19/20 P Twomey
Aka Gerry Adams, Arlene Foster, Cuchulain. As HK slid into anarchy the Hash wisely put an anarchist in charge. Terrorism? Plague? No bog paper? Nothing surprises a Mick—except maybe daylight. It was a low bar to jump, but Twomey brought a modicum of youth and enthusiasm to the decrepit ranks of H4. It’d never last, thank God. A century ago his countryman Yeats foresaw Paddy’s nightly visits to Central East: “A shape with a lion body and the head of a man/A gaze black and pitiless as the sun/Is moving its slow thighs”.
18/19 Anthony Sandeen
Aka Daniel Ortega (the Sandeenista. Geddit? Ed). Einstein defined insanity as doing the same thing again and again, and expecting different results. So six years after choosing a Septic (see below), we tried again. This one was a true POTUS (Prick Of The US). Like his doppleganger orange mate in Washington: slim, athletic, articulate, witty, in all a very stable genius. A cunning linguist and sinophile, he was even reputed to understand Chunder. Lock Him Up!!!
17/18 Sam Cheng
Sam Cheng, H4’s second Chinese GM, as with second marriages a triumph of hope over experience. A true WOK, aka Wily Oriental Knut. Superbly qualified for the GM role, having acted as turd-polisher-in-chief to Brechin (see below: Ed) for decades. The reason why so many fat idle Scots have found HK to be an earthly paradise ever since 1841.
16/17 Glenn Haley
Alias the Vomit Comet. An Aussie lawyer. As rare as a unicorn, being semi-literate, potty-trained and not a total pisshead. He has only ever had 3 clients in his illustrious career: defending Ned Kelly, Rolf Harris, and Matilda’s jolly swagman. Yup, all those cases went really well.
15/16 Ian Wootten
Another Lizard of Oz. The Lucky Country won the jackpot with this one. A voice like a buzz-saw through pebble-dash, the physique of a digitally enhanced Quasimodo, the wit of Paul Keating on meths, and the moral compass of Rolf amok in a girls’ toilet. In other words a true leader, too good for the likes of H4.
14/15 Peter Thuler
The Year of the Swiss Gnome. Inspiring, in the same way that watching a midget getting fired from a howitzer is inspiring: you can’t help but be impressed, without giving an (er…flying) fuck for what happens to the midget. The Troll started his year enclosed in a pantomime bear suit; things went downhill after that. Several long speeches followed, some at least partly understood by somebody. A set of magnificent cowbells was dangled, courtesy of a secret HSBC Swiss bank account. In the modest and very undemanding anals of Swiss heroism, he was…well…a bit of a star actually.
13/14 Pat Trainor
So finally after 43 years the grown-ups put a Septic in charge. The Pontiff of Piss, Doge of Down-downs, King of KY, a man of many parts some better lubed than others. Churchill said the Yanks would always do the right thing, but only after exhausting all other possibilities. Well Trainor’s AGM certainly did the latter: at the end several Hashmen volunteered for immediate rendition and indefinite water-boarding at Guantanamo. But give him credit, he did the impossible: Harrison (see below) emerged an exonerated and much-revered hero, while still a complete Scots cunt.
12/13 Mark Geary
Man of mystery. Always airborne, like the plague. A carbon footprint worthy of a self-combusting Kissinger. Allegedly in charge of executive search, market intelligence and talent mapping. Spent a year finding fuck-all of any of those on the Hash. A wizened homunculus: think David Bowie cloned with Keith Richards, both aged 307, 4 1/2 feet tall and having a bad day.
11/12 Hamish Low
When Edward I (that’s a king, Patrick, not a potato) said in dismissing Scotland that “a man does good business that rids himself of a turd” he was clearly thinking of Hamish. A cheerful little git, rather as Torquemada enjoyed the occasional custard-pie fight. Another Scots cunt. Like London buses, you think you’ve missed the last one, and then a whole row of the bastards turns up.
10/11 George Harrison
Another bloody Scot – part time cyclist and Pedal Kart rider who once wrapped his new car round an erect canon! – a long term vegan, but does eat the odd pussy. [Ed] The biggest Scots cunt of them all (so far): aka Cuntus Caledoniensis Maximus. Brain, beer-wagon etiquette, and toilet-training all courtesy of the Billy Connolly School of Genteel Finishing. Removing his running shorts was the only known means of attracting his goldfish-sized powers of attention. Wrote some good songs alongside Lennon and McCartney, including the autobiographical clinical classic “While my Cock Gently Weeps” (Shome mistake surely? Ed) but also organised the worst AGM in H4 history (all is forgiven, Oh Trevor of Blessed Memory). [CL]
09/10 Tim Thane
Spawn of Botha’s jockstrap. All Drift and no Rorke. Spent his year beguiling the Hash with his talk of rubber necklacing and the flaunt of his small but well-polished assegai. The only South African not actually married to President Zuma. A Boer of little brain.
