Burns Night, the Haggis and those incessant drums of Scotland

Another quiet day at school except for Esmeralda having a huge bonfire and attempting to burn down the school mascot, the school goat which she said she was doing because it is Burns Night. She still has not quite got the hang of Burns Night and is doing exactly what the dog does ever year on Burns night. I therefore decided to read last years diary entry for Burns night to see what happened and jolly interesting it was too.

Now because I have access to this quite easily, well it is my diary after all and those of you who follow me on my blog we be blissfully unaware that I was even about back then yet alone a well established slightly eccentric child of cyberspace eating Haggis and Neeps with the best of them.

The key points of last years Burns night were; one, it was this very day last year that Pirate Pete was first heard of when he had just the two wooden legs before dad made his Steam Powered Bionic Legs, how time does fly ( I think that is one of those saying we need to discuss again sometime).

Then the dog was burning the CIA Regulation Designer Label Sunglasses worn by the CIA, MI5, MI6 and so on (well until the dog got them anyway) and a huge pile of wooden legs from the pirates including Pirate Pete’s. And one of the men with suitcases full of money that was looking at the house ( the old house) with the possibility of buying it came to look at the house, it was the one from up north (the man not the house)  with the dodgy car that broke down. I don’t know what ever happened to them after they went back up north, maybe they stayed up north after all it is quite nice

So this Burns night we are eating mushroom and leek bake what with mum being vegetarian, although the dog says he might roast a Badger over a hot fire, out in the garden and maybe a small antelope, but then he has to catch them first. We have also managed to finish all the blue, so we how have a very blue hallway this means we can celebrate Burns night now with a little traditional Scottish Drumming in the woods of the Welsh English borders. And telling the world of the 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 dicht,

An' cut you up wi' ready slicht,

Trenching your gushing entrails bricht,

Like ony ditch;

And then, O what a glorious sicht,

Warm-reekin, rich!

Yes OK I know there is loads more but I think that is enough for now maybe a little more next year in book three “The Return of the Twenty Foot Lamp Post”?