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 HASH MAG ARCHIVE 1993: RUN NO.530 Run Date: 13 December 1993 Donald, Where's My Carbonara? Well, I made it back for one hash and very good it was too! We, a merry band of hashers set off from Davey's Cross moorgate, and after spending most of the hash struggling our way up a very steep slope in the teeth of a gale, in the last ten minutes proceeded to run back down it again. Using a mixture of cunning and dastardly trail laying, and no trail at all, we were kept together all the way. This is in contrast, I am informed (and this is hearsay and only alleged by the majority of the hash) to my parents Anonymouse & Mudflaps' efforts the week before. On that occasion, the trail laying was so confused that at one point even the map had to come out in an attempt to find the way back. When a steaming bowl of carbonara was pushed in front of me in the pub after the run, ten weeks of cooking for myself on a student grant (which is going to be cut next year by the theiving Tory bastards) was forgotten and I ate. Minutes later Begorrah returned from the bar to find me eating his meal. Well, I was hungry and these mistakes happen. Anyway, he dutifully received my identical carbonara at the same time as my parents - last, that is. At intervals, I noticed various hash members were sneaking off for longer periods than were warranted for merely visiting the toilet. So I asked Deadly what was going on. In hushed tones I was informed that there was a "bit of a looker" in the next bar, and all the dirty old (and young) men of the hash, who until then I had only perceived as each having their own personal halo, had been disappearing to snatch quick glimpses of this, and I quote "delicious creature". Anyway, the music the musicians in the pub were playing was lively, even though the sceptics were dubious of its Irishness. Many hash members, usually quiet and reserved people (!) joined the rowdy rabble dancing to 'Donald Where's Your Troooooousers'. I did notice one particularly dodgy bloke getting rather carried away with his dancing to the point where his movements could be construed as being improper, if not downright indecent. I don't know, what is the older generation coming to? In conclusion, I'd like to dedicate this hash mag to Schweppes - so you've all got to buy him a drink. No, not a half, he wants a whole pint - and not lemonade!
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