Burns Night, 25th January

I can't remember which ones are the best: the ones that go clockwise round the mountain or anti-clockwise?


  • Its santes dwynwen on that date.... the weslh equivalent of st valentines

  • Anti-clockwise and cannot, under any circumstances, BE VEGETARIANimage

  • So if it wasn't for the fact that all the haggi/haggiss/haggises.

    Scrap that.

    So, if it wasn't for the fact that each poor haggis has to hide in order to save their skin on Burns Night, they could be cosying up together in the spirit of santes dwynwen...

    Though maybe it is a trap of the weslh to lure the haggi/haggiss/haggises in when weslh is in fact local lingo for haggis-slayer?

  • the ones you can catch taste the best..... I have always found putting a mirror on their favourite tracks is the best way, they see haggii (pl) heading towards them and try to turn leaving their offset legs arse about face and tumble down the hill into the hag bag.

    Stake up it's 'arris and a good roasting over an open peat fire with some asparagus and artichokes .................. sod the neeps and tatties  




  • Haggii.  Drat.  Missed that one.

  • Use the mirror.................or the Force  image

  • Surely tht's cheating and not considered sporting?
  • pah..... they are only Scottish.....image

  • +ve point plum : Correct plural
    Not so good: "They are only Scottish"  You'd be in deep trouble if there were two of them. Teamed up and high on whisky you would certainly feel the force...as for Welsh Haggis slayers, don't think there's ever been oneimage

  • MuttleyMuttley ✭✭✭

    One of my favourite Rabbie Burns poems:

    Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay
    Horace ate himself one day.
    He didn't stop to say his grace,
    He just sat down and ate his face.
    "We can't have this!", his Dad declared:
    "If that cat's ate, he should be shared!"
    But even as he spoke they saw
    Horace eating more and more.
    First his legs and then his thighs,
    His paws, his nose, his fur, his eyes ...
    "Stop him, someone!" his mother cried:
    "Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
    But all too late, for they had gone,
    And he had started on his dong ...
    "Oh foolish cat!", his father mourns:
    "You could have deep fried that with prawns,
    Some parsley and some tartare sauce ..."
    But H. was on his second course:
    His liver and his lights and lungs,
    His ears and neck, his chin and tongue.
    "To think I raised him from the cot
    And now he's going to scoff the lot",
    His mother cried: "What shall we do?
    What's left won't even make a stew".
    And as she wept, the cat was seen
    To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
    And there he lay, a cat no more,
    Just a stomach on the floor.
    Nonetheless, since it was his
    They ate it. That's what haggis is.

  • Haggis imported ready, and also have a very special whisky I have been saving to open.... Looks like Friday it is

  • There's those wi' meat who canna eat and those wi' nane who want it
    But we hae meat and we can eat, so praise the lord be thankit

  • have they got no mouths or what

  • I have a nice Balvenie in a box in the cupboard. Unfortunately it has a habit of evaporating through the cork.

    Might have to get some Low Flyer on stand by.

    Athol Brose anyone?

  • I'll stick with my Arran Sleeping Warrior thanks Blisters
  • We went a day early, very nice.

    Black Grouse was on offer, and made it into a very warm place.

  • There's a bottle of Caol Ila waiting patiently in my kitchen

  • Hitting the Sleeping Warrior a night early
  • Only one more sleep 'til Haggis....yummm!

  • Dave The Ex- Spartan wrote (see)
    Hitting the Sleeping Warrior a night early


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