This evening’s Hash writeup was contributed by Scotland’s greatest bard:
Aw man, is this no the life! Fresh air, exercise – ye can shuve it. A neet oot wi yer pals an a guid swally, noo that’s the ticket! So here we are by the way, Jesmond Cricket Club. Is that no grand? Richt in the very lair o the sassenachs an their fav’rit sport, here we are boy, wi a dram an a haggis! Flannels? Smack o leather oan willow? Smack o ma napper oan yer beak more like it!
Bluidy guid turnoot tae, at least twenty o the Hash in the full regalia. There was wee Ion Dick in his kilt and his socks, brung a St Andy’s flag for a jaikit. Shame he was born in bluidy England. There was Trees Are and his faither in wee tartan bow ties the missus made back at haim, cute as ye please. There was Coonterfit in his kilt an sporran. An that Chafin in a skirt, shifty wee nyaff that he is.
Coonterfit’s been daein this for years, by the way. One o the best attended Hashes every time, so it is. An ye know why, boy? I’ll tell ye why. Because nae bugger says no tae a free denner, not in this toon.
Where did they go? Where? Donald Ducked if I ken, ah’m no a bluidy r*nner. Seems they went past the graveyard then ben the burn where the Blue Bell is, wi’oot stoppin fer a swally. Nae swally! I will tell you this, boy, I will tell you this: if a man cannae get bleezin oan a Wednesday nicht, then there’s nae justice in the world. Nane!
Mind, an there wis two hares oan this trail: Woof Woof an Coonterfit. Had them up tae the oxters in falsies, so they did. There’s a they bampots loupin up and doon intae Heaton Pairk, gettin lost aroond the auld ruins in the middle of it there. History, boy! That’s the real history, the stanes and that, gettin ye back in touch wi yer ancestors. I had a wee bit a history there gettin in touch with Sadie McFee frae doon the close, and richt enough there wis a couple a gowks pairked up there doggin, but never ye mind aboot a that.
There wis a stoap check ootside a Cinderella’s bit. Nae slippers tae be seen! She’d asked fer a lift frae Heaton, ye ken? So much fer that – she wis tucked awa a cosy in there, nae mind tae they eejits fuffin and pechin ootside the door. Efter that they were awa back intae the Dene, and pitch bluidy black by the way, slitherin doon the braes. Like ma auld grannie used tae say: gin a boady be goin doon a brae, ilka ane’ll gie him a jundie.
But then – then! – there wis a moment o true beauty. Every noo and then it happens, where the Big Yin’s blessin’s descend upoan us, and stricht take yer breath awa. There’s an auld chapel up oan the side a the Dene wi a single new staned-glass windae in it. Treasure Chest an Slippery between ’em goat a photie with it backlit, an it was the maist gorgeous sight; fair brung a tear tae ma eye, so it did. It was so guid they had tae dae it twice.
See when ye get richt doun tae it? It’s all aboot the beauty o Nature, so it is. If there’s yin thing we can be proud of up here in this land o scumbags and piss-artists, it’s the sheer beauty o the world aroond us. That’s what inspired the Bard, so it is! That’s whit we’re here fer. It’s no just aboot the swally, it’s aboot moments that touch yer soul. There wis a paean o praise oan every lip richt then, I can tell ye.
Then Coonterfit says, “Let’s awa fer the denner, it’s fuckin Baltic oot”. So oan back they went.
There wis a circle in the Club when they goat back. Wee Ion Dick stepped in cuz the RA wasnae aboot, though TC took over afore he’d said much. The wa*kers were a fine, Speedbump an Lubri an Bot Any and Artechoke had been oot wi em. There wis doon-doons for Sab an Innconts fer missin FRBs, just like every bluidy week. Naebody paid it nae mind cos there wis haggis! An whisky! An loads a tatties and neeps an a, but maistly whisky an haggis.
An Cinderella showed her fizzog just in time fer the denner. Baws tae the r*n, but she did go tae the ball!