Royal Milan & Bordighera H3
Newsletter
March 1999
Exciting & Wild Articles in the March Issue
RM&BH3 Mis-Management Changes What Alice saw through the Looking Glass A VSR at Parco Lambro Trashing Sparky & Ellens house Really Funny Jokes Some Silly Cartoons What Happened on 15th March ?? An Invitation from George... Bwana's Program A conversation between Stuffing & Bwana |
STOP PRESS........STOP PRESS.........STOP PRESS............STOP PRESS...........
TONEDEAF IS THE NEW GM!!!
The RMBH3 MIS-MANAGEMENT structure from 1 March 1999 is as follows: GM - Tonedeaf ... also contact for Hash in Informer, Milan Survival Guide and Homepage. Interhash E-Mail Sec and back-up mailing for TM. Religious Advisor - Fabulous ... also Home-Page Mis-Manager, Home-page contact Trail Master - Bwana ... also, mailing run info by FAX and E-mail. Home-page contact Beer Master - Paint Stripper Hash Cash - Strawberry 4 Skin Joint Master - Iron Bum | Joint Master - Stuffing Joint Master - Sparky Joint Master - No-Grappa Hash Trash - Rough Knight (Hash Trash) ... also Virgin Greeter and will update TM and HR re new contact details. Also ensure HR gets run record in her absence. Hash Haberdasher - Short-Cut Hash Fash - White Fang as in fashion designer (Milan is the center right?) Hash Records - S&M ... also to advise of impending milestones Music Master - Finger In |
Hashing Through the Looking Glass #823 - 1st March 1999 (?)
Scribe: Strawberry 4 Skin In which after several strange drinks Alice, like many hashers, decides to do something really stupid. White Rabbits! 
Alice looked in the mirror. The girl in the mirror looked at Alice. Alice winked at the girl, the girl winked back at Alice. Alice blinked with both eyes, the girl .... but how could Alice know with both eyes closed? Alice decided to climb through the looking glass to see if it was more real than her own side. The first thing she saw after getting through was ten people and two very peculiar dogs in strange clothes (the people, not the dogs). Was it fashion week already? They were shouting horribly and blowing horns. "On on!" she cried. "On on", they replied in their strange other-worldly way. "Are you the hash?" she asked (for she had heard of such things in her nursery book of fantasy monsters, along with Trolls, Sea serpents and Scotsmen). A woman snapped back, "Yes" and ran off in the mists to find new adventures. "That must be the Virgin Wellcomer", thought Alice. 
Feeling a little scared by her encounter with this strange group Alice looked back to her own world, back through the looking glass and saw a smaller group of two people, shuffling and limping their way through the streets of Milan. Undoubtedly hashers - they were everywhere! The two were a little stranger than the other group- undeniably more handsome and charismatic - but talking in strange tongues about "shredding" "wipe-out" and "radical moves". Could it be they were the 'snowboard hashers'? Could this account for their limping gait, their wizened faces and their irresistibility to women? - and their habit of trying to get cash from every Bancomat they passed? Afraid now that the side she thought of as 'reality' was less real than the mirror side where everything was reversed, Alice chased after the dog group and saw them running towards the fabled Castle of Sforzesco. Occasionally they stopped and sang. When they sang they waved their arms about in random movements. Maybe they were hired to scare away the pigeons? The other group had been doing much the same outside La Scala. | A few minutes later the snowbum hashers came across the fabled 'Chariot of Beer'. This was confusing as the dog running group had already refreshed themselves (at leisure it must be noted) from its cargo of pleasures, but here again they came, seemingly from nowhere. The two groups met. Reality meets fantasy, but which was which? Would reflection cancel out reality? Would good triumph over evil? Who shot J.R.? This really was most confusing. Following the refreshment ("this hashing must be a thirsty business", thought Alice) the snowbum hashers took charge of the Chariot and sped (sped??) off into the confusion and mystery that is Milan traffic. The dog group ran on to La Scala. "Of course!" thought Alice, "they are doing it sdrawkcab" ('backwards' for slower readers). She watched and listened as the nightingales sang in La Scala square. Well, not nightingales exactly; crows perhaps. This group seemed to be led by someone who called himself 'Tonedeaf'; not something Alice would argue with. He and Stuffing called themselves 'Hares' but they weren't like any hares Alice had ever seen. Alice's hares had been cuddly, loveable, cute and graceful. These hares were, ... well, not like that at all, really. Alice mused about how much more tuneful