New York City H3, Writeup, September 8, 1999. Run No. 790

The horror! The horror! Everywhere you look in NY at the moment, seems there's something to get scared about. Either you can go to the movies and give yourself the willies watching "The Blair Witch Project" (man, those trees are scary!), or else sleep with a fly swatter or uzi under your pillow in case one of those ten foot tall killer mosquitoes gets into your apartment. Actually, they usually buzz first, ha ha. Then again, this week saw the return of what is probably one of the most frightening phenomena in the known world 85.that's right, a British Dave hash! The British Dave (falscheckus longus) is an unpredictable beast which is capable of causing equal amounts of mayhem whether working alone or as a group (collective noun: density).

Byron-Brown was to be found at the designated start of Rector St., but no sign of Crofty, who presumably was still out putting the finishing touches to the trail, or else lazing at the on-in with a well earned beer. DBB was no doubt hoping for a pack of about 500 so he could demonstrate how much luggage space he had in his shiny new Audi estate. As it was, the axle weight limit would be tested by Michael B., who turned up with a few bars of gold bullion in his bag, expecting an exorbitant hash cash perhaps. DBB had planned well, as Mrs. BB was also in attendance as the hashmobile getaway driver, which meant Dave could safely get as sloshed as he wanted at the on-in. The good news was, apparently there were no false trails. The bad news was, this probably meant the checks would be next to impossible. Off we set and straight away, Paul flew off into the distance like his shorts were on fire, with the pack in hot pursuit. Through the narrow and dirty streets of the financial district and straight onto film set #1 where they were probably shooting yet another film about cops/robbers/aliens/death/mutilation. We love it and can't get enough. Why is it these days that the hash is like a magnet to people shooting films? First they got us thrown out of Bar99, then closed down Peter McManus when we were gasping for a drink, and now they were trying to break our legs by making us trip over all the cables. Anyway, we blew straight through, and with a little more meandering, we were heading inexorably towards our old friend, the Brooklyn Bridge.

In these days of mosquitophobia, it is perhaps a classic example of the fiendishness of these two that they run us from Manhattan (reported deaths from St. Louis Encephalitis: 0) to Brooklyn (reported deaths: 1). And they didn't even dole out the "OFF!" at the start! Lucky it takes more than a few mozzies to scare us brave hashers off, and so onwards we ploughed across the bridge. Why do people set hashes across this bridge? We all (apart from Melanie) hate long, straight sections of trail, and yet this is a three-quarter mile straight line. Going from Manhattan to Brooklyn, you can't even argue that the view is great. And after all that running, you're in, well 85.Brooklyn (and before you scoff, I did actually live there once). There used to be a hash there Monday nights as I remember, or has it switched to Wednesdays? Could it be the proximity to DBB's house that's the big attraction here? I wonder. Anyway, there we were, soon ploughing through film set #2 where they were no doubt shooting the sequel to the film about cops/robbers/aliens/death/mutilation. Into the attractive warehouse district of Williamsburg we headed. Here, Danny tried to score some points with the ladies by escorting them safely down a dark alley. Or was he trying to lure them into a dark alley? I'll leave it up to you ladies to decide whether you'd want to be stuck down a dark alley with Danny. Heading into Brooklyn Heights, there was of course the obligatory trip along the promenade, the view from which is a measure of reward for the schlep over the bridge, before on-in to O'Keeffe's. This place has been used many a time by the Brooklyn hash, since it has a nice out-of-the-way upstairs room where we won't upset the suits inhabiting the downstairs bar. Unfortunately, this room will comfortably accommodate twenty people, and there were fifty or so of us, which ensured the cosiest on-in since Mike and Jen's Malachy's hash earlier in the summer. They also used to serve us ice buckets full of bottles of beer, but obviously with the gannet-like tendencies of NYCH3, this wasn't going to cut it. Dave and Dave were on the case here though, and had a bionic waitress bringing us pitchers like there was no tomorrow.

As soon as everyone was oxygen-starved enough, the circle commenced. There were a couple there from Okinawa H3, who Jerry had met in Pittsburgh, looking resplendent in their black and red Okinawa kimonos. Continuing the mosquito theme, one of them was apparently called "Itchy Scratchy"; I'm not sure if they had that name before arriving in New York, had had a close encounter with one of our winged friends, or were just staying in a cheap hotel. Goldfinger Bahamonde was given a special down-down for wearing out DBB's suspension (and the one on his car) with his ultra-heavy bag. There then followed a bizarre re-enactment of the infamous "Alicegate" incident from this very same venue a couple of years ago. Apparently, Alice had a slight disagreement with a member of staff one night, in fact quite a shouting match by all accounts - not quite an edition of "Celebrity Death Match", but close. The two Daves did their rendition of this with Crofty (on his knees) as Alice, and DBB as the harassed waitress. One new observer was heard to comment that "this is just like a Monty Python skit - I have no idea what they're doing, but it's damn funny!". Certainly some of the classic Python ingredients were there - eccentric Englishmen, men pretending to be women, strange behaviour. But then, you have to question the sanity of anyone who uses a bar where they already know we have pissed off the staff mightily. Interesting postscript to Alicegate: the harassed waitress is now the manager of O'Keeffe's. Good job Alice, I guess you really showed her! Roy then caused a stampede by asking everyone who'd never hashed in Brooklyn before to come to the front for a down-down, which was about 85% of the congregation. One of those "I could have told you that would happen" moments.

Another stampede shortly after signalled that dinner was served, so I climbed over Alex, who was transfixed by the tennis on TV, and fought my way into the line. It was worth it - six wings and two fries, one of which I cadged from Jimmy - not bad for an hors d'oeuvres, now where's the main meal? I wish. Repeat after me: Wings bad, pizza good. Wings bad, pizza good. Wings bad 85.apparently content with this feast, many people started heading out for the long (one stop) journey back to Manhattan and civilization, while bionic waitress continued to ply us with beer. I think we should offer her a job.

Solid hash. Not the worst of the year, not the best. Alrighty then. Time to go and kill that mosquito that's been dive-bombing me for the last half hour.

On out.