Burns’ Night.
It’s a celebration of poetry written in an accent and dialect which is mostly inaccessible to the average English speaker, and a foodstuff which I really don’t find that attractive. And whisky.
Ah, now here’s a topic I can stand, the fineries of Scots highlands, and using words like dram and peat in conversation short and sweet, over a whisky. (poetry be me, in a hurry, copyright 2016)
Happy hunting, haggis lovers.
Andrew Clayton 