The Worst Burns Supper Ever
So Tam O'Shanter has been voted the Nation's Favourite Poem by Radio Scotland listeners. That would have come as no surprise to anyone who, like me, listened to Morning Extra this morning. Gary Robertson asked the audience if they could recite any Burns' poetry and the calls flooded in. Later, I went to a meeting of the various heads of departments at Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú Scotland and suggested there really was a Scottish cultural season that starts in November on St. Andrews day , incorporates Hogmanay and ends on Burns' Night. During that time there's the festival and the big . We should do more to highlight all of this on all our services.
At home tonight, my wife had prepared a candle-lit supper of haggis, neeps, peas and pasta. (I'm not allowed tatties on my diet.) Delicious, it was too. But it reminded me of the worst I ever attended. It was during the year I lived in Cardiff when I was studying journalism. I was the only Scot among a group of English and American friends and they insisted I host a bed-sit soiree in honour of Rabbie.
Never having attended a Burns Supper in my puff, I did some detailed research by reading the blurb on a box of oatcakes. I garbled something about "sonsie faces and sleekit beasties" and made everyone sing Auld Lang Syne while I warmed up some tinned haggis on the single electric ring. We all had a symbolic taste, gulped down some supermarket whisky and then headed out for a Chinese meal.
My best Burns supper was last year at our SoundTown school in Grangemouth. The speakers were hilarious, the music fantastic and one teenager's recital of Tam O'Shanter was superb.
I'll have to track down those friends from my student days. I feel I owe them one.
