Burns Night.

I just don’t get it. The haggis, the neeps, the tatties, addressing the laddies, the lassies and the haggis with the poetry of Robbie Burns – “Auld Scotland wants nae skinkin ware, that jaups in loggias, etc, etc”. Burns night is tonight so many of our Scottish cousins will be performing this solemn ritual. I should understand it because I really do have Scottish cousins. My dad, though born in Dublin, lived in Scotland as a child. Most of his siblings settled there; he was the only one who ended up in London. Which may be why I’ve ended up thinking that Burns Night should be re-christened Pete Burns Night. Guests at a Pete Burns Night supper would have to dress like transvestites with grotesquely calogened lips and spin round and round to this.