Dear Hashers,
I’m starting to think this should be a regular column. It’s amazing what you hear about hashing from non-hashers, and I think it’s useful to look into that mirror from time to time. Here’s a recent discovery, from an online forum for overseas teachers:
The Good Wife and I are about to embark on our first (of many) teaching adventure abroad, and have been informed that there is a Hash House Harriers near by. I was under the impression that it was an expat runnning club. Recent posts by a few experienced old hands would indicate something of a more sinister nature.
More information would be appreciated, as I’ve never been one for cults (or indeed, overly organised ‘fun’).
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I would have to say that I did not enjoy the ‘Hash’. Went a couple of times, drank beer from my trainer as a fine for ‘racing’. And joined in the song that went (arms out in front, fingers ‘raining’) ” OOOOhhhhhhhh, here are the hashers they are true, something, something something blue, blah blah, and they’ll never go to heaven in a long, long way!”
It was and, I imagine, still is, ‘excrutiating’.
In a rugby programme once I described them as ‘a bunch of non-sporting types who mooch around in the desert because they literally can’t do anything else’.
Many couplings occur through hashing. Due to not having any other interests.
But I could be wrong.
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In Kuwait, I attended a post hash social. The Grand master MC hash or whatever the tw5ts name was, sat in a cosy armchair. While others gathered around igloos with small plastic cups waiting for tepid, flat beer, one of his minions brought him a full tankard of a different beer, in a pewter tankard. And delivered it like waiter desperate for a tip.
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About Flying Booger Hash House Harrier, man about town. 