the snowbums had been on this same spot. The local police were now taking an interest, but it was hardly likely they would arrest people for singing outside La Scala, was it?. But Alice had learned that all was not always as it appeared Somehow the dog group re-found the Chariot of Beer. It seemed to have been abandoned outside an African restaurant. Unfortunately it was locked and they were unable to get at the beer. The mob was getting ugly. "This group doesn't seem to work at all well without beer", thought Alice. Fortunately one of them had hidden a stash of beer inside the African restaurant, but another car was distressingly locked-up which contained hash regalia (pith helmets, broken electric kettles and a hat with a turd on top). Alice then watched them perform a ritual dance whereby each person was compelled to drink a beer in the middle of a circle while the others chanted. "How interestingly primitive." She thought, but then the two snowbums appeared from their alternate reality and joined in as the whole group sang now about sweet chariots. "Obviously about the Beer Chariot", Alice decided. | 
Alice followed the group into Samsons to see their 'mad hasher's tea party'. There, they burped, farted, drank and tore up meat with only their bare hands. The men were just as bad. Then an African man brought out a wee-colored magic potion which had a label, "DRINK ME". "Maybe this is the liquid that makes people smaller", thought Alice, "the beer certainly makes them all bigger". After this they were strangely quiet, passing the time with 'horse stories', and then after even more beer a woman Alice recognized as the Virgin Queen suggested, "let's have a committee meeting". This prospect of more drinking brought them back to life but Alice had seen enough chaos and confusion for one day so she ran away back to her looking glass and climbed through to the safety of her bedroom. "That's enough of that", she thought. "Well, at least until next week." But, as she slept, her dreams were disturbed by doubts hashing around her mind: Who was the Virgin Queen? Who are these people who think they are still seventeen? What does a GM actually do? Do white horses really go into pubs? And why are they called Eric? If mirrors reverse everything from right to left, why not from top to bottom? Who the heck is 'BoB' ? Why No Grappa? Was it really not the first of March? So many questions! Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz Zzzzzzzzzz Zzzzzzz Zzzz Zz z z On on Strawberry Foreskin |
A nice Australian joke from Bumm-erang.......... An Australian ventriloquist visiting Wales, walks into a small village and sees a local sitting on his porch patting his dog. He figures he'll have a little fun. 
Ventriloquist: "G'day Mate! Good looking dog, mind if I speak to him?" Villager: "The dog doesn't talk, you stupid Aussie." Ventriloquist: "Hello dog, how's it going mate?" | Dog: "Doin' all right." Villager: (look of extreme shock) Ventriloquist: "Is this villager your owner?" (pointing at the villager) Dog: "Yep" Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?" Dog: "Real good. He walks me twice a day, feeds me great food and takes me to the lake once a week to play." Villager: (look of utter disbelief) Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your horse?" Villager: "Uh, the horse doesn't talk either....I think." Ventriloquist: "Hey horse, how's it going?" | Horse: "Cool" Villager: (absolutely dumbfounded) Ventriloquist: "Is this your owner?" (pointing at the villager) Horse: "Yep" Ventriloquist: "How does he treat you?" Horse: "Pretty good, thanks for asking. He rides me regularly, brushes me down often and keeps me in the barn to protect me from the elements." Villager: (total look of amazement) Ventriloquist: "Mind if I talk to your sheep?" Villager: "The sheep's a fucking liar" |
Boom Boom
Sailing Trip | |
| I'm putting together a yacht sailing weekend around the Tuscan coast around the 23rd-25th April (subject to weather conditions and availability of yachts etc). Anyone interested should let me know stating previous experience (if any). This will ensure we have a balance between skilled and unskilled members in each crew. The cost is likely to be around 200,000 Lire per person (plus food and beer). The itinerary will be compiled later but the idea is to leave Milan around 5pm on the Friday and meet at La Spezia around 8-9pm, sleep on the yacht(s) overnight and set sail next morning (time depending on destination and sore heads etc). We should return to La Spezia late afternoon on Sunday. Anyone interested please contact George Symington - e-mail George_ITA_Symington@fwc.com |
Useless Exchanges of Information
An example of how some hashers manage to relieve the boredom from their normal working days.......
