first Saturday hash of January got off to a slightly damp start with  a cloud burst and plenty of newcomers – namely Mooka and Tandy from “dahn sarf” in Livingstone, the Family Emerich with their oxygen thief Zander, of LICS (no, it’s not a titty bar), Daisy, Claire, “Spice Girl”, “Space Man”, Francis, Chris and Duracell – and plenty of returners in the form of Child Abuse, Sweet FA, Tummy, Titbits, Broken Hill, Evelyn and Mafuta.

Orca proclaimed the length to be “a short one” (snigger, snigger), completely neglecting to mention the fact there was a bloody big hill in the way! Soon the walkers, led by Nipples, were off, perambulating their way through someone’s back garden, while the runners were held by cries of “titty check” and “this one’s for the titties”. Hmmmm.

Locals looked on in bemusement as the runners gurned, sweated and swore their way up the first incline, led astray by several checks. Indeed, by the top of the first incline, Princess Fiona felt like he’d coughed up an ashtray and sweated out a month’s worth of African lager… which he had.

As per usual, Bo Pip led the way, bouncing from one chalk pile to another, while the rest of the pack followed.

The walkers soon lost their guide (Polar Bear) as flower picking was deemed to be a top priority and the Family Emerich joined the running pack, young Zander taking two or three tumbles on the way.

Back with the runners, the pack was held at the top of another monster incline, while several members investigated the possibility of short-cutting through a farm. Yapping dogs soon put that notion to bed and the pack were off again, climbing higher into the Leopard’s Hill bush (hohoho).

The runners joined the walkers, who were, by this point, blundering through the bush as the chalk piles became harder to pinpoint. At this point Orca dropped a bombshell, announcing the hares had run out of chalk. Mutiny on the Bounty was narrowly avoided as the walkers were led down the valley towards the beer!

The pack erupted into chaos; insults were slung and fingers were jabbed as the runners threatened to go all “Lord of the Flies” at the prospect of the Mosi being drunk in their absence. Lothario and Hamster quelled the rebellion by rightly pointing out that the Mosi was locked away in the car!

Orca - now “live hare” - led the runners on with some very bizarre imaginary holds, which only Bo Pip and his front runners actually bothered to check out! Condom Man and Goodison Two Shoes deliberated over recruit Aisling’s new hash name – which would be revealed to all in the circle.

Sliding down the scree and back into civilisation, the walkers were slowly reeled back in and, one by one, the Lusaka Hash House Harriers arrived back at the cars, sweaty and thirsty. Family Emerich were waiting, having doubled back and not been eaten by lions, as was speculated.

The circle formed and Condom Man led the way, welcoming the newbies and inviting them to kneel on the red carpet for a down-down before the real business started – hash snitching, down-downs and the dreaded hash sh*t nominations.

Condom Man was called to the circle and lambasted for his “Ray Mears” Benbar jerry can roof rack rig, complete with Lewis gun mounting, camo net arrangement and DSTV dish. Our beloved leader had kitted out his wheels for a Sahara-esque reconnaissance patrol to root out Rommel and the Africa Korps, only to grind his beloved benbar on a wall or some such large inanimate object. Serves you right, there’s plenty of petrol stations in Lusaka, you big ponce.

Bo was called in to celebrate his nuptials, while Titilator and Cream Dream were penalised for doing a “Boy Blue”.  Rene sank a down-down for failing to ask for marriage proposal permission and Purple Bush and Moby Dick sank some Mosi for smoking on the hash – shame on them.

In other business, Tarzan notched up 150 runs, while Purple Bush chalked 200. The circle raised their glasses in tribute to their sterling efforts – well done chaps.

Shrek 2 and Aisling were called into the circle for their renaming/naming. Shrek 2 was re-baptised as Princess Fiona and Aisling shall from this day forth be known as Knee Trembler –  she’s a physio… massage… rides a bike - geddit? Oh well….

Which left only one last item on the agenda – Hash Sh*t. Condemned to the bin, the mud-festooned, Mosi-ridden monstrosity of 2011 was duly replaced with a fetching pink number. Bo-pip was summoned to the centre for his crimes of “looking fit” and “going on his dad’s honeymoon”. Shame on you. Off came the shirt, out came the guns, swoon went the ladies.

And with that we trundled into the setting sun. On-on.