No hare and but 5 die-hard hashers. The decision was made that this was not acceptable for such a monumentous occasion; #850. We will do it again next week when the hare will be NFG Nora along with some helpers. Maybe we could do something after to mark the occasion, any ideas?
On On.
Report on Hash Number 847
It was a balmy grey Sunday morning as I arrived
promptly at the appointed hour to greet a collection of other hashers poised to take on the challenge set by Hares of the day, SexTax and (yet to be named)Tom. So! you may query, why is this days account scribed by my hand, when it is destined for the tardy arriver. Once again I have been the victim of connivance, conspiracy and false accusations on the part of members of the mismanagement committee, entrapping me into this servitude.
On and Further On
With grand enthusiasm and some suspicion of rain the group set off for
the base of the Citadel, SexTax herded the runners while (yet to be named)Tom, provided additional guidance to the larger but more languid group of walkers. The trail began with a slow accent that tended to circumnavigate the citadel mount. It winded through gentle sloping trails and across flower studded meadows and lawns, There were several stretches of long 
flat gravel covered pathways, allowing the runners to maintain a cruising pace and the walkers to settle back into even deeper thought. The trail included several checkpoints some of which were laid so crafty that they required the intervention of the Hare. Otherwise we would still be running around the Citadel. A series of stairways brought us to the summit and the familiar breathtaking view of
Following a casual jog across the grounds and onto the downward sloping roadway we encountered the welcomed BN mark, adjacent to which was a 
familiar way station. We were soon accommodated with chairs, tables and a round of that venerated amber liquid. The enjoyment or which was accented by unintended entertainment provided by an eclectic assortment of passers-by. Well nourished, we resumed the trail. It led down through sloping smooth pathways and narrow rock strewn catwalks around the East side of the mount. Another breathtaking view to the south and few more check points led to the end, also the beginning, of the Hash. Arriving first, the runners succumbed to waiting, and waiting, and waiting some more till finally the vanguard of the walkers appeared followed shortly thereafter by the remainder of the group.
The Hash circle began with the recognition of the Hares, SexTax and (yet to be named) Tom 
who set a modest and enjoyable route. As the
re were no newcomers or returnees this day, a few trifles and frivolities were proclaimed to create some down downs just for the hell of it, the exception being the usual technology violations. Future Hares anointed themselves with the task for the next two weeks, none of whom I can remember. And Wet Blanket made two very profound announcements, the first having to do with interest in the Rolling Stones concert and the other, I also cannot remember.
Thus closed Hash number 847 to be remembered by few and missed by none.
Yours truly,
Andy aka Cheesy(surely there is a better name)Balls
*We did have a visitor from the Madrid Hash. Well Hungary is a Budapesti girl living in Madrid.
In yet another, in a long string of, beautiful Sunday mornings I was off to Batthány tér to see what Rabies and Cunning Linguist had cooked up for today’s run. After catching a preview from Cheesy Balls at the Hash social Thursday night I was expecting some pain to come from the run. The out-of-towner, who requested a Monday run was unaccustomed to the hills of
Ascending from the bowels of Batthány metro
station, I spied a hash haberdasher’s wet dream. Decked from head to toe in all manner of hashware, a guest, Yawning Onion, from the US, by way of Brazil and his Brazilian doctor (On Ya Vanya and Bundling Board; Fortaleza, Brazil ) wife, who must have been bamboozled by his oily American charm, were trying to find our starting point, not so easy since the rakpart was choked with parents watching their horrors finish up a biathlon (not the cool ski/shot one). I generously led them to our starting point and awaited more hashers to show.
One-by-one they slowly trickled in, Sex Tax and Pussy Willow, Rabies, the French NFG* who name I think is Thomas, Non-Smokey Donkey, and finally Cunning Linguist who did her best Baldrick, “I can come 35 minutes late since I am a hare” imitation. Off we 9 sped on the #11 bus towards Csatárka for another run into the Budai Távédelmi Köryet.
Surprising to everyone, especially me, was when we were set upon by rabid ticket inspectors (ON A BUS!, ON A SUNDAY!!! WTF?) demanding to see our tickets. I am routinely a “black” rider so I thought I knew how to 
handle the situation. I summoned up some righteous indignation and my best excuse for not having a ticket: “The ticket machine at the Metro station took my money and didn’t give a ticket. Then when I called the number listed, they hung up on me since they could not speak English, what am I supposed to do? I am but a dumb foreigner”. After a few “ers” and “ahhs” she left confused for the back of the bus without even a “goodbye” or “sorry for the inconvenience”.
