Run #3194 by Smokey at Charlie Market

Aiyo, bloody hell, macha! Smokey promised us a proper Indian special this Monday, and like any good Indian businessman, he made sure the customers suffered before receiving the goods. A decent turnout assembled at Charlie Market, although you wouldn't have known it, because half the pack had already buggered off searching for paper. Twenty minutes later, several desperate hashers were ringing Smokey, begging for directions like lost tourists in Little India. "Where is the bloody paper, lah?" Turns out the trail started a full kilometer away, at Latitude Condo. One kilometer of road before the actual run! Very clever, Smokey. Next time perhaps we start in Butterworth and take the ferry over, macha! Once the pack finally located the sacred scraps of paper, the first check brought the entire operation to a grinding halt. Rusty, displaying his usual remarkable talent for being wrong even when he's right, had already abandoned the correct direction. Fortunately, Tu Koh eventually cracked the bastard, sending the pack scrambling across a gnarly rock field littered with glass shards beneath the Chinese Guan Yin Temple. Aiyo, one wrong step and we'd be offering blood sacrifices to the goddess! Back into the jungle, Tu Koh enthusiastically attacked the second check uphill, but Smokey had other plans. Why go straight when you can take the scenic bloody long way around? A magnificent skirting expedition towards the water reservoir followed, because apparently the Indian philosophy of reincarnation also applies to unnecessary kilometers. After a wonderfully muddy on-up past the reservoir towards Money's house, the third check awaited its next victims. Tubby eventually broke the bugger while Rusty, determined to maintain his reputation, headed confidently in the wrong direction yet again. By now the pack thought the suffering was over. The Hash Highway appeared, home was practically in sight, and visions of cold beer were dancing through dehydrated skulls. But no, no, no, macha! Smokey wasn't finished collecting his pound of flesh. Two more bloody climbs towards the Indian temple were thrown into the bargain before the exhausted congregation was finally permitted to return to Charlie Market. Three checks, multiple hills, one compulsory sightseeing tour, and enough extra mileage to qualify for an Indian pilgrimage. Very good value for money, saar! The Circle delivered entertainment of a considerably higher standard than the hare's navigation instructions. Puki Tou had somehow managed to acquire a second Puki on his head between Hash runs, courtesy of an unfortunate encounter with his own bathroom. How the bastard managed to injure himself without even entering the jungle remains one of life's great mysteries. A motion was raised to rename him Puki Squared, but the voting produced no clear result. Election fraud, macha! Someone call the Election Commission! Meanwhile, long-lost Berry, also known as "Who the Fuck Is Robert Baggio," made a glorious return to the kennel. He charged through the opening kilometer of road like a champion, only to encounter the first uphill and immediately downgrade himself to the speed of an elderly three-legged buffalo. His heroic comeback was appropriately rewarded with several down-downs on ice alongside Bala Taping. Welcome back, you useless bastard! And then there was Excellent Choice, who apparently had been showing his collection of "Madagascaran" female friends around town. The girls looked suspiciously young, but Excellent Choice assured everyone that people from that part of the world simply look younger. Lau Boon Hai, never one to miss an opportunity for some extracurricular sightseeing, promptly put on his spectacles to enjoy the spectacle. Suddenly the old bastard had better eyesight than an eagle hunting mice. Between Puki Tou's bathroom gymnastics, Berry's spectacular physical deterioration and Excellent Choice's international cultural exchange programme, the Circle provided more entertainment than a three-hour Bollywood blockbuster. All in all, another fine Monday of questionable decisions, unnecessary suffering, and thoroughly deserved beer. Verdict: Excellent Indian mystery tour. Paper hidden one kilometer away, Rusty wrong even when right, enough hills to reach enlightenment, and a Circle full of damaged goods.