Ladies in red are hashing with me

A-MAIZE-ING: Hashing.

Date: Saturday, February 11^th, 2012.

Hares: Banjo, Look If You Like and Condom Man.

Location: Pioneer Camp.

Hash Number: 1654.

When is a good time to put your tits in? It’s not a question Hash Trash asks himself every day but, trundling along a dirt road on the way to Pioneer Camp, Hash Trash found himself asking that very question to his two companions, Goodison Two Shoes and Knee Trembler.

And the answer?  Not until you get there, it would seem. Unless, that is, you don’t mind changing Child Abuse’s flat tyre in a little red dress and a pair of D-cups. That slight hitch aside, 66 made it to Pioneer, all dressed up, for the red dress run. And what a sight some of us were.

Pioneer was a great location, although what camp (geddit?) guests thought of the hairy transvestite Nipples and Widow Twanky-esque Barrel Boy is another matter entirely. We were soon off into the bush, wending our way through corn fields before hitting the bush.

WE CAN SEE YOUR
GULLIES! Climbing.

And the hares did a great job with the trail and the terrain. We dipped in and out of steep-sided gullies, out along tall buffs and up and down lots of false trails. The fancy dress really added to the feel-good factor and much merriment was made along the way (including a few stops for photos and a random encounter with a herd of bulls – red not being the wisest of colour choices).

Banjo lead the way and it wasn’t long before we were all back at the circle, sinking bottled Mosi and waiting for the circle to begin. And what a circle it was. There’s something about cross-dressing that seems to bring out the naughty girl in us fellas.

Condom Man raised a toast to Albert Stephen (A.S.) Ignatius "G" Gispert, founder of the Hash House Harriers, who was killed 70 years to the day of the red dress run.

IN THE SPIRIT: Teenagers.

Rob marked the run with a respectable 47/22 and five newcomers were welcomed; Gill and Chris, who turned up none the wiser to our traditions but were soon decked out in a couple of pretty  numbers; Mary, brought  along by Polar Bear; Peace Corp veteran Britney and Hassan, all the way from Tanzania.  

Alan was also welcomed as a returner, sporting a very dubious wig (even by Zambian standards). A triple was quickly awarded to those who hadn’t bothered to dress in red (the shame), before the real business of the fashion awards commenced. Nipples beat off the real ladies, to be crowned ‘best dressed lady’, a vision of Lancashire loveliness.

Aussie the dog, looking splendid in dress, glasses and  visor, beat off ‘Widow Twanky’ Barrel Boy, ‘Lebanese hooker’ Lothario and ‘Italian pizza chef’ Elderberry to be crowned best boy and then all the oxygen thieves were paraded to much ‘oohing and aahing’, before it was decided that little Chloe was, in fact, the sweetest.

TRIPLE TIME: The circle.

Up next was a toast to the Chipolopolo girls, Moby and Titilator, who still managed to squeeze in some Zambian colours. In fact, much was made of Titilator’s “massive support”, ahem.

Those with the hairiest armpits were brought forth (thankfully, no ladies) and a down-down was ordered for the biggest princesses (Headlights, Barrel Boy and, of course, Princess Fiona). Sydney sank a warm flat Castle for her shocking blue underwear and Purple Bush was brought forth for her abuse of Aussie the dog (who seemed to actually be enjoying his red get-up).

And then we had a naming or two. Boy, oh boy, a certain Richard Bell and Sydney were certainly in for a treat and a set of names they would be embarrassed to tell anyone outside of a hashing circle.

TOILET HUMOUR: Hash
shit Squits.

With a few rowdy Brits in the circle, Rich never stood a chance as he was duly pronounced ‘Bell End’. Indeed, it wasn’t until Goodison Two Shoes had explained to him where he would find a bell end (and it’s not at the top of a church tower) that the penny dropped! Sydney was duly called forth and named Liquor and Poker, possibly because of a bawdy remark made earlier!

Matatu (Cat In The Hat) reached her 50-run milestone (well done, you) and off came the red dress for her 50-run T-shirt.

Which just left the matter of Hash Sh*t. Squits  was called forth. “Her crime?” you ask. Inviting her mates to a birthday party (the Valentine’s Bash) and charging them 100 pin a ticket! Shameless. Squits took it like a pro and downed the full toilet bowl of warm Castle as we all drank until the sun went down. On-on.