Date:     9th May, 2004     
Run:     1368
Venue: Marathon Lake
Hares:  The Bookmaker & MOuntain Goat
Scribe: The Bookmaker

The first sign that things might not go quite according to plan was when Mountain Goat turned up to find that the Greek Scouting Federation appeared to have chosen the exact same starting point as the location for their annual convention. Undeterred, we parked cars at various points along the first part of the trail and a large group of hashers stood around comparing hangovers and undertaking the usual pre-run preparations - a couple of beers and a last cigarette or two.

Returnees Gobbler and Ratarsed had flown in specially for the occasion and had somehow persuaded Cum Quick to give them the keys to his flat for the weekend. They had obviously made the most of this as Ratarsed was clearly the worse for wear while Gobbler appeared to have put her make up on during a minor earthquake.

Soon enough, the horn was blown, the pack assembled and the hares issued detailed instructions which everyone else studiously ignored. Without further ado runners were sent off down what at first seemed to be a very pleasant downhill trail. Naturally, this didn't last long and after 100 metres or so the undergrowth closed in on the track so that it became rather like trying to hack through the jungles of Borneo. Eventually we emerged to find ourselves at the lake side where there was a short falsie to the left followed by a much longer one to the right.

A few determined Short Cutting Bastards preferred to swim the 50m across the lake rather than run the 300m around it. But 10 minutes later there was a second opportunity for swimming, and this time a larger group of hashers dived in. A small group fishing on the opposite bank were rather startled to see what looked like a large white whale heading in their direction but it turned out to be Bursting Bladder who had removed his clothes and exposed his skin to sunlight for the first time in several years.

Captain Sumo, another swimmer (what is it about these Scandinavians and freezing lakes?), made the mistake of entrusting his shoes to Flowery Twat and so had to run most of the rest of the trail barefoot. As it happened, he had drunk so much alcohol the night before that he effectively anaesthetised himself so he didn't seem to notice anything was amiss.

At this point Strawberry Foreskin got bored with running on blue so headed off into the hills to create his own trail while at the rear. Meanwhile, Playboy Two was clearly suffering delusions of fitness as every few minutes he was spotted breaking into a run. After what seemed an eternity of following the lakeside we finally turned inland and the pack regrouped in order to systematically trample over a farmer's carefully planted field. The trail then wound its way up a long hill until a couple of strategically placed falsies held the Front Running Bastards up and allowed the pack to more or less regroup once more. However, at the next check Flowery Twat and Strawberry Foreskin headed into the bushes and weren't seen again until back at base where for some reason FT had grass stains on her back and S4S had very wobbly knees.

Meanwhile, those of us on the trail proper were taken through a disused brick factory whereupon Mad Dog (who had reverted to a mental age of 6 by this stage) climbed an abandoned bulldozer and pretended to be the driver.

Although the run was by now coming to an end, there was still a sting in its tail as the only way back home was to slide down a sheer bank of some 30 metres or so. Bookmaker stood waiting at the bottom to see how many would join the flying club and seemed surprised there weren't more serious injuries.

At this point most of the pack showed just how difficult it is to underestimate the intelligence of hashers. Even though hash cars were clearly visible to the left only Banger and Rear Entry headed this way. The rest of the runners turned right and ran 800 metres in the exact opposite direction until somebody pointed out that they hadn't seen any blue for 10 minutes.

Back at base, Bookmaker and Mountain Goat were soon surrounded by a large crowd of hashers eager to congratulate them on the excellence of their trail. However, after half an hour of this someone noticed that the walkers had failed to return and that they had now been out for over 2 hours. In true hash fashion, we had a few beers, discussed the problem from all angles, had a few more beers etc until Serial Whinger remembered that his 8 month pregnant wife, Marina, was with the walkers and that perhaps a marathon hill climbing hike in the heat of the day was not quite what the doctor had ordered.

Bookmaker was sent off in his jeep on a rescue mission and returned some 10 minutes later with a cargo of exhausted walkers. Amongst these was Marina who was clearly rather distressed by her experience although she later explained that she had felt fine on the walk - it was the 5 minutes in Bookmaker's jeep which terrified the life out of her.

Eventually everyone was safely back home so the horn was blown, a circle formed and the official proceedings commenced. Unfortunately your scribe was awarded a disproportionate share of the Down-In-Ones so the record from this point may not be entirely accurate.

Carmen was christened "Spanish Fly" and seemed quite relieved to be given this name but the smile was taken off her face when she was completely drenched in beer which made her look like the winner of a wet T shirt contest at a Club 18-30 disco in Ibiza. Ah, mammaries are made of this……

Dean was called in and given the name "IMF" (International Mother Fucker) a title which he accepted with some grace. In contrast, Alexis ended up with the handle "Little Dick" and seemingly unaware of hash traditions spent the rest of the circle suggesting alternatives to this name which for some reason he didn't seem too keen on.

As usual, Flowery Twat kept interrupting proceedings by wandering in and out of the circle until Bookmaker came up with a novel way of discouraging this by lobbing an empty beer can in her direction. This turned out to be a bullseye shot and FT retired hurt while Bookmaker had to protected from a lynch mob of FT's sister hashers who were only placated when he was nominated as "Shit of the Week".

The circle continued with numerous DIOs being awarded for reasons either spurious or imaginary until S4S finally decided it was time to eat and for several minutes an eerie silence descended on the pack. There was a minor disturbance when a rumour spread that we had run out of beer but further supplies were discovered in the back of Bursting Bladder's car so a full scale riot was averted. Some hashers foolishly tried to work their way through the 5 litres of Tsipouro that Mad Dog had brought and from this point things rapidly began to deteriorate.

At one stage there was an attempt to organise a volleyball tournament but it soon became clear that the winning team was the one who could remember which side of the net they were supposed to be on and remain standing up until the end of the game.

Finally, the stocks of alcohol were exhausted and it was time to call it a day. A large number of cars drove off somewhat erratically into the sunset and so another chapter came to an end in the long and glorious history of the Athens Hash House Harriers.

ON ON!

The Bookmaker