Run: 1921, 13 January 2020
Location: Pattanakarn Soi 53, Somtam Mueangthong
Hare: Tom Yum Gung helped(?) by Boobalube

The first inkling that this run might not go off trouble-free was in the newsletter. For four days before anyone noticed it, the newsletter offered you a choice of two Pattanakarn restaurant run sites, a few klicks apart. The Somtam Mueangthong won over the Aroi Dee in a last-minute stop-presses emergency announcement by the On-Sec.

This also proved the co-hare’s point that no-one reads the newsletter, not even the co-hare.

So why am I writing this? I mention myself frequently and email a copy to my mother. "See Mom, I’m not the shiftless parasite you think." Sometimes I mention Noreiga and for 500 Baht, email a copy to his mother. Then she pays me 500 Baht, and asks me to delete any mention of her son. It’s worked for years.

So OK, here we all are, anticipating a city run with bizarre checks and a free OnOnOn. It really doesn’t get much better than that.

KC gave a minimal chalk talk, the GM shot the starting gun, and we were off around the tittering schoolkids, past the pond, and onto the klong path. Quick backcheck.

Among the attractions on the way: the bird shit fertilizer factory, the slide for your life under the tetanus-bacteria-bearing barbed wire (10 Baht toll), the locked gates, the secret private road that gave onto the canal path, gratuitous time consuming loops, concrete interspersed with grassy verges and open woods, snarling dogs released by homeowners as the FRBs approach - in other words, a good Hash run.

The more observant (not you, Sheepshagger) may have noticed the 10-metre high fortress wall, topped by a 10-metre high electric fence. If they ever switch on that fence, the world’s communication satellites will be fried.

Back to the gratuitous time consuming loops - the ten kilometres of extra trail. A few days before the run, the co-hare enlisted the services of a negotiator to come along on the recce and handle a few rough spots on the trail. These rough spots were the landowner pissed-off about previous violations of his private parts – sorry, private property, the frightened housewives, and the reluctant hermit living inside a swamp. These problems were all sorted out in a trice by the negotiator.

Fast forward to laying the trail four days later. KC approaches the PO’d landowner. "Hi, we’re ready to scatter paper through your private and pristine woodland." Landowner: "Hey, wait a minute, I don’t trust you, and besides you’re ugly. Where’s that well-dressed, handsome, honest, persuasive chap that you brought along before?" KC: "Uh – oh, he’s not with us. Uh - he died." Landowner: "Well, you buzz off, I don’t believe a word of it. One of you will steal my garbage and bugger my dog like last time."

And thus extra loop No 1, out onto a soi thick with traffic, belching fumes and running over small animals.

Next impasse. KC approaches a nest of suburban housewives. He needed their permission to bypass an obvious short-cut back to the beer along a canal walkway. But, damnation, the gate they promised would be open is locked! KC: "Hi, we’re ready to bring our pack of smelly white trash through your lovely suburban neighborhood and into your back gardens." Housewife: "Hey, wait a minute, I don’t trust you, and besides you’re ugly. Where’s that well-dressed, handsome, honest, persuasive chap that you brought along before?" KC: "He died." Housewife: "Hah! I heard that one of you steals garbage and buggers dogs." KC: "That was last time. Selfie Queen isn’t here this time." Housewife: "Well, you buzz off, I don’t believe a word of it."

And so extra loop No 2, into a patch of wooded wasteland thick with red ant nests and poisonous small animals.

Extra loop 3 – ditto. No. 4 – ditto. No. 5 – ditto.

Meanwhile, unaware of this, the crippled, halt, and lame Hashers shortcut as is their wont, unaware of the trials of the trail faced by the more fit bastards who feel a compulsion to stay on chalk, shreddie, and dog shit. I could name the SCBs, and I will: Cap’n Eric, Tinker and Lurch. And Spinning Dwarf, who has somehow developed a sixth sense.

Fast forward again. It’s 18:30 and only the SCBs have returned. KC begins memorising lines he can use to shift the blame to someone else - like Gung. But maybe not. "It’d work in the circle, but she’d kill me when I got home."

It’s 18:45. Gung has wisely disappeared. SD went to the market in search of fried pig’s liver and a chance to chat up the more mature women. KC’s next thought bubble: "I wish Monday had a Hash Victim."

It’s 18:52. A miracle – Checkless and Gringo stroll in. KC nearly swoons with relief. "It was a great run, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it? C’mon, wasn’t it? Gringo? Checkless? Puhleeeese?"

The rest of the pack arrived, and socialist drinking commenced in earnest. The GM, keeping a watch on the precious drinking time squandered by the co-hare’s gratuitous time consuming loops, calls the circle. He’s ignored. "OK, a ten-minute warning." He’s ignored. Meanwhile, Duck Shit stands next to the beer wagon and begins cadging beers whilst pretending to organize the beer table. Then a thought: "If I join the BMH3 I can drink as much as I want!"

The only way the GM could get any respect was to call in someone who does get respect, Khun Aae. Khun Aae received a well-deserved New Year’s gift (of which the GM’s fee was only 10%), followed by applause. Then a segue to the other business.

Marco "Phinocchio" Foltan was a notable returner. He brought Rock Hard from Italy. ("I’ve been there, it’s a fucking shithole!", which is about the extent of the Hash repertoire these days.) Another visiting Hasher was "Stick in the Rear" from Red China. (No, Checkless, stop drooling, it was not "Stick it up my Ass.") There was "Not the 9 O’clock News" from Denmark. Cap’n Eric didn’t engage him in DanishManTalk because, after proclaiming it was a "Fan-fucking-tastic run", he had deep sixed the circle and moored up inside the restaurant.

The ad-hoc RA, and that would be Love Canal, put on a boozy Dean Martin act. He stumbled around the circle, feigned memory loss, grabbed ass, and fondled a few females. Palinee hid under the beer wagon. (Be interesting to hear what Miz Na had to say about all that when she got Love Canal home.) POTW time. Tink was admonished by KC for something insignificant. The field was narrowed to three. The GM took over, analysed the vote, and declared that the POTW would go, as usual, to the farang female wisitor. This was "Stick in the Rear" from Red China, who was much too willing. Appropriately, the apparatus was attached reversed, so she looked like someone you wouldn’t want to stand behind in a queue.

The OnOnOn was well-attended. Khun Som liked the somtom with the rotten fish sauce from Isaan and the dead crab. She also liked that the hare shouted the OOO. Thank you, Khun Gung.

The Aroi Dee Restaurant a few klicks away on Pattanakarn is still wondering why it’s been stuck with twenty kilos of fried rice smothered in ketchup.

Respectfully submitted, Anon.

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Disclaimer. Just before the off, the GM approached me and said "write-up". Up until that moment I had trusted his judgment. When I stumble through the run, all I usually see is the dog shit on the pavement. I also have short-term memory problems. Sorry if I missed out anyone.