White Rabbit gives Capt F a hand
Three men a bath
Megan and Donut FRBing
In the presence of team RA the sun shone brightly for run number 922.
Before the hash started White Rabbit's arrival was assisted with complimentary parking from the British Ambassador of Bosnian
[line(s) missing - Archive Ed]
invented for 'Panoramic wonderful viewpoint'. Ringer was seen sporting an Irish hat to celebrate being later awarded the vintage Guinness from the dray selection.
With it having been Comic Relief week the early part of the run resembled the climbing of Kilimanjaro. After the stiff climb, avoiding the quickly descending mountain bikes, the route circled the plateau of Lilley. The pack of 22 was confidently led from the front in a bright pink outfit by Megan also dragging along grandpa Donut. The track along the crop line could be easier explained by birthday bitch Madge:
"Woof woof, it's Pheasant raising ground with a high maize cover crop and feeding stations for the yummy pheasants and an open plain for the guns to shoot from, I just chase the pheasants out, woof woof woof"
After a circumnavigation of the high ground the route split where the short cutters made for the pub at the bottom of Kings Hill ride. Of the hardened runners hacking down the Lilley Hoo Farm side there was disbelief from Screamer and Lady Pee upon finding a false trail.
The ultimate trail looped around with awful views of three men in a bath and stunning views across the surrounding valleys, so far could you see White Rabbit's burrow, visible to the east. Homewards was mainly downhill. A healthy circle formed where one-armed Captain Fantaaastic used his working limb to raise his glass. Shufflecock was honoured in the down downs with the order of the Bath.
Next week is Airscrew's run in Gamlingay, on on.
RA modestly takes credit for weather
Screamer, Knobber and size issues
Knobber - birthday and 300 runs
You may like to read this from FDC - and some magic mushrooms no doubt (the clue's in his final words):
Let me tell you of a legendary night in the history of H5:
It all started in a Sarajevo cafe lounge late on the final night of the H5 tour. The Sarajevo Hashers après-hash farewell party to H5 was winding up.
"Anyone going to the nightclub?" was Eager Beaver's invitation to the departing H5 guests. There being no other takers Forking Dickchair took it upon himself to be the British representative of nightclubbing. A taxi full of guys and girts, mostly girls, got loaded and sped off into Sarajevo's streets to a smokey underground cavern of drink, music, more drink and socialising. After a couple of hours drinking and socialising the group climbed into another taxi to another nightclub to drink and dance the early morning away. About half past four or so the lights went out and the music silenced as the club then emptied. A taxi was loaded with party goers and Forking ventured from the path; "Are you going anywhere near the Airport" thinking of the early morning plane home to catch.
"No" was the firm reply from Eager Beaver to the slamming of a taxi door as it vanished into the night.
"Which way is the old town?" asked a lost Forking to the remaining drunks around the quickly deserting rank.
"That way" pointed a wavering finger along a tramline down the road. The long avenue was lined with lots of trees and lots of lampposts. As Forking staggered on he soon heard running water and turned around to see a white water raft waiting for him. He quickly hopped in. To the strumming sound of Ravel's Bolero the boat gently drifted away. The river wound down a narrow gorge through rapids and weirs until Mostar Bridge came into view. Parkland appeared either side of the river and the next bridge Forking saw had all the H5 gang on. They were posing for a picture postcard to send to White Rabbit The boat bobbed along to the next bridge. There was Travelling Stan making the first bungee jump of Goat Bridge. The boat eventually washed up at the Latin Bridge where Archduke Ferdinand was making his final public appearance. Forking crawled out and went down a tunnel. He then stepped out and was surrounded by many minarets and mosques in Pigeon Square. Forking knew where he was now and made his way to the 'Pension Penociste' guest house Tumbling down beside the door very much like Torville and Dean Forking realised he had no key to enter the door by.
"Let me in please" he cried to the open windows, but none of the guests gave a hoot about Forking so he sat up, his sore head rocking from side to side dodging the rounds whizzing past his ear holes.
"Perhaps all those evening meals with thirteen people around the table were an omen that one of us was going to get slaughtered" Forking mused to himself.
"Slaughtered, too bloody right!" Forking's liver slurred from within. Then from around the corner a man appeared. He may well have been the proprietor of the accommodation returning from his early morning prayers at six in the morning. Not a word was exchanged as he opened the door and Forking rolled in to climb the stairs to his room. Forking then lay down and slept like a log.
Later that day Forking woke up in his car in Luton as Nik Nak gave him the car keys. Forking drove home and thought "Gee, what a trip"