Mauritius Hash House Harriers

Hash Trash 609 - Sunday 20 November 2011


Walking Dodo

VENUE: Riviere des Creoles

HARES: Alan, Leslie and Marie-Claude


It is within the straitjacket of conventional wisdom that our guest hares invariably provide the most spectacular cross-country courses that invariably set an example for the less inspired trailsetters amongst us. And our triptych of esteemed hares, Alan, Leslie & Marie Claude reads like a Who’s Who of this most hallowed pastime, so revered that they could be feted as the Steve Jobs, Bill Gates & Anita Roddick of the pioneer trailsetting fraternity. And it would have been no surprise had the attendees on this sun-dappled Sabbath been afflicted with major involuntary salivation in breathless expectation of another classic event, much akin to a pyromaniac trapped in a firework factory with a box of matches in his back pocket. And so it proved – a majestic trail that carved its way with subtle precision through improbable canefield corridors, along the fringed of tranquil coastlines, beside aromatic refuse tips, inside scantily-clad deciduous forests, along precarious undulating stone paths, under overpowering bridges, over Ferney’s version of Highway 61, past decorative graveyards & through the charming somnolent village of Riviere de Creoles.

And furthermore it was a Hash not without incident – an early casualty was the luckless Huguette who somehow contrived to twist her ankle causing severe swelling to the joint. Her brother heroically carried her back to the On-On (that’s what family are for) where she reclined in effortless Cleopatra-like grace with her foot swathed in ice blocks, probably anointed with ass’s milk. Girish collapsed on the beach like he had just been shot by a sniper assassin but it seems that he had merely tripped over his horn. The sole on Leslie’s shoe parted company with the upper part of its body which means an unscheduled trip to the Foire for replacements & the Scottish curse of unbudgeted expenditure. And finally a majority of the walkers were struck with temporary blindness from the glare off Hari’s rainbow coloured T-Shirt (although it boggles the mind about where the pot of gold could possibly be).

There was also an absence of flour in the village where Alan laid the trail & it was suggested that the hungry local dogs had licked the powder dry. However, conspiracy theorists suspected that Leslie, displaying the attribute of the archetypal parsimonious Scot, may have furtively scooped up the flour himself not only to make Alan look like an amateurish Hare but also to take home for making several trays of vanilla & cherry muffins.

It was a strange spectacle to see the stragglers & tailenders appearing at the On-On from different directions & in different states of distress, in particular the divine Mrs GM, Philiida, who could easily have been mistaken for an overheated boiler with a hyperactive thermostat. At the special request of the Hares, a crushed ice seller (i.e. the ice was crushed, not the ice seller) was standing ready to serve iced soft drinks for thirsty hashers looking to quench their thirst with something other than the predictable offer tucked inside the wooden crates.

The GM, elegantly trussed in his new shorts, had some difficulty in calling the circle to order, the disrespectful rabble preferring to engage in disharmonious babble rather than honour the vesperal code of silence. Once the cackle abated, the Hares were given their deserved reward with Leslie being determined not to waste a drop by sveltely plucking Marie’s Claude’s tankard from her grasp at the same time avoiding an impromptu brew bath.

The Virgins basking in the unknown pleasure of their maiden Hash were -

1)MICHELE–from France & a friend of Bertrand. She said that she enjoyed the ambience & is threatening to make a reappearance.
2)KENDRA – all the way from the U.S. of A. & an invitee of Arabella. It is believed that she may have cringed in horror when the unruly members of the mob lapsed into wild exclamation of that now overused Obamarama-ism “Yes, We Can”. Yes we can economically asphyxiate under the unbearable burden of sovereign debt?
Eloise, Arabella & another lady with unknown identity were duly given their reward for daring to subject themselves to a second Hash & we hope that they will be prepared to subject themselves to many more rambling expeditions.

