Last week's Hash was so small (a baker's dozen minus 2) that it could be called a family outing, except that, apart from the Armenian twins, there were no related Hashers. Let's call it a 'Chamber Hash' then, as it was as soothing to the nerves, tattered by the situation just over the hills, as Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusiek" (The Small Night Music? sounds a bit silly in English, but you know what I mean) [Ed: maybe it makes more sense translated as 'A Little Night Music'?].
The Hares René and Dolly lead the convoy deep into the valley of Selfita, past the previous Hash sites there, beyond the end of the tarmac road and until even the dirt road petered out among the rounded grey rock outcrops. When passing through some yellow fields of wild oats, the convoy looked like something out of the Marlborough country and the backdrop to the Hash site could have been painted by Van Gogh in his Provencal period: olive orchards and a row of poplars backed by gently rolling hills. From the elevation of the walkers route, the views all around were yet again breathtaking. It is to be hoped that the runners had time to pause and take it in as well [Ed: Well, the runners certainly had plenty of 'elevation'!].
The themes for the downdowns were hard to find, as there were no Virgins and no returnees, so some sins had to be drummed up - for Omar Sharif, the misguided, as he lead the walkers astray, claiming he was following the smell of beer, for Dolly, Diplomaniac and Richard for not donning a Hash T-shirt: for Diplomaniac it was too hot and Dolly did not have one. But she was given a perfectly fitting one, so she has no excuse for wearing her fancy clothes (the wrong way round) in future. Richard needed to wear a sleeveless T-shirt in order to show off his colourful tattoos.
Wise Pranker, recovered from his fall, served a home made chicken stew and pickles, but this run had another casualty - the RA himself took a bad fall - or maybe a pot shot from the Hezbollah - there was blood....
Onon,
Diplomaniac
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