08/09 Nic Seymour
Direct from the Royal Surrey Hash, behold the gnomelike, homunculoid and follicly-threatened Seymour, inspiration to generations of Tolkien fans and deformed French bell ringers alike. Lord of the Ring pieces–Freddy Krueger meets Gollum in neoprene. The horror, the horror….
07/08 Graeme Brechin
Scion of a famous HK family firm second only to the Corleone Bros, Purveyors of Fine Concrete Window-boxes to the Gentry. Our own Dear Leader who with his bouffant perm, boyish botox-enhanced looks, tailored running suits and elevated plimsolls is justly held as a living god throughout North Korea.
06/07 S Perret
The Birdman of Oz, an undemanding role when you have the world’s flatest fucking continent to land on, erect Abbos and Ayer’s Rock excepted. Before that, an Aussie fighter pilot (or was that tailgunner? Ed), or so he claimed. Starter for 10? Name one famous Australian fighter pilot. Funny that. Nor could we.
05/06 Alan Child
Aka “With-Child” or “Molester. A man of simple needs who rose to the top of the Hash and his company in the same year. As all great leaders – a great delegator to his JM’s particularly at the start of the run, but generally around to enjoy the liquid end of the evening. A philanthropist: often to be seen touring junior schools with bags of jelly babies.
04/05 Martin Kleger
Second Swiss cunt to stand office – at least this one didn’t make clocks!. One of a select few who made rather than spent money in Manila. Started the year as a bit of an athlete – his year in office certainly showed on his waistline by the end of it. Subtle sense of humour wearing a funny hat while pulling the wings off flies, that sort of thing.
03/04 Chunder Chan
The first ‘local’ to take office. A true Local Hero. Laid runs in trails of his own vomit, with Cantonese sound effects. Responsible single-handedly for the new airport opening fuck-up in 1998. A natural driver of men with peculiar culinary tastes. Lead the lads back into China to recover from his first fuck-up. Probably broken Hash history by attending every bloody week.
02/03 Andy Ross
Aka “God”. A peerless leader among men, now into a term which bodes fair to usher in an eternity of paradise upon earth, with ever shorter runs attended by deaf and dumb barmaids with huge tits serving flagons of blizzard cold piss and buckets of ring-puckering ostrich vindaloo. Hosanna in the highest!With a mouth on him to give ill-maintained sewers a bad name. A man immortalised by his own national poet R Burns as “Great Chieftain o’ the Pudden’heads” and “Wee timorous fuckwit”.
01/02 Barry Will
Aka “Osama”, “Bazza”. Haven’t a clue who he was. No one knows where he came from or where he went. The fucking Lone Ranger on stilts.
00/01 John Berry
Another Australian cunt. A man of culture, sophistication and wit. By their uniquely undemanding standards.
99/00 Chris Pooley
Aka “The Rear-Admiral”, “The Hud-King”. A captain of industry, with a car AND driver; ie knew fuck all about anything, bar occasionally how to shout a bit, blame people, and then pass out.
98/99 Colin Stagg
Aka “Staggers”, “Sheepshagger”. Another Australian cunt. All the social niceties of a rabid drug-crazed mongrel on heat. Made one actually feel sorry for the aborigines.
97/98 Frank Faulkner
Aka “Forkbender”. A man of prodigious needs, seldom accommodated. Presided over the reversion of Hong Kong to China and hence more importantly the first ever peaceful transfer of sovereignty over a Hash in history—ie disgraceful Nip nonsense in Malaya ’41 notwithstanding.
96/97 Trevor Hewitt
Aka “The Bogtrotter”. Another Irish cunt. Often confused. Spends a lot of time on his knees East of Central, ever since his mum told him to “go out and blow up every cunt in Hong Kong”. Organised the worst AGM in H4 history.
95/96 Phil Stratton
Aka “No-tarts”. Another Scots cunt. Simply appalling. Refugee from “Trainspotting” set in “South Park”. Capable of a level of flatulence now categorized as a “weapon of mass destruction” by the UN Arms Inspectors.
94/95 Ken Thorpe
Aka “The Badger”. Once rescued Governor Patten’s pet dog from the cooking-pot. Fled Hong Kong before the Handover to escape bullet in Shenzhen Stadium.
93/94 Robin Radcliffe
Aka “Rattus Rattus”, “Doddering Old Cunt Mk II”. Bean-counter from the old school progressed in life from a Mercedes to a Mazda 121.
92/93 Alan Ferrier
Another Scots cunt. A nutter. Or “completely out of his tree”, to use the correct medical terms. Joined the Kowloon Hash for doctrinal reasons. QED
91/92 Paul Collier
Aka “Inspector Knacker”, “Estee Lauder”. Only claim to fame was use of a helicopter in trail-laying. Rumoured to be inordinately fond of his own truncheon.
90/91 Steve Mather
Aka “The Moan”. Raised the noble art of moaning to a new level of internationally-recognised artistry, but then again as a civil servant he had plenty to moan about.
