Run 1364 mit Words und Flash 

CHECKBACK RUN # 1364 23RD AUGUST 2003 HARE: Noriega
- IM KRUNGTHEP STEHT EIN HOFFBRAUHAUS -

I’m sloshing down a dark gulley on the Jungle Hash, ducking and weaving to avoid the thorn bushes overhead, trying to remember when I last got so wet outside the privacy of my own bathroom. Then the awful truth dawns; it was yesterday, and I promised that nice but persuasive Sugar Daddy I’d do the write-up. I drew the line at the Flash assignment (one’s eyes are not what they were, you know), and delegated it to the eager but incompetent Graeme ‘Lenscap’ Bywater.
I’d arrived early at that eccentrically-located German restaurant in the middle of somewhere it shouldn’t have been, with Swollen Member in tow. The name is worth explaining for the benefit of newer Bangkok Hashers. SM departed these shores in ‘94, undergoing a change of lifestyle similar to St. Augustine. On an earlier occasion he had travelled back to the UK to replenish his stocks of Bisto and Marmite (he never did get the hang of Thai food), straight from a BH3 run in Bang Kruay. Somewhere over Iran, which you were still allowed to overfly then, he woke screaming from his drunken stupor causing some consternation amongst his fellow cattle-class travellers. One of the tenacious red ants hitching a lift in the nether reaches of his sweaty kit had roused itself from its pubic nest and bitten him on the knob. Apparently so viciously that treatment was sought from a passing stewardess.
There was in fact a veritable plethora of returners and old farts on the day. What is the collective noun for ex-GMs? Since it’s a ‘murder of crows’, I’d suggest a ‘sewerside’. From Wee Jimmy to His Nasal Magnificence, it was hard to squeeze into the same camera frame, despite Disgusting’s absent tash and Bullet’s declining girth.
The Victim turned the tap on a few minutes before the off, and it rained. We ambled along the road and under the motorway, our taller members with ears pressed to shoulders to avoid getting wedged under the arches.
Good checks livened up the network of long concrete walkways. Some of these revealed surprising signs of klongside opulence. Double-width, with supports for ornamental plants. Even a new wooden bridge, pleasantly retro in the Land of Concrete. Then we’re out of Klong City and into a rather dull moobaan. Emerging at a main road check, Flash has his moment of truth, realising that his first seventeen shots have artfully captured nothing more than the inside of his own lens cap. Hastily, he fires off another seventeen while only Von Nivea shows any enthusiasm for getting on with the run. ‘On On’ is heard across the road. Wolfgang is a red dot in the distance. We follow him past a bemused farmer and his cows, straight through his house, and into an area I’m quite sure I’ve never seen before. HAGS, however, ‘knows where he is’ and unfortunately I believe him. The blind leading the blind. I run down several dead ends before deciding to leave this checking nonsense to the young, the fit, and Marc Lavoie.
Shortly afterwards it starts raining seriously. And I mean seriously. With the motorway in sight, we give up on the final check and head beerwards. The cinder road turns into porridge. Cars bog down, but we keep going.
Back to Frank’s samosas, Daeng’s sai ooa & nam prik num, and that freaky restaurant’s sound system is still churning out Hotel California.
The circle is brief, wet and entertaining. His Olfactory Organ struts his stuff in full body condom.

With total disdain for true identity he picks on sexually dysfunctional Londoners from Down Under, Australian rugby incompetents from Essex, and other racial mismatches. At least he correctly identifies The Victim for screwing up the weather.
Noriega does something interesting to the Bug involving a banana and an oversized ecstasy tablet, under the shade of an umbrella. I really can’t remember the rest, so it must have been good.
An excellent if sodden run. Traditional rainy season stuff. Thankyou Noriega.
Couldn’t stop for the On On On, which at least saved me the irritation of His Proboscidean Protuberance grinding on about Chequebook United winning again. And again, and again.
On Out!
Ringworm