Away weekend -- Camping, romping and yodelling in the Alpujarras(982 &983)

29th June to 2nd July 2007

 The away hashers were divided into two distinct groups -- the hairy arsed camping brigade, whose idea of a good time is feeling the dirt between their toes as they snuggle down unwashed with earwigs, in between visits to the bushes and/or communal toilets; and the fairy-arsed hedonistic tossers (amongst whom your Scribe is pleased to number himself -- assuming one can in fact number oneself), who prefer the feel of tile beneath their feet and toilet paper between the cheeks of their arse.

 One thing that did stand out amongst the true camping fraternity was the size and variety of their erections -- fat ones, thin ones, tall ones, ones with knobbly bits on, it was indeed a sight to behold.

 Hashers rolled up gradually during the day, and the evening meal at the campsite restaurant on Friday night seemed to surprise everybody, including the restaurant staff, who made a fine job of spreading the ingredients of the 25 meals they thought had been ordered amongst the 40 hungry hashers -- not dissimilar in many ways to Jesus feeding the 5000.  However, plentiful booze kept the punters lubricated and your Scribe is not aware of too many hangovers on Saturday morning.

 Saturday dawned bright and clear and very hot. Trevelez cascaded down the inner thighs of the magnificent high-peaked valley like a succulent clitoris.  People wandered round in it, visiting and revisiting the three shops as though to convince themselves that such tatt might be worth buying.  (Okay, so your Scribe came back with a car full, but guess who was responsible for that?  KK is such a schmuck -- marriage must be having strange effects on him)

 Starting at three (-ish) , the assembled multitude set off with not a little trepidation into the mountains under the broiling sun.  Along a manmade watercourse, up the track, past some horses and mules, off onto tenuous footpaths, upward, ever upward.  Your Scribe, in his capacity as RA, nobly swept up at the rear of the flock, helped by an unwisely large lunch and enormous portions of knobbing on those comfortable beds (any thing to keep KK out of the damn shops).  It might be thought that your Scribe cut a rakish and colourful figure bestriding the mountains in his newly acquired Aussie hat (amazing what they sell in that robbers’ roost).  But I digress.

 Back to the track, upwards still but more gently now, past carefully tended handkerchiefs of vegetables and fruit gardens lovingly terraced out of the hillside and irrigated by the melting snows of the Sierra Nevada; past two manky Alsatians, along another acequнa, then up through a plague of locusts to the welcome beer stop; where sadly the front runners seemed to have been waiting some time for the rest of the pack, and insisted upon rushing off in a most unsporting fashion, just so they could show off their competitive prowess by rushing lemming-like back to the campsite.

 Your Scribe, and a number of the more sensible hashers, followed the steep but pleasant in-trail at a more conservative pace, which allowed us to take in the majesty of our surroundings and appreciate the patchwork of fields and watercourses which are so unique to this area.

 Modesty and a surfeit of alcohol forbid your Scribe from waxing too lyrical about the RA’s performance in the Circle, except that he remembers the run was awarded 7.9 marks and that theAxar- spit-quнa Hash visitors came in for much well-deserved criticism.  Oh yes, and he recalls liberal use of the Sleeve being required to control a rowdy and drunken bunch.

 The Saturday night barbecue, when served, proved a ‘normous success, at which no one went hungry or thirsty.  Full many goodlie ballads were sung and jokes a-told among the Companie that nighte, and titties faire there were, alle bedecked with creame....

 Sunday morning dawned very similar to Saturday morning, but hazier somehow in the head.  Quivering hashers -- could there have been fewer than the day before?  -- gathered in the village for a short but intense hairy dog run which took us out of the village, over the bridge, up the hillside, back down along the valley and down shiggy to the river, which we followed along back under the bridge and waded across to the strategically situated beer stop. After many watery shenanigans, and duly refreshed, it was back over the bridge and up into the village square where transport was provided back to the campsite.

 Sunday's Circle involved more down Downs for the Axar-spit-quнa Hash, and the RA was obliged to upbraid unmentionable members of the flock for drunken violence, excessive tonguing, and bestiality, to name but too many..

 A relaxed lunch at the campsite followed, after which some hashers departed for home, whilst others stayed for a more demure meal in the evening.

 Many thanks are due to those deluded souls who spent many hours of their time organising this event, and in particular acquiring all the food and drink, bringing it to site with all the preparatory materials and cooking it; and to the miscellaneous Hares, which, as we all know, hang down to their knees…

 Amen

 Your Scribe, and temporal and spiritual Father,

 DIPPER