Burns Night

Last night Wife P and I had our Burn's Night supper. We could have gone to a formal supper at the local hostelry but decided to stay at home so our first task was to catch the Haggis.

What better place to start than the slopes of our highest mountain Ben More. We researched the best places to find this rather shy animal and what it would look like. Wikipedia, the electronic source of all knowledge states, "Haggis scoticus is said to be native to the Scottish Highlands and Islands It is comically claimed to be the source of haggis, a traditional Scottish dish that is in fact made from the innards of a sheep(including heart, lungs, and liver)." Other sources said that they do not enjoy rain ( living on Mull!!!!!!). So after much deliberation we decided to cheat and get a Macsweens from Tesco.

So Haggis sorted, neeps and tatties cooked, whisky in the decanter we could begin our feast to celebrate the Immortal Memory. We were celebrating the birth of Robert Burns, born 25th January 1759 the poet who made haggis famous in a poem that he wrote. We should have piped the haggis in, addressed it "Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!". We at least had Ali Bain and Phil Cunningham CD playing traditional tunes! We also should have said the Selkirk Grace:

Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it;
But we hae meat, and we can eat,

And sae let the Lord be thankit.

But instead we poured whisky over the haggis and proceeded to enjoy it! Thanking, of course, Rabbie Burns for his poetry and mentally making a note to read some of his work!