VENUE: Worthing Beach, Christ Church
DATE: 16 November, 2005
SCRIBE: Lidia 'RU'
This was the BH3 hash equivalent to the Olympic Opening Ceremonies for our 20th Anniversary Celebrations. I know I exaggerate just a little, but after all the preparations, huge efforts by the 20th Anniversary Mismanagement Committee, all the sewing of cushions, curtains and fancy dresses, and making the biggest order for beer that Banks Brewery ever experienced in this past twenty years (not to mention the extra barrels of Extra Old being matured for the last twenty years especially for this occasion) I think a little exaggeration is no exaggeration at all.
The locals and the invited hashers from abroad were all gathered at the picturesque Worthing Beach -- all with their bright red Virgin goody bags and their pristine white BH3 20th tees and vests, not to mention their eager faces and legs -- and prepared themselves for a treat. I am talking about the run, the beer and not least the lovely piglet being roasted in the china box -- and I don't mean Francie's!
Anyway, after a few words of welcome to the visitors, the direction of the on was given and the happy bunch was on the way. There was a light drizzle and the famous moon over Barbados was nowhere to be seen, except for the faint silver glow sprinkling the calm sea with little flickering liquid stars (aaagh, enough of that romantic s****, scribe, please).
Off we went, stomping on the soft pink sand of Worthing Beach. Lo and Behold, there it was in front of us! No, not the dollop of flour. The Carib Beach Bar, of course, part and parcel of the beginnings of the Hash itself. David `the founder' Craig almost forgot all about his hare herding duties and almost ordered a cold Carib, or Banks, or Heineken, anyway, anything cold and amber coloured would have done the trick at that point in time (that is about 100 metres from the start). I know for a fact that the hares set the run, not once, but twice, due to the inclement weather earlier on in the day. So, as you can imagine, poor David's throat was dry as the Sahara after all that effort (except, I think, he already had some draft Banks, but never mind, it sounds better like that doesn't it David?).
Off we went along the beach, then out on to the highway, risking our lives amongst the ZRs that zap along the road like bullets, and covering our noses to protect us from the stench brought on by the poor workmanship of that famous South Coast Sewage Project (I tell you, never put a Hasher in charge of anything of that magnitude. It is bound to get hiccups -- not the beer kind, of course. Look at the Airport Project. Say no more!)
But maybe, just maybe, the stench wafting through was probably coming from the Graeme Hall Swamp. We all had the sneaky feeling that the hares had some kind of `boggy trek through dense, smelly and sticky mud' in store for us. To our surprise, though, we were taken directly South to quite an interesting back check (the first in a Full Moon Run). That kind of tricked the FRB's. But not for long, seeing that dear Francie "China Brush" stuck her foot at the corner and did not proceed to where the check was. That kind of gave it away. We then went up hill towards Rockley and then up and down the little pretty roads along the bottom of Rendevouz Hill in the general direction of the Swamp. And again, we thought, there comes the boggy thing, saved for the end. But to our luck, there was none of that, and after a good 50 minutes of running we were graced with the On In.
Back at base, the piglet roasting nicely, I had the stupid idea of going for a dip. Asked Ralf if he was up to it, he said yes, reluctantly, that is. Then I went. The thing is, at night the water in the dark is always brown. I did not notice anything strange, apart from a little pungent smell, which I associated with the same sewage project. But no, suddenly here comes the guard telling me to watch for the red flag and come out of the water. Boy, I tell you, my clothes stank. Funnily enough, I wondered why I was the only one in the water. Brian "Soft Balls" got stopped just in time, as he was making his way into the sea. Of course, Ralf was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having changed his mind in order to provide a German close inspection of the pumps that poured the draft beer and giving his specific instructions on how to move the 5 fingers over the pump handle to obtain the best head ( I am still talking about beer, alas!).
Before long the food was served and everybody merrily proceeded to eat. Roger "Biafran" and Dookie "Vienna" went about their job of dissecting the poor piglet and having a pre-taste of the crackling and the flesh, put the bones to one side to bring to "Lotta's" dogs later. The bones disappeared, but I am not saying anything more about it. This matter does not concern this scribe and will be described in another Trash.
Full Moon Runs traditionally have no downs downs, so the Committee distributed a few prizes to fill in the gap. Biggest Registration (literally) went to "Clepto", and John "English Knob" Duffield won for the only typed registration form. They both won a lovely bottle of Mount Gay flavoured rum. The real punishment for certain bad behaviour that night was duly administered in the Saturday Run Down Downs, make no bones about it, but luckily for me somebody else is in charge of writing about that.
All in all, it was a good night and a fitting beginning to our long weekend of celebrations.
To those who are now reading this from afar, and to those who are closer to home I wish you all `On On'. I also give a big `thank you' for your presence and participation, and all of us at BH3 hope to see you again sometime in this lovely Rock, maybe at our Silver Jubilee, if not sooner!
ON ON!!!
