Barge’s ‘live run’ was as follows; run as far and as fast as you can in the direction of cable beach for 30 minutes, turn around and come back. Bloody simple.
The fast bastards set off at a galloping pace; Conchi, Red, Blondie, Slow and a heap of followers like that bloody Marathon Runner (have we charged him for training? I mean, running for four plus hours in the
Half expected Commando to take on the sand dunes in SAS style crawl, but perhaps she was frightened off by the prospect of getting sand in her jocks. Meanwhile Cock Up dallied in the back blowing the horn and sounding like a Volkswagen in serious need of a tune up.
There were some super slack hashers – moi included – who didn’t even make it over the sand dune to the beach and instead chucked a leftie at the fork in the proverbial and meandered through Minyirr park. The fastest thing working in this pack was the Ladies’ tongues.
So the pack dribbled along cable beach enjoying the sunset and stopping for a chat with mates they knew. Some made it to the surf club, some smart, fit bastards made it to the Noooodie bit of the beach. Then everyone turned around and galloped back. And our reward from Cockup was a free ice cold beverage. Ahhhhhhhhh.
The circle was pumping and buzzing. We welcomed some Virginal BmeH3s – Flasher from Perth Harriets (mercifully in the Broome humidity she had discarded the flasher’s trench coat), a Blow In from Kakadu (bring on the monsoon I say), and a couple of gals from Bargie’s hospital workplace, inc one who was with Cocos Island Hash.
We christened Lisa as Wombat because she eats, roots and leaves. (Note the careful placement of a comma makes a great deal of difference to the significance of her H name.)
Barge got to wear the toilet seat for such a Shit Run. And her spa was turned into a saltwater spa with so many cesty sweaty bodies squeezing in for a swim. Geeze Barge I hope you upped the chlorination the next day.