So tell me, fellow litterateurs, did you mark the 250th birthday of Scotland’s own Robert Burns by loading a sheep stomach with oats, minced organs, blood and savory herbs and cooking it until the whole mess came bursting out of the stomach lining like an exploding sausage alongside a platter of neeps and tatties?
I’ll take that as a no.
Neither did I, to be honest. Instead I watched this recital of Burns’ “Ode to a Haggis.”
I also contemplated this article about drinking possibilities. I’m sure Burns would have approved.