The squash courts, what a place to start a Hash? And what a Hash!! Fifteen exuberant bretheren assembled behind the court, the other fourteen less enthusiastic hid at the front hoping they wouldn’t be missed (they were and were called to order by our Junior HM). At this point in the proceedings a taxi hove in sight bearing; Pagella? No! Stone? No Summers? You must be joking Zonnerveld! Too busy showing off round the ring road. Barron? Must have died. Who could it be? Two dusty, smelly, grotty, rotten, bxxxxx hares, - still holding hands, Scholey and Woods, the sight of which sent paroxysms of fear into the assembled mass.

ON ON was shouted by Roger having fallen out with his friend yet again -and we all walked gently out to the main road where we turned right to Baneswor then shortly afterwards right again into the nitt-gritty. (It was hereabouts that D.J.M. shouted "Where’s the first bxxxx check?"). He was unlucky for it came much much later.

At the first check, eventually reached, which was clearly marked by the sign of “Women Only” we promptly lost half the Hash. Our Major H.M., Joh P, Andy S, Will P (!!-think about it!!) and others with no sense of direction got it wrong - Ha Ha Ha! and were not seen for the next 40 minutes. The rest of us got it right and followed D.K. dust, which for once was in the right direction, a short way to a second.

Fred the ned found paper and led us through the shit (in prime and extremely tenacious condition) to the ring road. At this point Bert Van De Putte was seen to abandon his chariot and swell our numbers to thirty. The trail did a hairpin, to everyone’s chagrin, through shit alleys second cousin, whore Jerry, in response to a cry of Shit On, replied “You got it and received the comment “No you have!” and he had!!

At the next check everyone assumed we should go down and left, but the hares thought different and took up, right and down to the Dhobi Khola - a bxxxxx long way from the chariots. Across the padi by way of carefully selected leaps and bounds from dry patch to dry patch, which saw us all safely on the bund at the far side, except Alex S, minus brush, who almost split himself in two.

Along the bunds, back across the river, up an enormous sand dune, through more shit to a welcome check beyond, on the tarmac. Mike S. since he was at the front, despite being a hare, called ON ON westwards away from the chariots. It was here where four old lags, including Schaffer, decided a shorter route could be had by turning left early - it could not - with the help of a didi, probably attracted by our President’s (everyone stand to attention) legs, who called them on through her back yard and they rejoined the trail mid hash.

We soon rejoined the tarmac again, west of Pashupati, collecting our Major Wash master and his mates and slogged up the hill to the roundabout where Pinder became rejuvenated and played with his wheel while the rest of us trotted the two hundred metres to the chariots.

A good shitty hash.