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Run No:- |
1062 |
Date:- 28 July 2003 |
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Location:- |
Onnut Soi 66 |
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Hares:- |
John 'TQ' Courtney |
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Scribe:- |
Alastair 'Beefeater' Atkinson |
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Monday. 16:30. The dogs in the numerous derelict sois sounded the arrival of the blue vespa; the blue vespa sounded its own arrival. "God damn" said AKM "These dogs are being frightened by a giant blue duck." The Vespa, driver and pillion arrived to find a battle in progress. TQ versus the Landlord. Each was throwing a barrage of questions at each other: "What the f*!k are you doing on my land?" Came from the Landlord, an unintelligible stream of repost came from TQ. Out-questioned and knowing he was beaten, the landlord retreated to his bottle of whisky and to supervise the reconstruction of his property. A hollow victory echoed through the deserted, abandoned streets. TQ gathered his belongings together and ran off to set the trail. I was wearing my mirrored shades. "Don't look at where I'm going." were TQ's last words - thankfully. "Don't worry; I've got my eyes closed." I lied.
The clouds bruised and ominous dots began appearing upon the shards of broken glass that somehow floated upon the surface of the swimming pool cum duck pond that sat picturesquely across from the building site. People began to appear. Shagmore arrived, attempted a Lara Croft double foot kick on myself, fell over, hurt her knee, got back into a car and was driven off into the distance. Does the Matrix really exist I wondered? Well done Mia, well done!
We gathered and talked and at 17:30 everyone marched across the rickety path of death. I believe that this path was the original path used in the film 'Indiana AKM and the Temple of the Emerald Bottle'. The said AKM anticipated the obvious back check at the end of the path of death but was caught in a unique 'Boston Double Bluff'. TQ was as cunning as a fox, and as pungent too. AKM soon caught up with part of the pack, as did two late coming visitors. I recognised the girl's accent immediately - Yorkshire. This concerned me greatly; I have lived in Yorkshire for several years and recall all too easily the icy granite that are Yorkshire women. A shiver ran down my spine, where it temporarily settled before moving to other regions of my body.
We soon danced like…dancers, through the watery graves that filled the muddy…mud tracks. I was up to my not so privates in no time at all. We caught the pack which was being confused by TQ's sporadic trail setting method. "I see no method at all…" were Lion King's comments.
As TQ took us under a watery, once electrified, fence that surrounded Rama 9 Park, I began to think that this was a brilliant tactical switch in the trail. Then I was reminded that TQ was setting it and all too soon we U-turned and came back toward the lake from whence we'd came. At this point a lengthy discussion was in hand with an old woman who insisted that TQ - or as she said "A f**ki*g Taliban idiot" had just ran past. She was still shaking with fear and her husband was well into the second bottle of Sang Som in an attempt to calm her. The pack began to resemble some of the pack members' hair: thinning and dwindling. Som disappeared, Sugar Daddy was concerned. Later, after dark, she made it home; much to sugar daddy's delight. Som looked into his eyes and he looked into hers: 'Give daddy some sugar baby!!!' the non-verbal communication was obviously saying.
OK then, back to the run. We were charging through more water and following some strands of paper. The paper ran out and Tastes Great and I ran twenty meters further looking for the trail. Instead of the trail we found the end of the run. "!!!**@! !! &&!$"$ $&* *$* *!* *^%^(£(£&" were TQ's words. I couldn't really understand them however AKM later translated (the currently cunning linguist) and TQ had apparently wanted us to run the rest of the 90km run. I tried to speak a little of TQ's unique language: "Kiss my ar**".
The circle came to order and soon TQ was being punished for his attempts at trailsmanship - 'I saw no attempt at trailsmanship at all', thought Lion King. - punished for his new headwear, which soon became enmeshed with his 'Brillohair'®™. He was punished and punished and punished repeatedly until he lay down like a broken soi dog and wept like a child. The female Yorkshire visitor, Any dick will do, came in with her partner and Tastes Great. She did several pre-emptive down downs before attempting the real thing. Another cold shiver ran down my back as I once more reminded of the granite coldness of Yorkshire women. Thank God I'm in Bangkok where the weather allows for a more heated ensemble.
