Burns Night

Oh oh oh I've been busy lately so I've been hugely negligent in entering the blogoshere for the past few days. Plus I left my camera on the table when we left the Burns Night on Friday (couldn't possibly have had anything to do wth the amount of wine we drank!), although it was fortunately picked up by a friend and returned yesterday.

Yes, Friday night saw us once again putting on our glad rags to attend Burns Nights at Fort Canning. This annual event is a highlight of the social calendar for many people whether they are of Scots origin or not. Regardless of ancestry it’s bound to be a night of fun and drinking. Usually an excess of the latter ensures plenty of the former.
This year was the 10th time that the local Burn Night had been organised by the Sportsman Bar, and again it was hosted by the highly eloquent, infinitely funny and incredibly crude Donald Finlay, QC. Yes that's me standing next to him in the photo. Dressed to impress in one of his colourful dinner jackets which seem to be his trademark, Finlay opened his speech in typically blunt fashion by first grandly welcoming the crowd to the prestigious event then announcing that “if any of you here tonight are easily offended, fuck off now. And if you’re an undercover journalist…fuck off anyway!”
Having set the tone for the evening we braced ourselves and weren’t disappointed. The food provided by the Grand Hyatt was lovely – a Scotch broth followed by haggis with neeps and tatties, then braised Wagyu (Kobe) beef cheeks in a port wine sauce. All was washed down with wine and of course the obligatory whiskey.
A traditional Chinese lion dance kicked off the entertainment and a round of toasts.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with Burns Night, it’s a Scottish tradition which celebrates the life of one of their greatest poets, Robert Burns. He was born on 25 January 1759 and died at just 37 years of age having lived a full life. He has become a symbol of Scottish national identity and wrote poems filled with wit, irony, romanticism, bawdy humour, and an endless admiration for women.


You may think you don't know any Burns poems but who wouldn't recognise these immortal words?...


O my Luve's like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June:
O my Luve's like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.



As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Cheers!