2388 Monday, 2nd November 2015
Jaapie and Grandad at Bruce Lee Oval, Beaconsfield.
Runners started arriving early at Bruce Lee oval greeted by the sight of much rubbish on the edges of the oval’s parking area of this salubrious neighbourhood, but soon more than 40 runners were present as well as a heavy police presence (did somebody tip them off?)
The run started well with walkers going through false trails to keep up with runners. Canine-o-phobe, Mole, was seen walking up to the entrance to Booyeembara Park, on trail by mistake, until he spied Muddy and an opportunity to chastise him with “ger-outa-the-way!!” which spurred him on into a nice bush path through the park, with Muddy in hot pursuit, none the worse wear. On up the hill through bush, Lasagne was chatting as usual but ran at least half the way up to the golf links. A sharp U-turn took runners through an unofficial path alongside the links and up to a summit with a great view looking west into the sunset over Fremantle. This was followed by a treacherously steep decline during which Jack Russell almost became vertically challenged while distracted by a pretty lady passing by. We ran past a skate park next to Perth Security Services (seems to be a lot of that in this area!) past a power station then west along Steven Street. Several checks and false trails later, we turned south past Jehovah Witness “Kingdom Hall – Almost heaven”, West Virginia, mountain mama, Shenandoa River, etc., finally back to Bruce Lee Oval, which used to be a camp for Japanese Australian internees during WW2, and then Home at the car park on the south side of this well-used but rather “rubbishy” recreational area.
During drinks before the circle, I was informed that the young Debbie, lives just across the road but failed to show, which raises the question of what, exactly, was hot enough to distract her? Informal discussion continued about Tripple-J not being strictly on trail (I can actually refute this as I was walking home with him, and he refused to take a short cut with information from my GPS). But it was reliably established that Mole was sometimes on trail by mistake. Sir Knob reputedly spied a wallaby or Joey in someone’s yard and got a hard on for unknown reasons.
Fags put on a carton of beer to celebrate turning 71 and while still being compus mentus. Gumby serenaded us with more than one dirty ditty, which was rudely interrupted by a boring hasher concerned about “circle time”, but which did not deter Gumby from encouraging all present to allow their “bollocks” to “dangle in the dust”, again, for reasons unknown. Boner then did the “Hash Got Talent” with hippy hair and guitar, and a blues “song” with refrain: “Bad to the Boner…” something. Then a local family including Mum, Dad and babes in arms turned up, no doubt attracted by Boner’s blues lament, and thinking they were attending an anti-fracking demo, and baby’s cries upstaged Seagull’s joke (something or somebody always does – poor Seagull!)…but they didn’t stay long…when the language turned “blue” Mum had had enough…thinking this was pretty bad show for a “Greenies Gathering”!
Nanny took the floor to appraise hares and run, making much of the flashing lights special effects and called for volunteers to check out potential RBT’s before the rest of us attempted to turn home with beer-bated breath. Again, Debbie got a mention as the suggested reason why the constabulary’s presence was so profound, on this particular night.
Mumbles was called into the circle on account of the All Blacks rugby world cup wrap-up, shamelessly waving his fern decorated All Black cap, and baying to the hounds in his feeble falsetto. Nanny conceded defeat regarding their bet on the rugby final and presented Mumbles with the agreed bottle of Drambuie (the size of said bottle was never defined so poor Mumbles had to make do with a miniature!!)
Nanny closed his run assessment with a comment about Haggis being seen almost leading the pack at one stage, which resulted in speculation that he might be on drugs. And to add further insult, Gumby suggested that if it wasn’t for his mother he would be a spot of cum, which led Gumby into another tuneful refrain, which, sadly his brother hashers had no time for, as they then smelt food…
The run was scored a low 6.7, which this author thinks a bit unfair, but undeterred, Gumby and Bush Ranger continued to sing a 7 day hash happy song while the rest of us lined up for grub, which turned out to be very good (a Jaapie concoction), even though only soup and bread.