Burns night

The Angus lads had nae gude will,
That day their neebours' blude to spill,
For fear, by foes, that they should lose,
Their cogs o'brose; all crying woes,
And so it goes you see, man."

If you enjoy reciting maudlin doggerel, such as the above, taken from The Ball a'Sherriemuir, eating sheeps innards and drinking whisky, tonight is your night. Go to it with a will. It is a night to shed a tear over the '15 and the '45, to dream of independence and the glories of (that's enough of this drivel, Ed.)

In my experience the celebration of Burns Night is a mistake, and I think, as you accept that extra wee dram, that you know it, too. Don't you?