Haggis? Check.
Neeps? Check.
Tatties? Check.
Whisky? Check (although some may have 'evaporated' last night. Ahem.)
Burns Night 2 (The Return of) booked for Sunday so the young Shotlets can have a go? Check.
(To be fair Shotlet 1 loves the stuff and Shotlet 2 at 15 months is about ready for the noble haggis experience).
And now I give you the revised bit of Rabbie Burns...
TAE A FART -
Oh whit a sleekit horrible beastie
Lurks in yer belly efter the feastie
Jist as ye sit doon among yer kin
There sterts tae stir an enormous win'
The neeps 'n' tatties 'n' mushy peas
Stert workin' like a gentle breeze
But soon the puddin' wi' the sauncie face
Will hae ye blawin' a' ower the place
Nae maiter whit the hell ye dae
A'bodys gonnae hiv tae pay
Even if ye try tae stifle
It's like a bullet oot a rifle
Hawd yer bum ticht tae the chair
Tae try an' stop the leakin' air
Shify yersel fae cheek tae cheek
Prae tae God it disnae reek
But aw yer efforts go assunder
Oot it comes like a clap o' thunder
Ricochets aroon the room
Michty me a sonic boom
God almichty it fairly reeks
Hope a huvnae s**t ma breeks
Tae the bog a better scurry
Aw whit the hell, it's no ma worry
A'body roon aboot me chokin
Wan or twa are nearly bokin
A'll feel better for a while
Cannae help but raise a smile
Wis him! A shout wi' accusin glower
Alas too late, he's jist keeled ower
Ye dirty bugger they shout and stare
A dinnae feel welcome ony mair
Where e'er ye be let yer wind gang free
Sounds like jist the job fur me
Whit a fuss at Rabbie's party
Ower the sake o' wan wee farty
Rabbie Burns
(First seen on arrse.co.uk)
Friday 25 January 2008
Saturday 19 January 2008
Ooh Me Knees
Still nothing from the wonderful scab-lifters - no results through from the hospital after a couple of months. Hope that mean's it's not leprosy, then.
"I know", sez I, "I will ring my GPs and chase the results of the knee juice extraction". Cunning plan, hey? Naaah.
After about six attempts to get through to the relevant department at the hospital, I finally get told to go back to the GP and ask them to contact the hospital as I can't possibly, as the former owner of said juices, tell them to send the frigging results through that should have been done as a priority in November.
So, to lessen the load on my gristly bits in the meantime, it's the great 2008 Lose The Lard Campaign.
As an admitted fat blerk, who has had little time for exercise for the last few years (very young spawn and working 6-7 days per week leave little time for the great outdoors) I have gone up to an estimated 15 1/2 - 16 Stone. At pretty much bang on 6'0" that makes me Mr Blobby.
Now my best fighting weight is about 14 stone, maybe a smidge less as I will never get to the 'recommended' weight as I am rather wide... and before everyone goes "oh yeah, big-boned are you lardy? You'll be blaming your glands next" I hark back to the Medical form I had to get signed off by the Doc before the Army would let me jump out of a hairyplane at Netheravon.....
..."According to this chart you're overweight Mr Shot"
"What do you want me to cut off, then?"
"Fair enough (signs form)"
(Before the days of BMI's admittedly)
So, I am facing Walkers Withdrawal Symptoms.
'Elfy Eating and all that malarkey. Actually not too much of a problem as I do cook prettily healthily, but Confit du Canard looks like it's off the menu.
Cutting down on the booze - I'll now have to face 9pm sober on a daily basis. Grim.
Fruit. Nooooo not the fruit!
All this is not helped by my hyper-metabolism equipped wife and spawn who eat like a pack of starving wolverines while remaining irritatingly slim. Or the fact that I spend most of the day either driving or sat at a desk polishing my trousers.
Time to start getting up early again...
"I know", sez I, "I will ring my GPs and chase the results of the knee juice extraction". Cunning plan, hey? Naaah.
After about six attempts to get through to the relevant department at the hospital, I finally get told to go back to the GP and ask them to contact the hospital as I can't possibly, as the former owner of said juices, tell them to send the frigging results through that should have been done as a priority in November.
So, to lessen the load on my gristly bits in the meantime, it's the great 2008 Lose The Lard Campaign.
As an admitted fat blerk, who has had little time for exercise for the last few years (very young spawn and working 6-7 days per week leave little time for the great outdoors) I have gone up to an estimated 15 1/2 - 16 Stone. At pretty much bang on 6'0" that makes me Mr Blobby.
Now my best fighting weight is about 14 stone, maybe a smidge less as I will never get to the 'recommended' weight as I am rather wide... and before everyone goes "oh yeah, big-boned are you lardy? You'll be blaming your glands next" I hark back to the Medical form I had to get signed off by the Doc before the Army would let me jump out of a hairyplane at Netheravon.....
..."According to this chart you're overweight Mr Shot"
"What do you want me to cut off, then?"
"Fair enough (signs form)"
(Before the days of BMI's admittedly)
So, I am facing Walkers Withdrawal Symptoms.
'Elfy Eating and all that malarkey. Actually not too much of a problem as I do cook prettily healthily, but Confit du Canard looks like it's off the menu.
Cutting down on the booze - I'll now have to face 9pm sober on a daily basis. Grim.
Fruit. Nooooo not the fruit!
All this is not helped by my hyper-metabolism equipped wife and spawn who eat like a pack of starving wolverines while remaining irritatingly slim. Or the fact that I spend most of the day either driving or sat at a desk polishing my trousers.
Time to start getting up early again...
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