Wednesday, April 28, was the full moon, and the hash was hared by Humpday. We met at Hernando’s Hideaway, tucked away underground at Yonge and Wellesley.

The trail was downtown. That’s about all I remember. Okay, we went over to Church, and picked up Wet Spot along the way. Down Church, then up some alleys, eventually across Carlton and south again, around the Ryerson campus as far as Dundas. After that… we headed back north… College Park… off Bay somewhere, and finally back east over to Yonge. Try not to be confused by Humpday’s hopscotch markings on the sidewalk, though he claimed little kids did them.

The beer check was in a Scottish bar on Yonge. I know it was a Scottish bar, because my Scotsdar went off. That and because of all the burly Scottish gents trying to make friends with us, especially Zephyr. Does “bear” mean something really endearing in Scottish? But Doo Hickey got all bitchy and said he was glad he didn’t go to gay bars anymore because of the smell of Axe. I’m pretty sure that was the aroma of haggis.

Our GM that evening was Johnny Cockring, trying desperately to suck up to us for another term. But what has he done for us lately? In this case, struggle to remember the least vestiges of how to conduct his sacred office. Though he was pretty darned interested in my demonstration of a donkey punch.

In honour of the time of year, Doo Hickey and Wet Spot serenaded us with an a cappella version of “The first of May, the first of May, outdoor fucking starts today…” It brought tears to our eyes, honestly.

At the end of his evening, Johnny looked very composed, professional, satisfied with himself with a circle well run – and casually left the pan on the table behind him as he went.