The Reverend Steve Farrow, again smartly appointed in his now trademark straw Panama, was wearing an elegant pair of Ice Blue designer shorts. The R.A. has made a startling transformation in his sartorial appearance that it does seem inevitable that he will soon become an honorary devotee of the stately fashionista brigade (it will only be a matter of time before he will be spotted in the columns of the Hello magazine rubbing shoulders with Posh, Becks and Kate Middleton). But despite these lofty sartorial ambitions, he maintained a gentle humility with his feet firmly on the ground and delivered a swift salvo of whimsy with the cutting edge of a football hooligan’s flick-knife. He first rattled off a tale of an unidentified Hasher who was fishing with a friend near a bridge over Tamarin River. Suddenly a hearse rolls past & the Hasher stood up, removes his cap & bows his head. When the car disappeared, he replaces his cap & carries on fishing. The friend turned to the Hasher & said “that is one of the nicest, most respectful gestures I have ever seen. The Hasher looks round & replies “Well, that’s the least I could have done, we were married for twenty years”. The R.A the recounted an incident in Big Willie’s at the weekend when he uttered the words “I love you”. His wife, not accustomed to hearing such amorous pleasantries (at least not from her husband) asked “Is that you or the beer talking?”. The R.A. in a soft romantic tone replied “Oh, that was me talking to my beer”.

Referring to the ailing Huguette/Cleopatra, the R.A. confirmed that a First Aid box was available for remedial treatment but then creepily suggested that someone should kiss her wound better. Out of the blue Mark, the less than dynamic half of the dynamic events duo, then declared that he was a plastic surgeon which I am guessing to be some sort of code for the depraved pleasure of binding oneself in cellophane & bubble wrap most probably as a post-midnight pastime (not exactly a standard deviation, unmathematically speaking). I assume that this remark was an open invitation to the congregation in the hope that he could seduce the naïve, the vulnerable & the misguided to join him in his bandaged bondage frolic (unsurprisingly, no-one expressed an interest in being a disciple to SM ritual)

Following this unscheduled intermission, the R.A. quickly moved on to the less controversial task of damning sinners with a down down as follows –

1)LAURENT – but I cannot remember why, although he would have been mightily chuffed at his Liverpoll snatching all 3 points at Stamford Bridge.
2)MARK – the bondage boy misread the directions & found the wrong bridge (maybe he could not see properly because of the bubble warp).
3)ALEX – who seemed to have the keen sense of a police sniffer dog as he seemed to know the right way at the checkpoints – No comment
4)REY – for gracing us with his presence following his Phileas Fogg around the world in 80 days escapade. He was wearing a Beijing Hash singlet inscribed with classic dishes from a Chinese restaurant menu (e.g. chicken shit, monkey glands etc. etc.)
5)DOMINIQUE (Alias ROBBIE) – guilty of treason as he is due to disappear for 6 months to an undisclosed destination (maybe it is a top secret mission).
6)BLOB & ZANDRE – long overdue reappearance of an Ex-GM & an Ex-Scribe (and poetess). The Blobbified one was growing his silver beard in preparation of another festive season dressing up as the mythical magnanimous Santa Claus to strike unholy fear & almighty terror to the children of Mauritius. Zandre was graphically demonstrating her undisguised infatuation for her partner in crime by wearing a Blob branded T-Shirt adorned with Blobbisms such as the word “Blobojob” meaning a charitable act brought on only by Blob drinking (possibly in excess). And who says Blob isn’t narcissistic….
And finally the cowgirl with the cowbell, Nadine, selected Tusha as the new bell bearer hoping that it will slow her down long enough to ruminate on the grass that populates the countryside. It has to be said that, despite the burden, Nadine put in a sparkling performance in keeping up with the front runners. However, when she was passing through the graveyards, the campanological monotony echoed so loudly that it was more than enough to arouse those resting in eternal slumber.