Anyway, the circle was dismissed and the On On On set for 'Zanadu', the home of Crash Bang. We set off on the short trip to Zanadu expecting to be there within minutes. We thought wrong. AKM and I boarded the reliable work-horse blue vespa while others boarded Frank's jalopy 'The Black Stallion'. I head a little bit of singing from the Yorkshire girl "…boom bang chitty chitty bang bang, chitty chitty bang bang we love you, ooh arhh in a motorcar with Eric Cantona!!" Then it happened. God's mighty vengeance swept down from the heavens and struck forth upon the Black Stallion. I heard a big bang bang from chitty chitty. I reminded AKM of a quote from the great motor racing commentator, Murray Walker. "I think Ayrton's just blown someone…sorry something." The Black Stallion's reputation was in tatters, along with the rear universal joint. No more bang bang for poor old chitty. "Perhaps my arse was too big" offered the Yorkshire girl while Frank fell to his knees weeping, arms stretched to the heavens "Why GOD, Why take MY Black Stallion!!!!" Another comment about big arses "Is it too big?" I tried to empathise with Frank; I knew from first hand experience what it was like to be ridden hard by granite like Yorkshire women. Everyone looked around nervously. How do you reply to such a granite statement? Love Canal and I retreated to the underneath of the Black Stallion. We found the problem and found the solution. "Oh! Big arse, get pushing" was Love Canal's solution. The locals were surprised but impressed to see the robust workhorse vespa and a robust Yorkshire woman's arse, pushing a BMW along the road. After two kilometres a taxi intercepted and took over from the vespa. After several rounds of "Rot Sia Mai" The taxi driver finally established that Rot Stallion was indeed ready for the knacker's yard. The Beast was harnessed and yonder and yonder it was pulled. All the way to Zanadu did it go where lived the beasts of the jungle, the monsters of the deep, the fish of the sea and the birds of the air; the greatest zoological gathering known to any restaurant kitchen.
All of which had been cooked, laid out and consumed well before the vespa and the Black Stallion arrived. There was little food left…boooooo!!!! However, there were copious amounts of beer…yeahhhh!!!! The Karaoke machine had been switched on…boooo!!!!! But then switched off…Yeahhhhh!!!
At this juncture I felt the cold chill of death approach; the icy sickle of the reaper approached. I recalled a scene from an Ingmar Bergman film, 'The Seventh Seal'. The room temperature fell and deep breaths could be seen hanging, like clouds, in the air as people fell silent in fear. The Yorkshire girl was beginning to complain. This is a time bomb I thought. One Yorkshire woman was dropped on Hiroshima and look what that did. I believe she'd had to pay for the taxi that pulled Black Stallion to Zanadu. She was plied with the only magic potion known to work on cold granite; she was given alcohol. I once more gave this consideration; this could go either way.
Meanwhile TQ needed five attempts to pour himself onto a chair in order to receive yet another F.O.Y.C. I warned him that while he continued to wear the garb of the Taliban®™, his life was in danger from the snipers that were nervously fingering their rifles in Zanadu's gun turrets. Fortunately for TQ the clouds came in low at 1000 feet and the roof of Zanadu was not visible from the earth.
Soon the end of the evening was approaching and the Black Stallion had found a spiritual healer in the form of a garage at the end of Soi Zanadu. 300bht later it was once more humming like a twenty dollar whore on carnival day in New Orleans. The last words I heard from within the Black Stallion were one of song: "Oh you, chitty chitty bang, bang chitty chitty bang bang we love you. Ooh arhh in a motor car, with Eric Cantona….hey I hope my fat arse won't cause any more problems!"
Frank smiled quietly to himself; in his life he has looked and he has learned. He knows all the answers.
ON ON, Beefeater
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On Monday 28 July we had 19 Harriers, 12 Harriettes, 0 new boots and 6
visitors, total = 37. Returners
included Mike "Sugar Daddy" Burgess, Graeme "Graeme
Bywater" Bywater, Peter " Maverick" Laverick, Paul "Katoey
Kickboxer" Loke, Taew Chantakit, Jay "Footloose" Cooley, Narest
"Nearest & Dearest" R., Teerachai "Pink Panther"
Reinsubdee, Charlotte "Plastered" Parks, Brian "Brain
Health" Heath and Johnny "Condom" Johnson.
Farewell to John "Twenty Questions" Courtney who completed
145 runs over 4 years, for a lifetime attendance of 68%.
