Scotland Day R*n
When: Sunday, April 15, 2012, 3pm
Hares: Legs Lesley, Mean Jean, Fire in the Piehole
Start/Pre-lube: Caledonia Scottish Pub – 2nd Ave bet. 83rd St & 84th St
On-In: Danny & Eddie’s, 1st Ave & 86th St
Scribe: Eager for Beaver
JMs in the Circle: T*t Totaller and Pimpy Longstocking
This thing you hold in your hands – not that thing, this thing – is called a write-up. In ancient times, as far back as April of last year, so-called scribes would be chosen to write about the hash in which she or he just participated. This story would summarize events at the start, on trail, and at the on in. Someone with access would use a device called a copy (or even more ancient Xerox) machine to print the story on something our ancestors called paper. These copies would be left conspicuously at the on-in for recovering hashers to kill time between beers. While this lost art has been revived especially for today’s hash, I wouldn’t expect to see another actual write-up for at least another year.
I’ve been told that we’ve celebrated the end of Tartan Week ever since the English majority in the hash allowed Scots to join – 8 years, apparently. Historically, the pack would prelube at St. Andrews Pub, so-called, “The only Scottish Restaurant and Bar in New York City”. This year, however, we met the hares at Caledonia Scottish Pub (possibly “The only Scottish Pub in New York City”?) on the Upper East Side. The trait that both venues share – really fucking expensive beer – ensured that the pack wouldn’t be too loaded to safely follow trail.
The venue change may have been due to St. Andrews being closed by an earnest, possibly even “eager”, health inspector, who read the menu and concluded that Scottish cuisine is not fit for human consumption. (Insert your own haggis joke here.)
As usual, Fire in the Piehole provided an excellent summary of what to expect that only his Scottish co-hares could possibly understand. The chalk talk went something like this:
Fire in the Piehole: Gawn giese fuckin peace.
Fire in the Piehole: Yer talkin pish.
Fire in the Piehole: Easy ma cunt. Geez a gobble. Get tae fuck!
Pack: On on!
And with those encouraging words, the pack was off! The trail was the usual for the East Side: long lonely stretches offending the wealthy along Park Avenue and too many tourists blocking our trail in the Park. Conelingus encountered some slow children – I mean, children walking slowly – and, intending to yell at the parent, ended up accosting a random, unfortunate, childless stranger.
We also had one of those virgins. You know, the type of virgin that’s acts all enthusiastic and strange on trail, who we never see again. This one yelled at civilians to follow him and to r*n more. Pretty sure I never saw him again.
Historically, the Scotland on-ins have rarely offered the pack beer that could be referred to as uisge beatha – in fact, during the last few years, the beer was more like warm pesh. This year the shitty beer streak continued, as the trail concluded at Danny and Eddies’ – a fine bar, and a great beer deal, but with a weak, watery selection. But at least they don’t mind our smell and will turn the jukebox down when we ask them.
Our esteemed JMs led the pack in songs and storytelling:
- The Hares
- Visiting hashers Goldilocks, Just John and Just Kelly
- Just John, for running the whole trail with his bag
- Yours truly, for taking a full year to complete last year’s Scotland Day write up and still getting the start location wrong.
- CPA, for having wooden nuts
- Dr Bruce, for offering everyone a bite of his giant pickle
- Conelingus, for yelling at the wrong irresponsible parent
- Mean Jean, for complaining that the pizza crust had the same consistency as her cat’s tongue
- Just John, who was asshole of the week for following non-hashers on trail and for telling other civilians that they should r*n more.