When the RA asked me if I would write the run report I hesitated at first as I have been a bit out of practice with literary efforts and, like a good trail, the run report does demand the application of the 7 Ps- though we haven’t been seeing much of them lately. But I eventually agreed as PHD had kindly brought over a gem of Irish literature for me- At Swim-Two-Birds by Flann O’Brien (also known as Myles nag Copaleen) and I thought that a bit of effort on the literary side to write The Unwritten Novel might be good for the soul.
Well here goes. I know nothing about the trail laid for the runners by Perpetual Motion other than he seemed well pleased with himself for laying it earlier in the day before lunch. Our hare for the walkers was to be No Satisfaction and normally she is inspired by Virginia Woolf and in all The Years she has been here she has taken us To The Lighthouse. But it was not to be. So you might notice in this report that I have squeezed in a few references to Other Stories by VW that could be relevant to the hash trail. Maybe The Common Reader will be able to identify the references and claim the prize of Three Guineas or a down down for a correct list.
Some sympathy is due to the hare as she had an accident on a recent skiing holiday; nevertheless On Being Ill she was not deterred from setting the trail. Being a local resident she preferred to use A Room of One’s Own rather than stay with rest of the party in Les Strelizias hotel. Having A Moment’s Liberty she went out to find a trail, avoiding the ghosts of Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald still Street Haunting the roads of Juan Les Pins. No doubt during Night and Day there were Moments of Being when she found time to plan a trail for Congenial Spirits on the hash which would show the walkers some high points of this particular corner of the Cote D’Azur.
The Voyage Out took us across the RN7, a road which has its own song in French , and through a commercial shopping street where Thirsty Thursday, being still thirsty even though it was Friday, ( presumably he is always thirsty even on Monday or Tuesday) thought he needed to buy a beer or two for the journey. Wet and Ready had the forethought to make arrows in green on the ground for any latecomers even though The Mark on The Wall should have been sufficient. At this time of year, the town is deserted with many A Haunted House dark and empty. No Satisfaction took us through parts of the town I had not been to previously, up over a hill and down to the beach on the eastern side of the Cap D’Antibes. Here we could hear The Waves. A planned view stop was a bit of a disappointment as clouds obscured the normally fine view towards Nice. However we did catch sight of the runners coming from the opposite direction after they had been collecting some strange fuzzy balls which were littering the beach – a cross between a kiwi fruit and a dog turd; no doubt these are the sea creatures’ revenge for all the plastic we have been throwing in their direction. There was also the memorial to a British submariner who popped in during the war for a decent lunch.
Then like The Lady in The Looking Glass we reflected our outward journey, again up over The Mount and down to La Pinede ; No Satisfaction explained this is where the famous summer Jazz Festival is held. She also was anxious to point out the Palace of Congress, which we assumed was the local brothel, but it being closed for the winter we were unable to investigate further. A bit further on there was a sculpture of a couple who finding themselves locked out in the cold were standing totally naked but were not engaged in any Passionate Apprentice embrace, no doubt the wintry temperature cooled a casual meeting of Mr Bennet and Mrs Brown.
So back to the start where the plan had been to hold the circle in Les Jardins de Pauline; but as the gardens are locked at night to prevent any nocturnal activities with Pauline from disturbing the old folk in Les Strelizias, the circle had to be moved to the nearby equivalent of Kew Gardens. Rather different from The London Scene, it was chiefly a place for locals to walk their dogs.
Sex Club being the only hasher to have brought along Betty, the right equipment for this ; however Virginia Woolf’s biography of Flush, the spaniel of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, could not have been more inappropriately named for this place. Other local amusements included watching attempts at parking a 3 metre-long car in a 2.99 metre space.
More notes from A Writer’s Diary have gone missing and On Not Knowing Greek I cannot interpret the scribbles on the back of the envelope I used. But I do recall that Jobsworth fulfilled his role as RA by gathering a circle and distributing Down Downs Between The Acts to several hashers present. The result of a call for votes on Shit of the Evening I think went to MeMe for technological offences.
No Satisfaction had also arranged for us to dine in town at L’Escale, which proved to be an excellent venue. So the ladies scampered off to put on The New Dress and make themselves as pretty as Shakespeare’s Sister. We were joined by Finnish Fly who chose to spend The Moment with us.
Well after all this about Women and Writing I have not been able to get in any reference to The Duchess and The Jeweller or write about The Captain’s Deathbed. Thoughts on Peace in Air Raid did not arise although low-flying aircraft tried their best to provoke them. I had only a couple of hours to cover, unlike Mrs Dalloway who had a whole day. Killing the Angel In The House proved down any ardours. But maybe it was The Man Who Loved His Kind and was just impossible- I think he was hiding in Jacob’s Room. Granite and Rainbow were also hard to find and we had to wait until Sunday for Freshwater.
Sorry if I left out anything. A picture being worth a thousand words , which the word count tells me I have just passed, you can see the true story covered many times by Spanish Fly on the Riviera Hash House Harriers Facebook page.
OnOn
Sadist
