Some months later we had our first opportunity, at least those of us who only stayed one week in Cyprus, or never went there at all, to meet this girl wonder, and Eat It Raw turned out to be a very nice person, whom we all took to our hearts.
After that she returned to Stockholm a couple of times in the following months, and we were looking forward to welcoming her as a permanent member of the kennel, so at least yours truly was very shocked when he learned that CC had sold his most precious belonging, his beloved Porsche in preparation for emigrating to USA. And this is where our story begins.
Unbeknownst to EIR and CC the Underground run on Wednesday May 21st was not going to be a run at all. At least not a normal run. Instead it turned into a combined hen and stag hash. While the harriettes took care of EIR and forced her to do all sorts of horrible things, too horrible to tell an unprepared audience, the harriers took a bus to Östermalm with the intention of treating CC with nice aerial view of Stockholm from the balloon moored at the Army museum. We also had the vague idea that our American visitors might appreciate it.
Unfortunately Standing Ovation had engaged a certain Mr Murphy to assist with the arrangements, so, when we arrived, it turned out that the balloon rides hadn’t started for the season yet. All we could do was say that since we had to cancel his bungee jump we had better start running the trail back to the on afters.
For some odd reason the trail happened to pass the Hash Hangout, the Ox’s Tail. The pack didn’t pass though. In we went in order to start the process of getting CC as shitfaced as possible during the evening.
After the beer stop the trail passed through what passes for a red light district, but as CC had his lovely bride-to-be waiting at the end of the run we refrained from employing the services provided by the girls there.
The trail then along tourist Drottninggatan, around the Parliament building and the Royal palace, through the Old Town and ended back at the Scottish Arms. Now the evening’s festivities could commence.
EIR and CC of course had a twin down-down with a toilet seat around their necks, drinking through straws. But what is a wedding without a minister, and, as EIR had brought one with her from Washington, she, the minister that is, was also called into the circle together with her husband as of eight days. While in the circle Lucy took the opportunity to baptise the kneeling couple in front of her with beer. Being a rather anti-religion Religious Adviser I must admit that it gave me a certain pleasure to give a down-down to a real ordained minister. Especially as she and her new husband had missed the plane by two minutes or so, and had to wait for another twenty-four hours for the next flight. What a way to start a honeymoon!
‘Nuff said about the preliminaries and on on to the real thing. When I arrived at the bus terminal 15 minutes before scheduled departure tine for Norrtälje everyone was there except Standing Ovation and our tame ozzies, Tiffany and It’s Too Long. The minutes passed, Eye-Full and Sofa were already seated in the bus, but still no sign of the lost trio, and suddenly the bus left (four minutes before scheduled time) leaving Oily, the self-appointed ex GM Meatball and yours truly standing there. This wasn’t actually as bad as it may seem as there were two buses we could take and this was the first one.
One minute before departure time S.O. came strolling out of the underground wondering why we were so upset, ”The bus hasn’t left yet, has it?” We decided to board it (after first luring Oily out of the public toilet where he had locked himself in) and leaving the ozzies to their own devices, which were, as it turned out, to take an earlier bus to have time to check into their hotel and change clothes.
The bus ride as such is not worth mentioning, and in Norrtälje a couple of taxis were waiting to drive us to the church, where we arrived in due time. The wedding was American stile with, among other officals, three flower girls who were supposed to spread rose petals along the aisle in front of the bride. The girls, however, were so affected by the importance of the situation that they completely forgot. Two of these girls were, as it happens, our own Mite sisters, the personification of the term ”Hash Horror”. I must admit that I have never ever seen them so subdued before, and I don’t think I will ever do it in the future.
|
|
These were held on board the S/S Norrtelje, moored in Norrtälje harbour. When I arrived there and congratulated the young couple the bride looked me in the eye and said: ”Floater! You’re not going to give us a down-down in champagne, are you?” As I cannot tell a lie convincingly I replied ”But Mary, who do you take me for? Of course I’m going to.” Actually I had meant it to be a surprise, but given a cue like that ...
