Burns Night, 28th January 2006

Every year for no-one knows how many years, Gavin has had a Burns Night Supper for all his friends. For anyone not familiar with the practice, Robert Burns was a Scottish poet who is celebrated annually on or around his birthday, the 25th January, by hosting suppers with a Scottish theme and reciting Burns' poems and singing Burns' songs.

In previous years, due to not having a wonderful, beautiful, intelligent and all-round fabulous -but modest- girlfriend living in Scotland, Gavin ordered his Mighty Chieftain haggis on the internet. This year, we thought we'd have a nibble on my fabulous butcher's haggi. The meat one looked even more disgusting than usual because it was in an actual sheep's stomach as opposed to the now more common plastic skin. I was banned from interfering with the cooking of said monstrosity (like I'd want to!) and set about making the dining room look pretty. A job more befitting my station, apparently.

I contributed my own little bit of Scottish flair by way of some home-made table decorations. I'd spotted some rather lovely blue thistles at my local florists which I lovingly carted to work and then on the train to Liverpool. They were made of stern Scottish fibre, so they didn't mind the journey too much. After decimating several innocent evergreen shrubs at the back of the Bates' garden, I had enough greenery to poke into some oasis and create some nice celtic bushels to be placed on the feast table. A tartan runner was found for the dining table and some vaguely tartany serviettes appeared from the back of a cupboard and we were nearly ready to go. The neeps were neeping, the tatties bubbling, the haggis bursting... Oh, no! That's not supposed to happen! For the first time ever, the haggis burst because it was being warmed a little too quickly (good thing I didn't interfere, eh?!) but at this point, I don't think sheep's innards were going to look more attractive IN their stomach anyway, so all was not lost.

People were under strict instructions to arrive in appropriate dress and this year, everyone managed at least a little bit of tartan, which is quite an achievment for a bunch of very English people. There was, however, one notable absence - Gav's best friend Will who emigrated to Canada last year. That left a bit of a hole in the proceedings because Will was always responsible for reciting the Selkirk Grace - a traditional ditty to start the things off. We may as well not have had a Burns Night if we were going to have to miss out on this all important tradition. But, oh, the wonders of technology. Just as we were despondently taking our seats ready to slurp our cock-a-leekie soup starter with no real elan, Gavin whipped out his laptop and called up a video image of Willo himself, in his living room in Canada, in full dress, whiskey in hand and this is what he said:

"Some hae meat and cannot eat,

Some cannot eat that want it.

But we hae meat and we can eat

Sae let the Lord be thankit."

And with that, we could continue our meal with the usual gusto. Then for the important bit. Our haggis had burst which is a bit of disaster as it's part of the main ritual of the evening - addressing the haggis! Fortunately, we had purchased a vegetarian haggis which had cooked beautifully and could be used as a temporay substitute. Addressing the haggis is the hosts job and one he much enjoys by the look of it! When he reaches the line "an' cut you up wi' ready slight" in his recitation, the host stabs into the haggis and disembowles it. Oh, hang on, that's already been done... Well, he cuts it symbolically. I've been told that if I keep moaning about the fact that I don't like haggis, I won't be invited to another Burns night so I am keeping schtumm on that point. (But it really is horrible!)

Throughout the meal, we embarrassed ourselves with bad Scottish accents trying to read the poems, sang a Burns song (for the first time, I believe) and generally put the world to rights. To finish things off, we had another mini-tipsy-laird*-cook-off. Everyone was very diplomatic and wouldn't be pushed to say which was the most delicious so I think a tie was declared. But seeing as this is my blog and Di's not here to defend herself, I'll say that, of course, mine was better by a pinch (of white chocolate sprinkles).

* Tipsy Laird = Sherry Trifle

At the end of the evening, it's traditional to sing Auld-Lang-Syne (bet you didn't know it was Rabbie Burns who penned that one!) and by that time we were all so pie-eyed on wine and whisky that it was time to stumble to our respective beds. Thank God that's over for another year!

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