Burns Night

Tonight, in Scotland, it’s Burns Night. It’s a night when Robert (or Robbie, or Rabbie) Burns, Scotland’s national poet, is celebrated.

Despite being a ‘Sassenach’ (i.e. English… It derives from the Gaelic word for ‘Saxon’, i.e. English.) I’ve got sucked into Scots culture in recent years as a result of marrying a Scot and moving north to set up home here. And while much Scots culture leaves me slightly cold (I hate bagpipes and deep-fat fried Mars bars) I enjoy other elements of it.

Burns suppers, tonight, usually comprise of a meal of ‘tatties’ (potatoes), ‘neeps’ (turnips) and ‘haggis‘ (a sheep’s stomach lining filled with offal). šŸ˜¦

As a vegetarian I feel slightly queasy even thinking and writing about it!

And the meal is washed down with liberal helpings of whiskey (another element of Gaelic culture that I wholeheartedly reject, I’ve only had whiskey once in a ‘hot toddy’, for medicinal purposes, and was promptly sick, which ensured I never tried it again).

But I adore Robbie Burns’ poetry and well delivered recitations of it, another key element of the evening.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne!

Chorus.-For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye’ll be yourĀ pintĀ stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

We twa hae run about the braes,
And pou’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary fit,
Sin’ auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

WeĀ twaĀ hae paidl’d in the burn,
FraeĀ morning sunĀ tillĀ dine;
ButĀ seas between usĀ braidĀ haeĀ roar’d
Sin’Ā auld lang syne.
For auld, &c.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fere!
And gie’s a handĀ o’Ā thine!
And we’llĀ takĀ a right gude-willie waught,
ForĀ auldĀ langĀ syne.
For auld, &c.

‘Auld Lang Syne’ may well be one of Burns best known poems, now traditionally sung at midnight on New Years Eve.

Although I thought that some of you more ribald types might enjoy one of his lesser known worksā€¦ šŸ˜‰

When first my brave Johnie lad came to this town,
He had a blue bonnet that wanted the crown;
ButĀ now he hasĀ gottenĀ a hat and a feather,
Hey, brave Johnie lad, cock up your beaver!

Cock up your beaver, and cock itĀ fu’Ā sprush,
We’ll over the border, andĀ gieĀ them a brush;
There’s somebody there we’ll teach better behaviour,
Hey, brave Johnie lad,Ā cockĀ up your beaver!

It’s about Johnny, incidentally, tilting (cocking) his hat (a beaver) in a rakish angle! šŸ™‚

Anyway, I’m getting away from the subject. Tonight, perhaps, may be one where that age old question of what a true Scotsman wears under his kilt may well be asked. The answer, of course, is that ‘no true Scotsman wears anything under his kilt’.

kilt1_001b kilt2_001b
As, in the photos above, the ‘true Scotsman’ who is the RL Mr.Keng, in his rarely used SL variant, seeks to prove.

And in case you thought it was just SL avis who wanted to prove their true Scots credentials by going ‘commando’ under the kilt, here’s a few RL true Scotsmen proving the rule, lol.

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Fellasā€¦it’s not big, not clever, and you’ll never make it stand up in court šŸ™‚

Anyway, if you’re Scots, a blow-in like me, or have Scots roots and are celebrating Burns Night, have a terrific time, don’t get too drunk, and don’t let the wind under your kilts too much.

Ella.