If anything can be said about Boomerang, it is that he is a stalwart Victoria Hash House Harrier and we are lucky to have him. What other hasher flies 10,500 km from a balmy tropical paradise (Fiji for those not aware) to the damp, grey cooleth of Victoria in December and sets trail for the rabble not 24 hours after deplaning. If stoolie's experience at trans-Atlantic flights is anything to go by, he can imagine the kind of sheer guts and fortitude required to lay trail so soon after this kind of trip. Usually, the end result of flight like this is a half-crazed, drunken and weeping hasher, desperately squinting for the exit sign through crusted, dehydrated eyeballs, a smear of dried blood on the upper lip betraying that frantic attempt to stanch a squirting nosebleed encountered at 35,000 feet. "Set a trail! You gotta be nuts! WTF! No way - get me to the hospital for a saline drip!" and so on…
It was too bad that Boomer had such a thin showing to acknowledge his efforts. Only seven hashers appeared and HareBall was too hung over from the Christmas party the night before to help the old man with the trail - or even answer the door when stools showed up early to co-hare. But those who did show up, including "Bucharest" Jack-off, must have set some kind of VH3 record in terms of total age of attendees. Lets see, 74 plus 67 plus 66 plus 62 plus… h'mmm, that works out to 413 years, give or take a year or two. Something approximating half a millennia's
worth of hashers on this one. It was also a well traveled and wordly all-male hash, allowing us free rein in the circle with the sort of stories one wouldn't usually tell the wife (although only one of us is actually married, probably because we are all well-traveled and wordly). This pretty much ensured that everyone got downed in the circle, not that it would have been much of a stretch to find some lame excuse for every hasher in attendance. 
After the circle we retired to Maude Hunters for dinner, only to encounter
Sumpyton, Squeekie waiting for us - they must have been disappointed to see all the geriatric hashers staggering up the stairs. At least Stools was able to confirm with the Grand Matress what course of action both had decided upon during their impromptu cabinet meeting following the beer mile several weeks before (stools was having a hard time remembering what that was all about). And then Kitty Licker showed up, having just flown into town himself. What are the chances?!!!!On on,
Stools.
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