Scotland’s great poet, Robert Burns, was celebrated today (technically yesterday, but we make allowances). We gathered at Terry’s friend’s place a dozen or two Scottish and international folk, and caressed our whisky while waiting for the haggis (and tatties and neeps). The haggis was formally and ceremoniously addressed by Mr. Thorpe and introduced by a bagpiper. There was a good mix of kilts, tartans, whisky, Scottish language, and indecent and romantic poetry alike.