A successful man is one who makes more money than his wife can spend. A successful woman is one who can find such a man – Lana Turner

In which The Scribe asks a Hash member a series of questions that attempts to uncover a sequence of useless personal facts. The next unsuspecting victim in this pointless charade, a seasoned Hash member who in his glory days used to wear eccentric, colourful outfits to match his maverick renegade ponytail; a nihilistic voidoid, bubonic coypu and shrinking violet a dangerous cocktail of personality disorders that combines into the tri-polar protozoa better known as….JOHN CABRELLI

1) Who was your childhood hero?
Muhammad Ali was my first icon, the first pop pugilist; I remember waking up at 3 a.m. to watch the Sonny Liston rematch when Ali knocked the Big Bear out in the first round. I was captivated by his charisma, his showmanship but above all his boxing skill. The Thrilla in Manila in ’74 when he impossibly outfoxed, outboxed & knocked out the formidable George Foreman was probably his greatest sporting achievement. The heavyweight division has never had the same allure since (Thank god he has ceased this sycophantic eulogy, I was about to stab cocktail sticks in my eyes to relieve the boredom)

2) What was your earliest childhood memory?
Standing in front of the wardrobe in my bedroom, wearing a quilted navy blue one piece romper suit (with fake sheepskin inner lining) in preparation for a visit to the dentist. (Definite seeds of cross dressing & animal fetish)

3) What do you consider to be your greatest personal achievement?
Undoubtedly doing the sub-3 hour marathon in London 1985 (2 hours 57 min 12 seconds to be precise) . And I can never forget the sweeping tearful elation that rushed over me as I rolled under the Admiralty Arch with a 1 mile to go safe in the knowledge that I was about to break this mementous milestone. At that point, I just relaxed & let the euphoria take me home, sprinting the last 200 metres over Westminster Bridge, my left arm raised aloft at the finish as If I had won the event itself (Whose idea was it to give this myopic buffoon his 15 minutes of infamy)

4) Who is your favourite actor & favourite actress?
The superb Robert De Niro & the brilliant Dame Maggie Smith

5) When was the last time you got into a fight?
Verbal fights invariably every day just to make my working life more pleasant & interesting. Physical fight at an underground car park in Bali when I thought that the attendant was trying to overcharge me for the privilege. (Nothing more tragically juvenile than an ancient adult goblin trying to throw his weight about)

6) Have you ever smoked dope or taken drugs?
I smoked some Moroccan Red at a Rugby Club party, found it bitter & the only mind altering affect was a severe migraine. I also snorted a white line through a rolled up 5 pound note with absolutely no hallucinogenic effect & deduced that it must have been cheap low quality dirt (I just don’t believe this bluff bravado, trying to pretend that he was a cool teenager; I suspect that he was a fully paid up member of the anorak brigade with the charisma of an emaciated librarian)

7) Name 2 people that you would like to have a conversation with (& why)?
Tony Hancock to understand the tortured artist with the tears of a clown.
Marilyn Monroe to uncover her secret life beyond the celluloid fantasy world .

8) When was the last time you went to church?
Probably Venice, Italy 2002. It was then that I noticed that most, if not all, churches have a painting of Madonna con Bambino, the iconic symbol of Catholicism.

9) Who is your favourite musician/s?
The soundtrack of my life would probably feature tracks by Jimi Hendrix, Little Feat, Steely Dan, Neil Young, , Lynyrd Skynyrd, Derek and the Dominos, Todd Rundgren, Joy Division, John Cooper-Clarke, Only Ones, Patti Smith, Orchestra Makassy, The Beat, Talking Heads, REM, Pearl Jam, Nick Cave, Conor Oberst, The National and Billie Holiday. (Reading a braille version of an Air Conditioning manual is more vibrant than being subjected to this unadulterated bison dung)

10) What would be the last thing you do if you thought the world was ending?
As Woody Allen once said “It’s not that I’m afraid to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens”. The last thing I would do would be to have a large naked Glenfiddich Malt & prepare for oblivion by putting on my white suit; you can’t be seen dressing down when you’re going up. (I know the destination on his one-way ticket –and it will be standing room only)



The Hash Mish-Management Team
The 2011/ 2012 team
Supreme Being: Jean Ramiah
Hare Line + Trailmasters: Ryan Leeds
Cellarmaster: Gilbert
Hash Horn: Giresh
Religious and Sex Advisor: Steve
Ice Maiden: Gaetan (For the moment)
Ha$h Ca$h: Claudia
Deputy: Jean-Paul
Drinks for Wimps 'n Kids: Also Gilbert
Hash Market: Juliette
Deputy: Marinette
Edit Hare: John
Deputy: Kay