This is it. The last of the present scribes masterpeices (Ha bxxxxx Ha). Seeing as how I’m disappearing for two weeks this is the ideal opportunity fir some doltish, inance, obtuse body to take over the poison pen.

This weeks Hash, a masterpiece of trail setting, laid by that mad helicopter topographist Zonnerveld and your honourable retiring scribe [Millbank], found about 20 of our select band (the deposed HM buggered off with the book) running round in ever decreasing or increasing in the case of D.K. circles.
False trails abounded and if it had not been for the fit, forcible, effective antics of the juveniles’ Boulter, Robinson etc. the vast majority of the old lags would still be stuck at the second check, hoping that the Hares would lead the way. The Young Hash Master, too tired to blow his horn, walked most of the way, while our ex Major HM was seen to stand on paper for good five minutes - catching his breath no doubt - before calling the war cry. Kedwell found paper more than once and led everyone up the garden path and the Hash Supremo (everyone stand to attention) wallowed around with a bewildered look on his face.

Odd socks, recovering from his Everest Expedition and John International Frandsen, recovering from his [honeymoon], were seen to go everywhere except where the paper was and Arnie and Eric just plodded from resting place to resting place.

Eventually at 5.55 the juniors led the seniors back to the chariots and the grog. Unfortunately the pleasant smelling shitty looking rum couldn’t be sampled as one of the Hash Dignitaries forgot the cups. Hashit! Hashit!!

HASH 77 - Pinder & Knight
PLACE - New International Club
WELCOME TO - Don’t know. (That’s the first job for the new scribe)
WALKING STICK- Still Arnie Boulter
HASHIT - Still Shamboo