Like sands through an hour glass, once again it's Robby Burns' birthday. The second of the two Scottish holidays this month.
My sole Scottish connection is through my daughter. Her father in law has accepted my unworthy self into their clan, McIntyre, just my luck them using an Irish spelling for a Scottish name. I am deeply proud none the less, and shall celebrate the day festooned in my most festive Blackwatch jacket.
Fortunately for me too. Burn's poetry has always left me cold, I have long preferred my new kinsman, Duncan ban MacIntyre's poetry, at least in translation. It's hard enough to be a poet, especially difficult if you are unable to read or write as Duncan was. He wrote primarily about the beautiful rugged highlands, its flora and fauna,and had the particular Celtic gift of poetically sticking it to the man.
But the good Scots deserve a day of feasting, any country which celebrates their second greatest export, which has loosened many a tongue of their greatest poets, on their currency, is one I am glad to be any part of.
I'm not a Scotch drinker, but I do believe in taking nourishment with the Gin that made Scotland famous, washed down with a bit of Drambuie.
Brother Scots we celebrate you on this day. Go forth and celebrate in peace. Remember, you have no idea where that haggis has been.
Toad
photo: aroundlochawe
Posts
