The reason being that my stepfather threw a really rather excellent Burns Night supper for 16 neighbours, and there was an awful lot of haggis kicking around, haggises that just a few days before had been freely roaming the grousey highlands until being cruelly shot for our culinary pleasure.
We had no piper, but an iPad was able to play Burns' "Address to a Haggis" in all its incomprehensible glory to the guests, who then toasted the haggis and my mother with whisky shots I had poured.
I had one and then got a stinking headache straightaway, reminding me why I never drink the stuff.
My sister and I had two more Burns Night suppers of our own when she arrived the next day.
We love our haggis.
Si
All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 31.01.20
