One of the key things about Christmas, as my first two posts
were at pains to say, is ritual. Habit. The “we’ve always done it this way” bit of Christmas that each
family has.
As this was going to be our first Christmas without any of
our sets of parents, we felt it was time to come up with some traditions of our
own which, with luck, will last into all future Christmases stretching off into
the unknowably far away future…
What we chose to do – I say we, the whole idea was actually
Claire’s – was to found the Turner Christmas Hash.
We wanted to set it up properly, so it has all the features
of the hashes we’ve so enjoyed since moving to Hong Kong. It has an abbreviation
to be chalked on walls/pavement in future years – TCH3. It has a Grand Master
or GM (Claire) and a Religious Adviser or RA (me, who gets blamed if the
weather is pants and gets to name participants). It has a clear code of when it
is held – Christmas eve, Christmas Day or Boxing Day, once a year, with the
Turners present. It has clear membership – anyone we are spending the Christmas
period with. The runs should be ‘live hared’ (where the person setting it with
flour sets off 10 minutes before everyone else to set the route). And we’ll
record the runs, number of times people have run, where they were etc.
A properly long-term project.
Only trouble is, it could be hard to top Hash #1 in Boracay.
Setting it was hilariously good fun. I bought up 3 kilos of
flour from a bemused supermarket (entertainingly called ‘Wang Mart’), briefed
our 3 participants on what to expect, and shot off with my 10 minutes head
start. Boracay is a thin island, with few trails – just tiny paths around
houses and a few crowded main roads. So to make it interesting, I practically had to
charge through people’s courtyards at the beginning, and set ‘checks’ – pictured,
a circle that means the real trail of flour could be anywhere within 50 metres –
on sand, next to junctions and beside street vendors. Much gesticulating was
required to ask people not to kick
them over or sweep them away. Confused faces followed me wherever I went,
especially when I found my route went through a live basketball game.
If it was fun for me, it was like that bit in Rocky where
all the locals turn out to do training run with him for the others. As soon as
they appeared, looking down at the flour marks as they jogged, the by now thousands
of bewildered locals who had seen me pass 10 minutes realised what was
happening. Cheering, waving, people offering directions of where the strange man
went, and at one point the inhabitants of what we later found out was part of
Boracay’s small red light district enthusiastically escorting our group like a
bizarre honour guard towards the coast.
During the Circle – where Claire led a round of ‘fines’ for
participants – I christened hashers #3 and #4 (Nicola and Cody). The fashion that seems
to be most approved of in hashing circles is that names should be a) Smutty or
have a double-entendre; and b) Spring from a long story or in-joke.
And so, Muffy Hiker and Anal Prolapse were born, christened
as is tradition in a shower of San Miguel.
Want to find out what those names are about? Well, you’d
better hope you’re around for TCH3 run no.2 next year, location and hare tbc…
