[* because of all the dykes, according to Bush Wallaby]

Owing to the massive and increasing popularity of the Saigon Hash, a decision was taken on Friday to hire an extra bus. Murphy's Law would normally dictate that following such a sensible move, a small number of Hashers would turn up. But no, we were indeed blessed with plenty of Hashers and the extra bus was put to good use. Perhaps the blessing came from St Yves, the Patron Saint of Brittany, and the name behind this week's run. After a short wait for Paddy Fag, again, we set off in tandem for the Korean Highway and District 12. The area of choice for nearly all of Wet Rag's Haring efforts. There was another small delay at the Start Point while those with GPS's tried to work out the co-ordinates error and locate Lost Our Soul and his GPS. After a brief search, he was declared well and truly lost, so we kicked off without him. Something will have to be done about these so called navigation aids.

A long run down a muddy track took us into an area of paddy fields and aqua culture. The dikes were specifically chosen for their broad tops to prevent any whining from Deaf Teapot. He likes dikes but not for running. The first check was about 2 Km into the run however, due to the cunning use of minimal shreddie and frequent changes of direction, the Hounds were all together when we arrived at the faster running areas. A few more dikes and a long run beside a small river brought us to the Hash Halt. Before the runners had a chance to catch their breath, Wet Rag led the walkers out onto a narrow path which was common to the second half run and walk. This walking traffic caused quite a delay for half of the runners and it was some time before the pack re-assembled. Although we were in familiar territory, the Hounds failed to recognise landmarks they had seen many times before. This could have been because some of them were under water. Bridges that were easy to navigate in the morning were submerged by the afternoon's high tide. Before setting off down the final section a decision was required - swim or shortcut. Surprisingly, half a dozen runners, including 3 MMC Members, took the short cut option. The rest, and it has to be said, true blue hashers, headed into deepest delta terrain for the stream crossing. The bridge was down and everyone was chest deep in the muddy water before reaching relatively dry ground on the far side. A short hop through long, snake infested grass, took these hashing stalwarts to the bus. All the runners returned as a pack after a perfect 10 Km run. Well done to the running Hares. The same could not be said of the walking Hares who managed to split into 2 groups, 30 minutes apart. How do they manage this? Another hashing mystery.

The rain that had threatened all afternoon, really began to fall, ensuring all of us were soaked by the time the last group of walkers returned. That just meant more of Friendly Bank's excellent sandwiches for those who had made the effort to get back early. The time spent waiting was put to good use. A number of swimmers had managed to collect a leech or two as they crossed the last obstacle. A frantic search was made by one and all for these little suckers. The Australians searched their strides, the Americans searched their pants and everyone else had a close look inside their shorts. El Flatulente was the champion with 3 leeches. Two other Hounds found one each. Then the search was on for a smoker. These addicts are normally ridiculed by the fitter Hounds, but not on this occasion. It was a good job El Flatulente had 3 leeches because he made a complete nonsense of getting rid of the first 2, singing hair and burning flesh in the process. By the time he got round to the third and by now feeding leech, he was able to remove it without damaging himself.

Paddy Fag did the honours as RA and introduced approximately 10 Virgins, Visitors and Returnees. Infrequent Comer, a spy from Hanoi, was put on the ice as a precaution during this brief ceremony. The Hares were brought out and Pencil Dick asked for reports. The walking hares were rightly panned by Good To The Last Drop who was still getting over the recent revelation that her name was not associated with beer as she thought, but with a Maxwell House coffee advert. The running Hares were given a none too generous going over by Doggy Style. Whenever Deaf Teapot and General Erection legitimately dominate the front positions and the pack stays together, it has to be a good run Doggy Style. Ah well, on to the achievements section. Pencil Dick awarded a 75 run T-Shirt to Fat Bastard who refused to put it on in front of the Circle. To ease his embarrassment, all fat bastards were brought out to drink with him.

GM then charged the Australians with reckless driving. An Alice Spring resident was fined by the police for letting his daughter sit on the floor of his car and strapping a carton of Fosters on to her seat. It was the choice of beer that really upset the policeman. The French and the English were then brought out for bringing into disrepute the Abel Prize for mathematics and the Mann Booker prize for fiction, respectively. Jacques Tittes won the maths prize for "Tits Alternative Theorem of Group Therapy'. A likely story! A Bristol man entered the 'Bristol Bus Time Table' for the fiction prize, complaining he had lost count of the number of hours he had spent waiting for buses that never turned up. General Erection then taught the Circle a song he had made up for Doggy Style. It was a simple little ditty, the meaning of which escapes me, but Doggy Style seemed happy enough. Before we could continue with charges from the floor, chaos broke out near the ice. One of the bus girls had found a leech. That got everyone searching their strides, pants and shorts for a second time. Doggy Style, foolish gentleman that he is, sucked the leech off the girl's leg. Further confusion reigned while Doggy Style tried to remember through the beer haze if he had swallowed the leech or managed to spit it out. Paddy Fag brought things back on track and charged the Canadians and the English for providing the bride and groom at a recent Royal wedding. A bit of colonial jealousy rearing its ugly head. GM then asked all the condom wearers to assemble. How, he asked, could any man get excited when confronted by a woman wearing an all-in-one condom. Bush Wallaby said he could. Perhaps that was because the chosen model, Monkey Business, was wearing the see through sensitive version without lubricant, ridges or nodules. There was a bit more of this nonsense but nothing of note.

A call was made for announcements. Mighty Quinn was too shy to explain we are trying to get information on what hashers want in the way of T-Shirts, shorts and track suit bottoms. Woofter invited everyone to register at our Hash Forum site to find out more. He also modelled the latest in dog tags to encourage Hashers to reach 100 Runs and/or 20 Hare Sets. Fukoffee asked for numbers wishing to go to the Barbecue Beef Restaurant for the ON ON. Finally, Shithouse gave us a little information about next week's run.

GM and a few stalwarts braved the rain for 10 minutes of social drinking whilst sucking in the fumes from the bus. Pencil Dick and Friendly Bank behaved themselves, allowing us to get soaked and poisoned without interruption. And then it was back on both buses and off to the ON ON at O’Brian’s

That's it,

Woofter