It’s Robbie Burns’ birthday.
My father, who came from Dundee, was often called on to address the haggis on Burns night, a task he did with great relish.
While enjoying the words and music, I didn’t share his enthusiasm for the feast. In spite of my tartan genes I’ve never acquired a taste for haggis or whisky but if you’ve a mind to celebrate the BBC has instructions for a Burns Night Supper which will include 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 the Lord be thankit.
For something a little lighter but still in the spirit of the day:
An MP was being shown around a hospital. At the end of his visit, she was shown into a ward with a number of patients who show no obvious signs of injury.
She went to speak to the first patient and the man proclaimed, ‘Fair fa’ yer honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o’ the puddin’ race!’
The MP, somewhat taken aback, went to the next patient, and immediately the patient launched into, ‘Some hae meat and canna eat, And some wad eat that want it.’
That continued with the next patient, ‘Wee sleekit cow’rin tim’rous beastie, O what a panic’s in thy breastie!’
‘Well,’ the MP said to the manger accompanying her, I see you’ve saved the psychiatric ward to the end.’
‘Och no,’ the manager corrected her, ‘this is the serious Burns unit.’