StonehengeHistory of ley lines is connected to the origin such as Stonehenge

The Old World was blacked by which the obscurantism depressed the science for dogmatism of control freak. The pacemaker of international wave that has been bare-knuckle to wash down the ignorance of the endemicity encountered to be rebuffed by the local ruler a century ago. None but a neighbour’s transgression during over one hundred years, the majority of sensible indigene with bygone trauma and on-going indignation saw little of different folks from the outside of the home. The hashers are like a lubricant to tune up a balance between internationalization and localization and being complementary.

More than thirty hashers freshly come back to archaic hutongs blocks in the axis of historic city for a reminiscent run in a sunny winter without tainted air, as if probing a legendary well that can lead to the ground water down the ocean, a,k,a the hole of sea for seven hundreds years or so. The row upon row of quadrangle dwellings are interwoven by hundrends of alleyways, cramped and beamy, beeline and zigzag, only hutong names can suggest a trace of original functions from labyrinth hutongs terrain, along the rough-and-ready chalked tag system strewn over the ground, walls and poles, a normative bronco, by a family team of hares, Misled, Placenta and How Long.

The first group of mustangs row over with resonant hue and cry for On On, Open Check, and Two Way, they are Life Of Pee, Lost in Marks and Spencer, Dreaming Semen, Pickle Boy, Just John, Just Michael and some under a watch by How Long and Placenta who responsibly mark out the right trail at Open Check and Two Way for the next group after the first group streaked through. Unwonted much more of walkers almost account for the half of hashers, perchance there are a number of good sights for sore eyes in meandering hutongs. The wheen run the part of trail and then transfer to the walking line-up, such as Just Tony and Just Victoria,such and such. At two beer stops, the runners and walkers all converge on. The first gulp at a foamy cold ale moistening a dry throat blows any word to be second to none. With brisk lung capacity and quickening heartbeat to homer the singularity of kinetic energy.

Signature Hash ritual is traditionally circled by all devout hashers on the side of a lane. An acting GM Knob In Hood moderates a prologue for awhile; Then active RA Dazed and Confused juggles a series of shows with taletelling hashers with making use of his three treasures like closestool pad, patient’s chamber pot and rubber ginger cockskin, which produce more cheers and laughters in fits, with corresponding Hash songs precented by Waiting For It and Margaricunt; in the climax part, Master Baker exchanges close-fitting teeshirt with Misled’s by disrobing the layers of clothes to other two hashers in charge of holding them. Master Baker’s layers are counted to closely 10 pieces if plusing his ornaments. Perhaps the pants could be swapped in Nash Hash. In the gloaming, 18 hashers nestle down into a cozy restaurant for aliment with further drinking and talking. W7 is a latecomer for a dinner. Participants else include No Idea, Bjorn Again, Rear Entry (really long time no see), On Your Knees, Ten Times, Noah’s Arse, Red Snatcher, CumShot, Just Cathy, Just Christ (in teeshirt all the way, hardy?, Just Parti, Just Hop, and newcomers.