After Smokey Donkey informed us all of his criminal record back in
We circled and Rabies instructed all as to “how to hash” and the particulars of the day’s hash. When he asked for a show of hands for those who were choosing to walk, all but the hare’s hands went up. Finally, unable to withstand the melancholic look on his face, Sex Tax and I agreed to take up the challenge. Off we ran.
It was a cleverly laid route full of checks, 6 or 7 by my count,
and falsies, through the slopes of Látó, Kecske, and Homok** hegy. Since SexTax and I were the only non-hare runners, we had to run down all the false trails. Lucky for me SexTax was not so good at picking which direction Rabies would send us next. I kept giving him first choice as to which path to follow and for all but one he choose incorrectly. He probably wound up running an extra km or 2.
Arriving at Oroszlán szilka***, Rabies proceeded to try and mate with the rock. “It’s slippery” 
he said, and we knew he had been there before. More than just a monument of the trail, it also turned out to be the start of an uphill scamper to a Hash View”. We billy-goated our ways up the rocky face of Kecskehegy to be treated to some beautiful views of Hűvösvölgy. Soon the walkers caught up and also enjoyed the scenic vista. Finally we pushed on for the final leg of our journey.
Back at the starting point Cunning Linguist tucked into some turo-retés she had squirreled away before the run and the rest of us legged it to the corner shop for some beer for the circle.
Down-downs were generously handed out to guilty parties, mostly due to the ample amount of beer which was purchased. To the hares, to Sex Tax for bestiality, to the lot of us for some arcane rule about sunglasses Rabies invented on the spot, to Rabies for pointing on the hash, to the foreigners for unremembered offences, to the NFG for mismatched socks, and others. The circle closed with Sex Tax and Pussy Willow offering/being forced to teach the NFG “the way of the hare” for #846 next week, and much of the hash heading to Trombitas for another excellent meal.
On On****,
StAnus PSOSD
*New Fucking Guy
**An interesting pluralization
***Lion’s rock
****Cunning Linguist was designated scribe but I was bored and will add anything here she writes.
HASH 845 - Sunday 22 April 2007
Summer has arrived early in 
for his salsa skills last displayed at a British Embassy bash. The sun disappeared for a short while when BB flashed his well upholstered Buda Belly, causing some distress to those standing closest and to the two hash virgins, Judit and Thomas. The destination this week was Harmashatar-hegy (495m) and the hares were Cunning Linguist and St. Anus, making their first attempt to lay a trail.
The long uphill start soon saw BB relegated from runner to walker although he remained as ‘horny’ as ever throughout the day. Runners and walkers arrived at the top with only one missing hasher, Lazy Fucker, having lived up to his name by retiring with back trouble during the ascent. Views of
A brief tour of gun emplacements followed before an unexplained and almost unheard of event split the pack, with BB, St. Anus, Sex Tax, Hulk, Aggie and Andy heading for the beer stop whilst
the rest, led astray by CL, carried on following the trail. Deep worry about the rest of the pack meant that the drinkers could only have two pints of beer each before racing off to find the missing hashers 45 minutes later. A detour to the paragliders take-off site in search of Rabies friends (yes, he does have some!) was unsuccessful apart from Rabies claiming he finds it difficult to get up these days but once he is up it lasts for hours – we humoured him by listening respectfully and trying not to laugh.
Runners then set off on the trail again whilst Aggie and ST took the leisurely route back to the cars. Meanwhile the walkers had been having a bit of ‘retail therapy’ as The Dyke and Smokey Donkey traded last season’s haberdashery, ready for the 2007 ‘uj kolletion’. Hashers united in the circle, the major events being a Rabies-style lesson on the do’s and don’ts of trail laying – destructive criticism delivered in a quiet, caring and considerate way!
A hash-naming is always an important event and Aggie duly received her name of Haggis accompanied by copious amounts of flour and beer with her hair taking on the consistency of dough. Sad news of the departure from Budapest of Lazy Fucker led to a sentimental and heart-felt chorus of ‘fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, fuck off’ to the strains of Auld Lang Syne.
Those going for lunch decamped to the Trombitas pub on Moszkva Ter via the best bakery in
Sex Tax and Pussy Willow
I am once again challenged with the task of mating pen to parchment, err, rather fingers to keyboard, to recount the proceedings of Hash number 844. This destiny I must say was ruled in a greater part by the scheming and connivance from members of the mismanagement committee than to my tardiness.