The grub was good, the wine was tasty, speeches were plentiful and everyone had a good time. I gave the newlyweds (They are blue. They are Hashers through and through. They are pisspots, so they say, and they’ll never get to heaven in a long, long way) a champagne down-down and handed CC over to the White House Hash whereupon Mellow Foreskin Cheese welcomed him to Washington. At about that time those who sat close to him could notice some perspiration on the toastmaster’s forehead, I think, as one hasher after another (and seasoned MC:s too) suddenly stood up and started haranguing the young couple.
Soon after that the formal dinner was over and we could start some serious drinking. In the end the combined forces of the Stockholm and Washington hashes had taken control over the situation, when suddenly the bar closed and it was time to go home.
We started strolling through the, until then, quiet streets singing ”Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” and eventually we reached the hotel where the American guests and some of our people were staying, and started swapping phrases like ”how very nice to meet you”, ”you must come and visit us”, ”you must return soon” and such. At that moment Sofa and S.O. remembered that they had called for a taxi to come and pick us up at the boat, so they went to catch it.
As there were five of us and the cabs cannot take more than four, Meatball and yours truly decided that we would haul one in the street instead. Oily was then so thoroughly pissed that no one bothered to ask him about his plans.
We managed to get a car, but when we looked around for Oily he had swiftly and silently vanished away. ”Well”, we said to each other, ”he claims he grew up in this town and that he knows it from inside out. Besides, he’s a grown up person, sort of, so let’s call it a day”. After a couple of blocks, though, the hawk-eyed Meatball saw him in the gutter, so we stopped to pick him up.
When we arrived at the camping site where Meatball, Oily and I were going to share a cabin with Sofa, the latter had already gone to bed in one of the top bunks. Having the choice between sharing a bed with Sofa and running the risk of doing the same with Oily, I decided to play it safe and grabbed the bottom bunk before anyone could protest. I have slept on sofas before, but this was the first time I slept under one.
Meatball and Oily were apparently still thirsty, so they went on a walkabout in quest for another beer. As they were gone for a lengthish time I assume they succeeded in the cabin that Mad Swede and Double-decker were supposed to have shared with Queen Viper and Eagermount, who for a very sad reason had had to drop out.
When they returned to our cabin I was busy trying to fall asleep. Meatball immediately climbed up to the other top bunk, which left Oily with the bottom one. My last conscious memory is Oily, sitting on his bed, trying to pry open his sleeping bag, muttering things like ”†©z|¤¥§”.
When I awoke next morning he had obviously succeeded as he was actually inside the bag, but not in his bed. He was lying on the floor instead (a couple of hours later, when we had managed to resurrect him, he explained that he had thought that the bed was occupied, although the explanation didn’t stretch as far as to the identity of the occupant).
On top of that he had only managed to remove his jacket, so he was still (the visible parts of him, that is) dressed in a white shirt, waistcoat and tie. As time passed the rest of us woke up, got dressed, had breakfast, showered, packed our belongings etc, but Oily was still snoring away in total oblivion.
At ten thirty (with half an hour to go before the hourly bus left the camping site) we decided to try and wake him up. Eventually he managed to get into a sitting position, and I cannot say it was a sight for gods. Possibly lesser ones or demons. I can now claim to know what death warmed up looks like.
For some reason totally beyond our control we managed to catch the bus and a couple of minutes later we came to the Norrtälje bus terminal, where the Stockholm bus was already waiting and eager to go. We got on on board, the driver shut the door and before we knew it we were rolling.
At that moment someone said ”But where is Standing Ovation?” When we looked around we couldn’t see him anywhere in the bus, but the lucky sod came running, managed to get the attention of the driver and climbed on board while the rest of us started singing ”Why are we waiting” etc.
When we reached the outskirts of the Greater Stockholm area S.O. suddenly jumped off the bus with the words ”I’ll get into town quicker if I take the underground from here instead of staying in the bus all the way to the end stop” (the bus and the underground go parallel some 15 kilometres).
At the end stop we all trouped down into the netherworld just to miss a train by a couple of seconds, and had to wait for eight minutes for the next train. Do I have to tell you who was the first person we saw when we got on the train? Could it be the same person who jumped the bus so he wouldn’t have to suffer any rude remarks about almost missing it? Did he get a couple of rude remarks? Do I have to say anything more?
ON ON
Floater