Christmas Eve 2001 I remember being sat on the back of my Uni friend Keker's (Ian) moped desperately searching Tokyo for Father Christmas costumes. Watching and avoiding Keker's hopeless slide down a muddy slope deep in the wet Brunei jungle on his backside some 10 years on we agreed we had created a new priceless and somewhat surreal moment! This was the secret sport of 'hashing' at it's very finest.

Hashing is a sport dating back to the late 19th century named after it's founding club- the London based 'Hash House Harriers'. It was not until 1938 that hashing spread to Asia, reaching Brunei in 1964. With first hand experience of the original philosophies listed below I can confirm the traditions are still living strongly with a particular emphasis on number 3!

1) To promote physical fitness among our members
2) To get rid of weekend hangovers
3) To acquire a good thirst and to satisfy it in beer
4) To persuade the older members that they are not as old as they feel

Essentially the sport involves a paper chase through the jungle, and when I say through I mean literally through the jungle. Earlier in the day a biodegradable paper trail is laid by the aptly named 'hare' that can take anything from 40 mins to 3 hrs to navigate (longer if you get lost!). The mass of runners or fast walkers are then let off the leash around 5.15pm. The majority of which are donned in shorts, long socks, a tee shirt and well gripped boots. Essential items are simply fluids and a torch. With darkness descending on this part of the world around 6.30pm it is advisable to get out as quick as you can!

Having lived and hashed in Brunei for just over a year, surviving 40 plus forays into the Jungle, Ian was now an experienced coach for my first attempt at the sport! Unable to make the Weds evening 'Boys' hash we instead joined the Friday evening 'Hetro' hash along with roughly 30 other gluttons for jungle punishment!

Tough endurance exercise followed by a few beers isn't something overly unfamiliar to me and knowing I could mix these two hobbies with the best of them I was excited, yet a little apprehensive at the prospect of my first go at 'hashing'. If I wasn't sure what I was letting myself in for, it didn't take long for my first baptism of fire. A steady 200 yards along the road was ok, and then we turned 90 degrees left into what resembled a paddy field directly below an intimidating looking hill. Any thoughts of keeping my running trainers clean immediately disappeared as my feet squelched through the muddy, ankle high swamp water and waist high long grass. Bearing in mind we had seen a large colourful black and yellow banded snake earlier that day just a few miles away I have to admit to a little nervousness at this point! I took some comfort in the fact that the heavy trampling runners before us would by now have scared off any nasty wildlife! I later read that Borneo is home to 20% of the worlds varieties of venomous snakes...gulp!

After negotiating this first bog section, the first paper 'check' ensued. This is where the paper trail stopped momentarily and it was our job to find where it resumes anywhere within a 100 metre radius. Coded shouts such as 'checking' ensure everyone is aware we are still searching. The call that you are waiting for is 'on paper' which means the trail has again been found. Unfortunately this call never came but we trudged on regardless. Something Ian remarked as being totally new to him. We assumed those we were following had local knowledge and like sheep a group of us followed behind. Essentially it turned out their plan was to turn left and head towards the top of the hill and hope to pick up the trail from there! Usefully placed vines and tree roots enabled us to scale the muddy slopes and hashing soon turned into hacking our way through dense overgrown jungle.....at least it wasn't raining....ah- I spoke too soon! Essentially we now found ourselves clambering off trail though wet, slippery dense, snake filled undergrowth during a rainstorm knowing as we headed deeper into the jungle, darkness would inevitably descend. Against all common sense Bear Grylls instilled instincts I possessed, I was truly out of my comfort zone but loving every minute of it!

Near the front is the weekly nominated fox hunt style horn blower cleverly named 'horn' who's role it is to shout encouragement and guide those who find themselves off trail back to the group. The sharp high-pitched sound was music to our ears when we hadn't seen anything resembling paper for 15 minutes and finally we were back 'on paper'...phew! Interestingly Ian had taken his dad hashing a few weeks earlier and a couple of hours after entering the jungle they had lost all signs of paper and not a horn could be heard. At 9pm in pitch black with torch batteries dead they had to be rescued by the hare- fortunately a repeat of this was now looking unlikely!

There was now a clearly trodden pathway with paper marking the way every 5 metres as we climbed up amongst the misty clouds to the top of the hill. Sensing we had lost a bit of time and with darkness approaching, there was no time to admire the views so we began the descent. By now the sodden jungle floor was becoming hard work and Ian's aforementioned bum slide was as good a way as any of descending the treacherous slopes. My poorly gripped trainers caused many ice skating moments, but with some immense recoveries and assistance from vines and trees I amazingly managed to stay upright. I'm afraid the same cannot be said of my experienced hashing partner who slid, rolled and bounced his way down the hill, fortunately managing to avoid the jagged rocks, 10 ft drops and more importantly...me!

Choosing to try and stay upright over my naturally competitive instincts, (I was reliably informed it is not a race) we kept up a solid but not crazy pace, picking our way carefully down the increasingly slippery hillside. Then, all of a sudden through the dark jungle we could see light and a clearing ahead. One last trudge through the stream and 1 hr 15 mins after entering the jungle we found ourselves staring at the row of parked cars...we were out! Punching the air seemed a little exuberant so a manly hand shake and a gleeful content smile signified I had survived my first and probably last jungle hash...well the jungle part anyway! Next would come the customary drinking- it would most definitely have been rude not too!

For obvious reasons it is essential that everyone signs in and out and in doing so it became immediately evident there were a lot more people in the finishing tent than there were at the start. The social side was clearly as important as the hash itself. With rain continuing to bucket down we huddled under the tent to begin the traditional drinking and enjoy a fantastic spread of roti (bit like naan bread), Dahl and chicken, impressively prepared in a car park, miles from civilisation. Ian introduced me to a Chinese chap and his assistant who were both sat preciously guarding barrels full of iced beer cans. Not too badly priced B$10 (£5) for 3 small cans of Tiger given that Alcohol is not available in Brunei. Even importing it has strict limits so my new friend the Chinese chap obviously knew the back door entrances to the country. Most likely by boat from the nearby duty free Malaysian island of Labuan!

As we began to get stuck into our well deserved refreshment and a detailed review of the hash, the speeches soon started. These mainly involved various nominees, the horn, the hare etc taking part in ritualistic downing of a can of lager to the hearty singing of 'why was he born so beautiful, why was he born at all, he's no ****ing use to anyone, he's no ****ing use at all' followed by down down down down down etc until the contents of the can had disappeared. Being a first time 'hasher' I was called up and asked to introduce myself and where I was from. I then made short work of the can to which a middle aged lady shouted at me 'proper bloody Brit'- I couldn't help but feel a little proud! Here I was in the dry state of Brunei necking a beer in the company of local Chinese and 50 ex pats from across the globe all with an average age above 40 singing songs as if we were in the local rugby team. All of which was a tradition passed on from the English Hash House Harriers over a century ago!

We had survived the jungle and enjoyed a few laughs so all in all a fantastic experience and something I will no doubt joke with Keker about for many years to come. I wonder what strange situation Ian and I will find ourselves in ten years from now....