It was a balmy, late summer, evening as the warm Gulf Stream waters lapped gently over the amusement arcade fringed sands of Ventnor bay. Holiday-makers still thronged the beach, doing what they'd been doing since Emperor Claudius first set sandal there the best part of 2000 years ago (he was the only one who could afford the ferry fare); mum taking delicious pleasure from wading in up to her ample hips to have a pee, dad eyeing that group of topless EF students wishing they were girls, the kids destroying each other's sand castles with wanton glee whilst teenagers of all shapes and forms burned batteries in their tyrannies in the certain knowledge that everyone, but everyone, within a half mile radius just loves the same sort of music they do.
Less than half a mile from this idyllic setting hashers from all over the globe were beginning to gather for the Isle of Wight's 600th run weekend. Snowman, architect of the Black Friday run, surveyed the early arrivers with some relief. Here, if not in content then certainly in number, was the perfect crowd for a pub crawl. About twenty five hard core hashers, not the least of whom was the irrepressible Buzby, stood attired in the obligatory black, eager for the off. Meanwhile the official transport manager, Cooperman, sat in his mini-coach awaiting the arrival of the Hardy's contingent. Unfortunately he was in Ryde and they were in Shanklin. It was not to be the last such misadventure of the night. Unperturbed, the Black Friday pub crawl got under way.
The first pub had a mock-up railway engine parked outside. Had the disastrous Dr Beeching not had his way a real one might have been parked there. But that's another story. This particular construction was part of the IOW's carnival season and it was close by it the very first down downs took place. In keeping with tradition the IOWH3's RA, the unbelievable MaGoo, makes such awards at each and every stop. The first two pints went to TC and Snowman. TC for overdoing the black requirement and Snowman (the hare for the evening remember) for failing to wear anything black at all.
And so, from such early clarity the evening progressed into an alcoholic fog of half remembered incidents. Someone attempted to start a fight in Volunteer and was promptly ejected. Someone asked the landlord of the Central if he would mind them fetching in some chips from the chippy over the road. His reluctant agreement was a cue for the entire pack - now swollen with late arrivals to something close to forty - to exit on mass and transfer the entire stock of the chippy into the Central. The landlord was mollified by the quantity of booze he sold in the half hour we were there. Later two pubs were discovered with discos going full blast - Bell Bars and the Rose. The Bell Bars effort was being enjoyed by a small but appreciative crowd of dancers, which the inclusion of the now depleted pub crawl pack promptly doubled. Moving up the road to the Rose the crawlers discovered an empty dance floor awaiting them. There were plenty of bodies propping up the bar but the dancers seemed strangely reticent. The remaining hashers, about a ten or so, awash by now with a dozen different brews from as many different breweries, suffered no such constraints. The DJ was delighted until Cooperman turned up with the bus to take everyone home. And so, like Cinderella, we vanished into the night leaving the dance floor once again empty and only a worn running shoe behind to prove that we had been there at all. The Rose has never been the same again and no-one turned up at the rugby club to see who owned the shoe, which was just as well because the party was well under way by now. Exactly what time it packed up I've no idea. Exactly what went on I've no idea, but if the photo (see below) taken on the night was anything to go by, it was an occasion not to be forgotten - shame I have.
The following morning dawned bright and sunny (in case you were unaware, the Isle of Wight is sub-tropical, it hardly ever rains) and the first thing that caught my blood shot eye was a pub sign (see photo). The Mill Bay was delighted to have it returned some time during the day, particularly in view of the fact that they hadn't even noticed its absence. The two reprobates in the photo most likely had nothing to do with its removal from its wall bracket - but not necessarily.
<>So that was the black Friday run of 1996 (or as much of it as can be recalled at this distance in time. Those who attended are more than welcome to E-mail me with their own recollections). It will be hard to beat, but rest assured we will have a damned good try.
This old Ventnor traditional tribal dance took place during the pub crawl or maybe back at the rugby club afterwards. All are welcome to participate. No responsibility for unwanted pregnancies will be accepted by the Isle of Wight Hash house Harriers |
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Hyena entertaining some lady friends with a show of muscle control. The two ladies in question, Kinky and Netto, are, as you can see, totally enthralled. This photo was taken in the Central Hotel. Locals still discuss the incident in tones of hushed disbelief. |
This photo was borrowed from local police archives. But it should be said that in view of the fact that the Mill Bay public house had failed to notice the theft of its sign, no conviction was obtained. It was decided that during the next Ventnor town pub crawl all the pub signs would be swapped around to confuse the natives. To the relief of all concerned parties the sign was returned unharmed the following day - and it transpired that the Landlord hadn't even missed it |
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