E-Mail from Stuffing to Bwana dated 4 March 1999:
"Hail oh humble yet subtly appealing master of the trails, whose very presence girds the loins of those who have come before, whose farinaceous finaglings delight the nymphs of Paradise (and Bangor), who heretofore strode the Earth a King but now resides a knave-
The restaurant is booked on the 10th of April. We can either do Bergamo Sunday the 11th or wait until after Bibione.
Please Advise-
Stuffing
PS: I have taken the liberty of ccing our effervescent yet flouride-resistant GM".
Reply from Bwana dated 4 March 1999:
"O Noble Stuffing, O Great and Venerable Master of all Kinds of Vice,
I, The Lowly and Worthless Seeker of Paths in Filth and Shite do humbly beseach you to reconsider your plans. I would feign beg you to consider the eventide of the days of Saturn, both that which falls on the 3rd day of April, and likewise the 17th. Should it please Your Vicefulness to choose one of the two aforesaid days to fulfil your labors, and also concur with the place of Feasting which we know so well, then tell me now, and my joy will be boundless. Ye then will I hasten with the speed of a flighted arrow to amend the hallowed HareLine in the manner in which you will instruct me.
Or should I speak to you, O Viceful One in the manner of the Barbarians and Hashers and other lowly creatures?
Let me know if Saturday 3 April or Saturday 17th April would do.
On On
Bwana"
I think they were both sober at the time...............
Hash # 824 - Tuesday, 9 March - A VSR (A Very Smelly Run) at Parco Lambro
Scribe: No Grappa
Hare: Paint Stripper
Highlights: Hungarians, Fragrant aromas, drizzles, running in circles
Lowlights: Hungarians, loads of food and wine, not getting kicked out of trattoria
A Comment:
Much to our amazement, a number of hashers actually read their e-mail properly and noted that this week's hash was on a Tuesday. No doubt, some others, less clued-in, wondered where the flour was on the previous evening.
The players:
The usual Monday, occasionally Tues, crowd turned up to this new and exciting hash venue just in time for a few beers and tasty snacks. We were joined by third timer, Loran and his Hungarian friends - Roberto and Dora - plus Davide, the Italian husband. Loran hadn't caught on too well to the concept of hashing as he was surprised that there was a run before the meal! Soon he will catch on to Abo's trick of habitually arriving AFTER the run, just in time for the down downs and the ensuing merriment.
The Run:
Paint Stripper not only proved that he is the greatest beer master but that he is a bloody good hare. Soon he will be taking over as GM, especially if our new GM proves to be ineffective. He somehow had us running for an hour in the same one square kilometer park without duplicating our tracks. Either that or we are easily tricked. The strong rancid aromas were in our face the entire run, which was another good hash feature. Bwana was lost from the start, Rough Knight was lost in the middle and Tone Deaf was lost most of the rest of the time. The Hungarian walkers appeared in the park just in time for a beer stop in Never Never Land and grilled us with loads of hash questions. Well refreshed, we ran the short distance back, following Tone Deaf who thought he had done the on-in already but... well, the important thing is we all made it back.
