Good Morning Early Birds!

[waterboatman]

Saturday. The weekend has arrived. I've just come back from a walk. Looking one way the stars are out playing. Look the other way and the cloud is on the ground...and it's coming this way. Just can't win can you!

Welcome back from the dungeons to all our friends. It's good to have you back!

Have a happy day everyone.

[Slapshot]

Morning mate.... you can have the rain and wind if you like!!

[murraymints]

Morning Boaty xx pingwing boy xx

[waterboatman]

Morning slappy and minty. xxx

I've had enough of the rain thanks mate, but methinks it's not had enough of me! :o{

minty it's good to see you back. :o} That'll larn you to go about saying 'Eh?' to people! ;o}

[murraymints]

Pardon ? Lol...

[Grandma_Yiddo]

Good morning to both of you. Now back in UAE after four weeks back in England, not a successful visit all in all. Grandad Yiddo's cardiac stents were not possible. We are awaiting recall for him to have a by-pass. Afraid it's 14 degrees here and sunny, but I'd rather be back there with you.

[murraymints]

Morning gran xx ... Will you have to return to UK for operation ? ...

[Grandma_Yiddo]

Yes we will. How is Dad ? I had to go to Ikea for a fresh supply of candles yesterday as I'd almost run out.

[waterboatman]

arf arf arf minty. ;o}

Morning GY. xxx Not good news about himself. I hope it gets sorted out quickly, for both of you.

We could do with some 14° and sunny here! A weekend of wet is forecast.

[Slapshot]

The Very Naughty Step Warrior returns.... ;0) What colour card was that Minty my sweet.

[waterboatman]

I think she's wondering that herself slappy! :o}

[murraymints]

Slappy ....Lol......dad not too bad now he's getting some sleep...nurse coming today to 're-dress his wounds....

[waterboatman]

Minty I do hope dad gets it all sorted out, he's had enough surely. Please give him my best. Mum too of course.

[murraymints]

Will do Boaty x...going back to hossie Thursday to see diabetes consultant and oncologist.....

[FredPuli43]

Morning all. Glad to see you back, gran.

Thinking of buying a car for a friend today, so that'll be good for the nerves, trying to get a few quid off when good clean s/h VWs and the like are like hen's teeth. Since the recession hit, there's been a shortage. He wants a Mark VI Golf. Still, it isn't raining yet ! Daughter is here; so long as she doesn't come too and they think I'm buying it for her,like some doting dad, I should be all right. She decided "the cleaner is not good enough"; news to me as I didn't know I had a cleaner; so she can occupy herself in interviewing a couple.

Have a good day all!

[murraymints]

Morning Fred xx .... Good luck with the bartering...

[waterboatman]

Morning fred. An interesting day in prospect for you it seems. Good luck!

[murraymints]

Happy burns day ...haggis trapping today for dinner to fight ?

[murraymints]

Tonight.....predictive thingy quite aggressive today !

[waterboatman]

minty your predictive thingy is quite right. They don't give in easily, they there wild haggis. Mind you, if some twonk was coming at me with a big trap I'd be pretty wild too! :o}

[murraymints]

Robert Burns
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Address to a Haggis

address to a haggis



This poem was written by Burns to celebrate his appreciation of the Haggis. As a result Burns and Haggis have been forever linked.

This particular poem is always the first item on the program of Burn's suppers. The haggis is generally carried in on a silver salver at the start of the proceedings.

As it is brought to the table a piper plays a suitable, rousing accompaniment.

One of the invited artistes then recites the poem before the theatrical cutting of the haggis with the ceremonial knife.



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 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.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An cut you up wi ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like onie 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 like drums;
The 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 scunner,
Looks down wi sneering, scornfu view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre 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 make 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

Address to a Haggis Translation

Fair and full is your honest, jolly face,
Great chieftain of the sausage race!
Above them all you take your place,
Stomach, tripe, or intestines:
Well are you worthy of a grace
As long as my arm.

The groaning trencher there you fill,
Your buttocks like a distant hill,
Your pin would help to mend a mill
In time of need,
While through your pores the dews distill
Like amber bead.

His knife see rustic Labour wipe,
And cut you up with ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like any ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm steaming, rich!

Then spoon for spoon, the stretch and strive:
Devil take the hindmost, on they drive,
Till all their well swollen bellies by-and-by
Are bent like drums;
Then old head of the table, most like to burst,
'The grace!' hums.

Is there that over his French ragout,
Or olio that would sicken a sow,
Or fricassee would make her vomit
With perfect disgust,
Looks down with sneering, scornful view
On such a dinner?

Poor devil! see him over his trash,
As feeble as a withered rush,
His thin legs a good whip-lash,
His fist a nut;
Through bloody flood or field to dash,
O how unfit.

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread,
Clap in his ample fist a blade,
He'll make it whistle;
And legs, and arms, and heads will cut off
Like the heads of thistles.

You powers, who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill of fare,
Old Scotland wants no watery stuff,
That splashes in small wooden dishes;
But if you wish her grateful