Robbie Burns Day

This is a concept that is slightly new to me, but Mum knows more about it. The description of the Burns Supper Guidline according to the Burns Country website is "The annual celebratory tribute to the life, works and spirit of the great Scottish poet, Robert Burns (1759-1796). Celebrated on, or about, the Bard's birthday, January 25th, Burns Suppers range from stentoriously formal gatherings of esthetes and scholars to uproariously informal rave-ups of drunkards and louts. Most Burns Suppers fall in the middle of this range, and adhere, more or less, to some sort of time honoured form which includes the eating of a traditional Scottish meal, the drinking of Scotch whisky, and the recitation of works by, about, and in the spirit of the Bard. " Although we couldn't find the haggis Mum and Dad had brought back from Scotland, we still went out for a pub lunch with our friend Sue. Unfortunately, they didn't have any haggis on the menu so alternatively Mum and Sue enjoyed slow roasted ox tail, and I spinach and ricotta cannelloni. Mum was telling us how when they would get together with their friends to celebrate today, my Dad would read out the "Address to a Haggis". Apparently, Dad had a great Ayrshire accent and would recite the whole address in it. This version and translation were taken from the Robert Burns World Federation website:

Address To A Haggis

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut you up wi' ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn,
they stretch an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent lyke drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
"Bethankit!" 'hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him ower his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll mak it whissle;
An' legs an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a haggis!

The Translation

Fair is your honest happy face
Great chieftain of the pudding race
Above them all you take your place
Stomach, tripe or guts
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm

The groaning platter there you fill
Your buttocks like a distant hill
Your skewer would help to repair a mill
In time of need
While through your pores the juices emerge
Like amber beads

His knife having seen hard labour wipes
And cuts you up with great skill
Digging into your gushing insides bright
Like any ditch
And then oh what a glorious sight
Warm steaming, rich

Then spoon for spoon
They stretch and strive
Devil take the last man, on they drive
Until all their well swollen bellies
Are bent like drums
Then, the old gent most likely to rift (burp)
Be thanked, mumbles

Is there that over his French Ragout
Or olio that would sicken a pig
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust
Looks down with a sneering scornful opinion
On such a dinner

Poor devil, see him over his trash
As week as a withered rush (reed)
His spindle-shank a good whiplash
His clenched fist.the size of a nut.
Through a bloody flood and battle field to dash
Oh how unfit

But take note of the strong haggis fed Scot
The trembling earth resounds his tread
Clasped in his large fist a blade
He'll make it whistle
And legs and arms and heads he will cut off
Like the tops of thistles

You powers who make mankind your care
And dish them out their meals
Old Scotland wants no watery food
That splashes in dishes
But if you wish her grateful prayer
Give her a haggis!

Two Scots celebrating by eating :)

Mum with Sue.

Pudding Club Evening

Tonight, my Mum and I went to First Annual Pudding Club in my Godmother's village. It was fabulous! The evening comprised of seeing 8 puddings paraded in front of us, after which we sampled each pudding in groups of 4. In the first round we had a portion each of: sticky toffey pudding , treacle tart, Windsor pudding, and bread and butter pudding. The second round included: chocolate fudge pudding, winter crumble, sherry trifle, and boiled apple pudding. While eating the puddings we had to fill out an evaluation for each pudding based on the presentation, the taste, and the overall satisfaction. This was not an easy task as I would have put the maximum point value for every one! Though our tummies were very full at the end of all the eating, we were very satisfied. There is talk about another one in a year's time. I wonder what they'll come up with then??

Offertory Burning

Today was a day both Mum and I weren't too sure what to do about. A man came and evaluated some of Dad's books in the hopes that he would buy some of them. Not that either Mum or I enjoy having Dad's books down from the shelves and being looked through knowing that the man who bought them isn't here to tell us where he got them, but at the same time the books have to be taken from the Vicarage as they're wanting to start structural work on the house. In other words, they have to be dealt with. We had our good friend Flo here to help us offering her expertise so Mum and I didn't feel out of out depths. Once the man had gone, the three of us ritualistically burned some of Dad's old teaching things in the study fireplace. This was a process we thought would be appropriate. In total we burned a model medieval village, an Anglo-Saxon model chapel, a model Viking ship, all of which couldn't just be thrown into a garbage bag, and also several books we though he'd like to read. Some German, some French, Latin, poetry, and many other flavours. Mum and I have plans to take some of the ashes from the fire place and scatter them over Papa's grave. To keep him out of trouble ;P

Flo, getting things going.
The Village, burning strong.
Me, feeding the boat into the flames, as is only appropriate.

Happy New Year 2009!!

As it has been the tradition for the past couple years, I spent New Year's with my Handsome Man in Kent. We saw some friends of ours in Canterbury then spent the rest of my visit at his Mum's house with Ed's Mum and brother Jack. Instead of going out and spending way too much money we didn't have on drinks, we spent the evening in with a bottle of champagne and Jules Holland on TV. Jack, Ed, and I also had a good time playing GTA on the XBox. I don't play very well but I like to think I amuse. Ed and I also went out on a few excursions: We went to see a film, and on another evening we went bowling with friends. I have to say the Wii had certainly helped my game ;P It was a great start to a new year, so let's home it's a foreshadowing.

Because I love you :P
Ben in action pose...
Jack in action pose...
Ed in action pose....
...and a shot of my bum!
We played pool after too. Ed and I won the double game, go us!!