The Circle:
The usual down downs were awarded until everyone had been unjustly accused of something. Some of the not-so usual:
No Grappa - Pretending to be a tram
Strawberry Foreskin - Tattle tailing
Danish Blue - Competitive, front running (now this IS unusual)
Rough Knight - Forgetting to record all the down downs (maybe this ISN'T unusual)
The On-On:
Trattoria Lilliana turned out to be a great hash venue. The owner was soon wearing a pith helmet and scooping large amounts of chili peppers on the dishes. We had it all for the modest sum of Lire 27.000 - primo, secondo, salad, jockeys, coffee, grappa and buckets full of wine. (For the first time ever, Hash Cash didn't feel the need to do his usual slick negotiation to get the price down.) The conversation really flowed. Someone had to point out to Abo as he joined in on the newcomers' discussion that they were actually speaking in Hungarian. The locals at the next table were certainly entertained by our hash antics and joined in at the end. Loran, really a dentist in the disguise of a hasher, gave out his card to them for what was a very obvious reason to all present. We had a song in Hungarian, which was about how it is better to have a square head than an oval one. Then we had a drinking ballad from Davide with a complicated chorus, which we all cleverly caught on to immediately. It required the participation of all Rob-like names and a few liters of wine (and Rough Knight for whinging).
The End:
After enough nonsense, we called it a night. No Grappa and SFS did their usual trick of getting an unsuspecting hasher to give them a lift home (who happened to be the same unsuspecting designated hash cash for the night) which was much appreciated.
A Joke from T-Total (John Piper)..........
Saddam Hussein and Bill Clinton meet up in Baghdad for a round of talks in a new peace process.
When Bill sits down, he notices three buttons on the side of Saddam's chair. They begin talking. After about five minutes Saddam presses the 1st button. A boxing glove springs out of a box on the desk and punches Clinton in the face. Confused, Clinton carries on talking as Saddam laughs. A few minutes later the 2nd button is pressed. This time a big boot comes out and kicks Clinton in the shin. Again Saddam laughs, and again Clinton carries on talking, not wanting to put off the bigger issue of peace between the two countries. But when the 3rd button is pressed and another boot comes out and kicks Clinton in the privates, he's finally had enough. "I'm going back home!" he tells the Iraqi. "We'll finish these talks in two weeks!"
A fortnight passes and Saddam flies to the United States for talks. As the two men sit down, Hussein notices 3 buttons on Clinton's chair and prepares himself for the Yank's revenge. They begin talking and Bill presses the first button. Saddam ducks, but nothing happens. Clinton snickers. A few seconds later he presses the second button. Saddam jumps up, but again nothing happens. Clinton roars with laughter. When the third button is pressed, Saddam jumps up again, and again nothing happens. Clinton falls on the floor in a fit of hysterics. "Forget this," says Saddam. "I'm going back to Baghdad!" Clinton says through tears of laughter, "What Baghdad?"
Wedding Plans
The Boys Bash
MI5 couldn't have done it better. Steph thought she was going to a committee meeting but in reality the other girls had plotted her hen night. Although he knew about the ploy, Rob thought he was just dropping her off but plans had been set afoot to give HIM the same treatment. Bluff and double bluff.
I wandered into the Red Lion at 8.30pm to meet the others clutching my freshly-purchased Sunday newspaper which is how I ended up hashing in the first place but that's another (and by now, well documented) story. After downing more than a few beers the girls went off on their merry way. The men managed to force another one or three down before deciding it was time for something to eat. The usual Indian restaurant (Bharat) was closed so we decided to go to Ganesh which is in the same(ish) area. As I knew the way, I led the party except that I decided Rob needed more beer first so I took them off in the direction of Murphy's Law (which is nowhere near Ganesh). To my astonishment, on arrival at this welcoming hostelry, they lads didn't want a drink! Are they ill I thought? No, just hungry. They needed curry -and fast. Knowing that the restaurant was quite some way away but not wishing to admit it, I diplomatically suggested that we have a quick cleanser to keep us going but to no avail. The carnivores would have none of it! With angry murmuring going on in the background I started off in the right direction this time.