89/90 Heinz Kaech
Aka “Heinz 57”. Swiss cunt. Footballer. Lives in Australia, a just punishment on him and all Australians.
88/89 Martyn Pegg
Aka “Pigg”. Car salesman, much given to enhanced acoustics thereon. Looked like Fu Manchu’s aborted offspring having a bad day.
87/88 Mike Tinworth
Aka “Nitworth”, “Schumacher”. Irretrievably lost in the 1960s. None of his acquaintances has thus far felt any pressing need to bring him back
86/87 Dick Watts
Aka “Biggus Dickus”, “Watt-a-Dick”, “Cranium” (don’t ask). In charge of Hong Kong Bank S&M Dept. A tit man of some experience and sophistication. To prove that time really does fly, he once hurled his own watch off a boat. Proved wrong.
85/86 Andrew Shillinglaw
Aka “Shiggyjaw”. Bearded cunt. Even more useless than his predecessor. Repeatedly wasted piss, in breach of rules 3-17 of hashing. Only claim to greatness—he once slung Gover’s moped down the side of a reservoir.
84/85 Roger Medcalf
Aka “Flacdem”. Another Kiwi, full of aimless dark menace; ie basically a head case. Spent his year growling and running up the wrong hill. Still persists in trying to set runs; still can’t.
83/84 Sandy Neill
Aka “Raging Bull”. Scots cunt. Taller when lying down than standing up. Spoke no language understood outside “Star Trek”. Spent most of his year of office underground, recceing drains, culverts, watercourses, sewers etc etc. One to stay upwind of at the bucket.
82/83 Pat Carter
Aka “Patpong”, “Ben Gunne”. The greatest GM ever. Showed inspired and flawless leadership throughout, owing to his disappearance on 11 months’ accumulated government leave immediately following election to the noble office. Made medical history by contracting a social disease from a child’s toy. A hero.
81/82 Bob Leonard
Aka “Drainoil”. Wears skirts a lot, explaining his meteoric rise in the wild and zany world of the Hong Kong Bank. His tendency to sing uninvited, and to recite the whole of Eskimo Nell from memory, have rightly made him a legend in his own lunchtime.
80/81 Brian Holgate
Aka “Tailgate”. Manchester United supporter, along with other more humdrum perversions. On the principle that “Practice makes perfect”, still a frequent visitor to Hong Kong. Made the immortal observation to an exceptionally ugly little hashman called “Ratface”, “Christ, they’ve sewn your head on upside down”.
79/80 Rod Olsen
Aka “Neslo”. Kiwi cunt, allowed to run Cable & Wireless because he was small enough to climb inside junction boxes. Produced “The Hong Kong Wanker”, arguably the greatest-ever H4 magazine prior to the classic “Where the Fuck is Barry Will?” of 2002
78/79 John Breen
Aka “The Brigadier”. A warm, kind, gentle soul to his friends (both), if also a loud-mouthed Irish cunt to the rest of humanity. Banned from Ireland (which says it all, really).
77/78 Ian Campbell
Aka “Elbows”, a glowing tribute to his tendency to shove other hashmen over cliffs while descending hillsides etc. Variously Scots, Canadian and Australian, now in old age running out of countries that will have him. Of biological curiosity because he always seemed older than his own father. Prematurely aged by marriage to lusty Kraut Valkyrie Brunhelga.
76/77 Pat Donoghue
Aka “Dunafew”. Another Australian cunt, variously described as “big” and “gaping”. Last seen heading for Japan (a) in search of schoolgirls’ edible underwear and (b) to get laid.
75/76 Jack Moran
Aka “Fireman Jack”, “Jack the Fire”. A hero of the Po Shan Road Landslide of 1972, since then often unfairly vilified for pulling Tung Chee Hwa from the wreckage. Wrote the “Guide to Hashing”, which clearly no H4 hare has ever read.
74/75 Charles Harvie
Aka “Harvie the Rabbit”. Perfected art of drinking piss by raising elbow three feet above left ear. As a result, fell over a lot
73/74 Jack Mallee
Aka “Mallee Jack”. Part Yarpie, part Australian, part French, part vegetable. Owes youthful looks and fitness to massive intakes of jism from Giant Carp. Sadly for Jack, Giant Carp as a result now almost extinct. Jack said the Hash would never last; the Hash said Jack would never last. Regrettably, both were wrong.
72/73 Warwick Artis
Aka “Piss Artis”, “Warwick Reid”. Australian cunt. Oversexed (relatively speaking).
71/72 John Beavon
Aka “John the Beaver”, “Mr Puberty” (the First Hare. Geddit?). Ran Outboard Marine. Later on, Outboard went Overboard.
70/71 J. Watson
Aka “John the Baptist”, “The Sperm Donor”. The man without whom. The reason why in 1970 a pathetic band of white (well, off-white) middle-aged losers, with homes they wish they didn’t have, went for a mindless trot around the Peak, followed by massive system-altering infusions of blizzard cold piss. “And God saw that it was good”.