Scots who have with Wallace bled...

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Cuddles, Jan 25, 2010.

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  1. Firstly a Happy Burns Night to all who have yet to celebrate the immortal memory of the great bard. And then wake up with a jagged bonnet. You have been warned. Repeatedly and I expect you will all go ahead anyway.

    I did the sensible thing and celebrated early - to maximise recovery time as I'm not getting any younger. Luckily Hogmonay was only a few weeks ago and I thought I would still be match fit. I had a late fitness test, diverting from the supermarket run fopr a couple of pints - which slipped down nicely. Then on to the Burns Supper, where i drank a couple of beers, a bottle of red and two or three large malts. Convivial, appropriate blah-de-blah. The evening finished early and TFB and I set off home about 0030.

    Alas and alack, we had to pass aother Burns Supper - which we had sadly had to decline in ordder to attend the first one. Well I still had half a bottle of malt and it doesn't keep you know. Plus this supper had TFB's gang in attendance. In like Flynn we went and we passed a couple more hours in badinage and I drank the ret of the malt. All of it. Plus some of my host's malt. Then a beer because I had a drought on me.

    Then I went to get up and pick up my rucksack - we are never guilty of under-supplying booze when we walk out. A moment earlier I had been witty, dashing, passing anecdotes of the life of Rabbie, discussing his radical politics and hatred of Whiggery. I had been immaculately turned out, charming and flirtatious and kindly by turns. In short a Caledonian gentleman.

    Next I am head down on the kitchen floor having battered my brains out on a work surface edge. As I went down I thought "Oooh me privy places, will they be revealed as my kilts go fleein!" Yes indeed a girly thought for a rough Highland man you're thinking. I should perhaps have rolled on my back and made sure my gherkin and silverskin onions were presented to the assemblage.

    I then apparently elegantly regained my feet - the assembled company open-mouthed that there wasn't a dead Cuddles, like some monstrous tartan skinned rug, on the kitchen floor. I then set off home at a speed mark you, though clearly concussed. Next I remember, I was waking at 1100. However I will have a clear reminder on my baldy heid for the next couple of weeks of the "Night of Two Burns Suppers".

    Age brings not wisdom...experience brings wisdom. I clearly had no defence when up on Wife's Orders yesterday. Accept your award ma'am. March out.
  2. Only two?

    I'll bet that on a cold dark winter's night in Belfast, a certain person we all know (no names, no pack drill) went to THREE. :)
  3. So in a nutshell you were pushed lot yer nut! What's like us...dam few an they are se deid
  4. Sounds like it was quite an evening - "Welcome to your gory bed" must have seemed about right!
  5. I thought the Great Bard was Shakespeare?
  6. NO I am only invited to one Burns Dinner, but I will be wearing my Kilt
  7. I'm sure Auld_Yin is old enough to have bled with Wallace. Crazy old fool that he is!
  8. Just the one?? :p

    Gory bed was right enough. On balance I could have done with a butterfly or two, rather than using a pillow as a kind of ginormous shell dressing.

    Shakespeare was an imaginary creation and not much of a bard, more a soap-opera writer by one hand and aristocratic sonnet-writer, apparently suffering from blue balls on the other.

    He was merely the Bard of Avon by title. Robbie Burns was known as the Bard of Ayrshire and Scotland's Bard/Bard of Scotland. so imaginary William made county level but Robert Burns (Ayr and Scotland) went international.
  9. Auld-Yin

    Auld-Yin LE Reviewer Book Reviewer Reviews Editor

    Bollaux, I was back with the wagon train guarding the precious cargo of malt, thus making sure none of my claret was spilled :D
  10. Auld-Yin

    Auld-Yin LE Reviewer Book Reviewer Reviews Editor

    Or Bacon even :blush: Can't even make your minds up you lot.

    At least we know that the true Great Bard, R Burns esq, wrote his stuff (even if he borrowed from a few folk tales).
  11. Well, you can stand down now. You've stagged on long enough! :D
  12. ..........ah, yes-a drunken, womanising Excise man who wrote doggerel verse about what was ostensibly a big sausage?

    ...........though I do concede that some of Will of Avon's 'comedies' have not lead me to crack a rib with uncontrolled mirth.
  13. It's spelled with an S, a T and an A as well, you know.

    There is a magical incantation guaranteed to summon to me the hellish hordes of mischief, exuberance and hangovers. Repeat after me, "Atholl. Brose."

    Don't say it too loud, or they'll hear you!
  14. Scots can rest safely again this year secure in the knowledge that the sacred haggis is still not allowed into the US for fear of changing the eating habits of Americans who are starving for guid hamely fare rich in vitamins and nutrients as an antidote to the McDonald's faux meat burgers.

    Yet, there are some enlightened Americans out there who understand the exquisite cuisine of Scotland as opposed to some other cultures

    "No matter where you go in the world, there's a dish the residents love that others find the very thought of distasteful. I'd love to have a proper haggis here, whether on Burns Nicht or some other time. As for natto -- a Japanese dish of fermented soybean paste with the consistency of mucus and the smell of an old nappy -- or anything made with Velveeta (tm), others can have 'em!"

    astute gentleman..

    Now, about just what goes into a traditional English 'banger '? Lamb's eye soup, anyone?
  15. Doggerel sir?

    Then hap this poem aboot sausage may please ye mair?

    "The Quaker's Wife"
    Robert Burns

    Come rede me dame, come tell me, dame,
    My dame come tell me truly,
    What length o' graith, when weel ca'd hame,
    Will sair a woman duly?
    The carlin clew her wanton tail,
    Her wanton tail sae ready
    I learn'd a sang in Annandale,
    Nine inch will please a lady.

    2. But for a koontrie cunt like mine,
    In sooth, we're nae sae gentle;
    We'll take tway thumb-bread to the nine,
    And tha's a sonsy pintle;
    O leeze me on my Charlie lad,
    I'll ne'er forget my Charlie!
    Tway roarin handfu's and a daud,
    He nidge't it in fu' rarely.

    3. But weary fa' the laithron doup
    And may it ne'er ken thrivin!
    It's no the length that maks me loup,
    But it's the double drivin.
    Come nidge me, Tam, come nidge me Tam,
    Come nidge me o'er the nyvel!
    Come lowse and lug your battering ram,
    And thrash him at my gyvel!

    As for the womanising and drunkenness, weel we're nay all perfect are we? The excise I admit needs mair forgiveness and time...

    Let's not forget Robbie died whilst serving with the Royal Dumfries Volunteers and was given a military funeral.