And so the day began with a mustering of some 17 or more souls on bright glistening morning. We assembled at the usual rendezvous to await the sounding call of the hares Nora and
Baldrick. Nora prompt as she was proved ill equipped to seize the moment and lead us toward the start of the hash course, not knowing exactly where it was. Thus we waited for Lord Baldrick, and waited and waited some more, long past my arrival I must say. Finally in a flurry of consternation, the spotted sun dome appeared. With little delay we sped off towards the base of Gellart hills and the start of the hash run/walk.
Pointing the way far above his now tarnished sphere, Lord Baldrick led the way. On up we ran, and walked, along a winding road, on up through a precipice and across an apple blossomed meadow. Then onward and further up through a wooded path and another winding road, on upward we sped, (well, maybe not exactly sped), but up further, more, up, and still more up. The %&$# hare had us running up for the better part of an hour. Finally we reached the supposed summit and beer stop.
Panting and sweating we anticipated the arrival of a cool one, only to find the beer stop was actually a pasty shop that did not sell beer. Learning of this dreadful miscalculation, the resourceful and quick-witted Lord Baldrick announced the course to another beer stop. With only a minor delay we were again upward bound following the cog railway for another kilometer to arrive at a second beer stop that, much to our delight actually did sell beer.
After a refreshing libation we were once again on the Baldrick trail. Down through a tree studded
park we went, on down through a darkened forest path, down further across a meadow sparkling with dandelions and more down. Onto a roadway we trotted, d
own into a cemetery and through graveyards we went. Downward we descended, along another long roadway and still more down and down again. Finally far below our past respite we reached the starting point.
I cannot report on the events that occurred on the walk, however
rumor has it that the trek was filled with lively conversation, ribald limericks suggestive cavorting, although we will never know for sure.
After quite a bit of further delay, walking laggards be held, the hash circle began. 
The Hares, Nora and Baldrick were accosted with the usual demonstrative accusations but most thought their course was inventive, picturesque and novel although it had its ups and downs.
The next order of business was to recognize two virgins. Nora, also a virgin hare, and Judith were summoned to the circle for the ritual proclamations. Nora exhibited some confusion and bewilderment at the accusation of being a virgin until it was explained that the term only applied to the Hash House Harrier group. But we thanked her for her confession and encouraged her to enlighten us with any details she might wish to share.
A returnee was next recognized. Natasha, after a two-year hiatus from the Hash has once again found the wisdom and fortitude to return to exercise, friendship, fresh air and a good measure of debauchery.
Offenses were dominated by the technology category, which drew many more members into the circle than those left to croon them. Yours truly along with a couple of cohorts were asked to submit to a down-down for reasons too frivolous to recall. And finally Baldrick was given another down-down for just being Baldric.
Thus ended the Hash circle number 844, to remain a distant memory to some and a vanquished one by most. The company less a few souls retired to enjoy further libations and a grand supper.
Yours truly,
Andy, aka Cheesy (surely I can get a better name) Balls
--------------
f for a very well camouflaged little étterem on the wrong side of the tracks at Kelenföld railway station. Cleverly disguised as a deserted shack amongst large 
gas pipes, on a rubble-strewn vacant lot, in the shadow of Wien Hotel, and on which I now guess is Május u. (XI), sits the eatery Réti Sas. The food recommendations by the NFG Nora were top notch.
The run started straight up-hill along the roads, then into a trail in a nature preserve (which we entered without permit). We wound through hill and dale and tiny dirt roads for quite a while, then up past the houses of Buda. The day was gorgeous and the views were good all along, but at a particularly good view we stopped to admire. Silly pictures and possibly movies were taken, and there was a traditional hash performance of "Brother Abraham!"
decided that Smoking Donkey was really walking too fast, and he was therefore down-downed for being FWB (Front Walking Bastard). Technology on trail was trouble for many: Lehel, French Maid and Nata for phones, Nitu and Hulk for digital cameras. Hash gear was also a problem for many -- most of the circle was in for no hash gear, and the singing of "down-down-down-down" was markedly weak. Lehel drank slowly enough for an entire chorus of "why are we waiting" to be sung. Smoking Donkey and Three Times a Weenie were called into the circle for abusing alcohol by dumping beer on him. Many additional penalties were assessed, and no one left with dry lips (although Cheezy Balls tried.)
But he's a cyclist, and so we named him Flat Tired. (This turned out to be very appropriate!) Flour and beer were liberally dabbed on, and the hash baptism was complete.
Flat Tired fell asleep halfway through the meal, and was allowed to snore peacefully, although we did take incriminating photos of him. Smoking Donkey ordered so much wine, that they ran out of the one we were working on. He tried to bargain the price of the more expensive wine they suggested substituting, but the waitress pointed out that it was a restaurant, and not a market.
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