Saturday, 26 January 2013

Burn's Night, 2013

January 25th, Burn's Night.

Made a faux haggis.  No sheep's lungs were to be found locally so based on liver and heart and, in the absence of a sheep's stomach, used an oven bag to hold it all together.  It was placed in a ceremonial haggis sacrificing altar, had Mr Burn's address read to him and then was dispatched as humanely as possible.

All present were surprised how nice it tasted.

The starter was a lot more colourful: smoked salmon, beetroot & horseradish cream.
The spoon, by the way, was for the dessert (Atholl Brose).

George in a  Jimmy hat.  Or vice versa.


Oh, smashing shot, Curruthers!

No interest in going to the MCG and being showered with unknown amber liquids from beer cans chucked in the air during a Mexican wave and then wondering who it was that went out while I was submersed in a sea of arms.

Much more fun to pack up a picnic and head to the local park and watch club cricket.  Doesn't matter who's playing.  I shout words of encouragement to the players of all sides, it doesn't matter, I don't know who they are and then, once the chicken and wine has run out, return home.