After twenty minutes of walking and being no nearer to the venue I was fearing for my life. Stomachs were rumbling, and the air was thick with talk of my punishment. For the first time in my life, torture and cannibalism became a distinct possibility with me on the receiving end! If I wasn't so skinny and unpalatable it may just have been a reality. Anyway, we arrived (eventually), and set about ordering one of the hottest curries I've had in Milan. At some point during the evening, we decided it would be a good idea to write a message of congratulations to Rob outside the restaurant in flour (well we WERE quite drunk by now) so I asked the owner for some. To his credit he apprehensively and with great reluctance handed over a bag no doubt fearing that in a few seconds there would be a flour fight or some other childish activity to wreck his establishment and reputation. Anyway, armed with the precious powder, I set about the task. Now writing with flour I found is a tricky business at the best of times but it's even harder when your doing it staggering around pissed in the middle of the road and being almost run over by passing cars, as well as being ogled and tut-tutted at by pedestrians who viewed the drunken activity with displeasure. Anyway, the misspelt message in somewhat shaky, spidery writing (the content of which I can't even remember as I was too drunk) was conveyed to tarmac for all to see. Dusting myself off and pleased with my work, I returned to the restaurant and set about making up for the beers I had missed out on (well, I AM Scottish after all). After substantial quantities of Indian Pale Ale, Kingfisher and Grappa we paid up much to the relief of the owner who was last seen counting the cutlery and mopping his brow with a chapati on our departure.
On exiting from the restaurant I looked for my flour message only to find that it had disappeared! Where was it I wondered? Perhaps the Indians had hoovered it up and served it to us as a form of revenge for our misdemeanors indoors I mused. Then at last I saw it. Someone had parked a bloody car over it! All my efforts were for nothing and Rob was completely oblivious to the activity. We didn't dwell on failure for long though, we needed beer! So we sped off to ...the Red Lion again -but in taxis this time which was just as well given the earlier navigational problems (and we were sober then). Things became very hazy at this point (no, really?). After downing still more beer and nearly blinding the other customers with a laser pen, I decided to call it a night and left Rob and the others to continue the good work. I drank a pint of water on reaching home (as if THAT would help) and went to sleep with my clothes on. Needless to say, I was not at all productive the next day at work and from what I can gather neither was Rob or Steph. To cap it all I never did get to read my Sunday paper as it got lost despite everyone reminding me at various intervals during the evening to pick it up. Still, if that's the only mishap then I'm lucky and I'm sure that Rob and Steph enjoyed themselves which was the main point of the event. So, whose the next victim?...
On-on..
George.
The Girls Gaggle
Well - I arrived at the Red Lion for the Mis-Management meeting only to have No Grappa plonk a white veil on my head and inform me "Stephanie - This is your Hen Night". I promptly thought about leaving the pub very quickly, but the gals managed to pacify me with a pint. I had told everyone that I was not having a Hen Night; also Rob had told everyone that he was not having a Stag night. RM&BH3 thought differently.........
After one pint, I was mellowing, then a Sri-Lankan rose seller wandered in. The lads bought the whole bunch of roses from him and presented them to a red faced me. Then the Red Lion offered me another pint on the house. Mellowing even more now.........
We split - the gals headed for the Thai restaurant and the guys...........well..... (see above). We had a great natter (unfortunately I cannot publish any of the natter, but let's say that Laura is a very inquisitive person). Dana wanted a drink full of live serpents in a large plastic container, but we settled for red wine. Annie started to recount her life story to Celeste but we managed to stop her in time....Julie started to recount her....... No I cannot disclose any other conversations we had over the table - Basta.
We knocked back the wine, then had some liqueurs in little cups with naked men in the bottom of them - or was it just the effect of the Gen Seng. The night continued, and Dana dragged us to a local strip club - Monday night was apparently "Male night" - how does Dana know all these places??. Anyway - there were a lot of males in the audience (or were they females). Anyway the guys strutted their stuff and their little willies (they were small). The host (ess) for the evening was a bit of a mix of everything (African, Italian, male, female). I was a real wimp and refused to wear my white veil or sit anywhere near the stage (do you blame me??). Julie did a great job as my stand-in. We won a photo with the boys and ended up having a drink with a Welsh lass who ice-skates topless in Milan (you meet all sorts in this place). I got bundled into a taxi at about 3.00am and somehow got home. Needless to say I didn't make it to work on Tuesday..............
Dana (No Grappa) did a great job with the organization - I had never suspected anything and even brought my little hash notebook to the pub for the meeting. Anyway - it was a great night (better organized than the guys by all accounts).
On-On
Rough Knight (Stephanie)