Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye worthy 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.
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
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
Burns Night is a celebration of the life and times of the Scottish icon, Robert Burns and is held near the poets birthday, 25th January (normally the closest Saturday due to the amount of whiskey that is likely to be consumed).
Turns out she was planning a Burns Night - we would get together, eat neaps and haggis, recite Scottish poetry, drink whiskey and play games for as long as we could see straight.
The nominated speaker then recites the Address to the Haggis before majestically and dramatically slicing into it with the ceremonial knife. All the guests listen carefully, nodding their appreciation and not having the faintest idea what the poet is actually going on about. Most of the time the speaker doesn't have the first blue clue what they are saying either. We had a real Scotsman reading for us as well and he couldn't understand a word of what was coming out of his mouth.
That's Lula looking distinctly unimpressed with the nights activities thus far.
After a brief sugar break, courtesy of my miniature salted caramel chocolate tarts (which I somehow turned into grown up dime bars due to the caramel being a bit harder than normal) we continued.