Sadly, they hadn’t and even expected a full Burns Supper. This wasn’t entirely unreasonable as I had invited everyone round FOR a Burns supper*, only later starting to wonder what the hell that entailed.

Rather than go for the full Maclarkey, we did the Neeps and Tatties and Haggis thing. Piping in the haggis was problematic – I don’t play bagpipes, I don’t have bagpipes and I do have neighbours. Luckily, I have a tartan bow tie that plays “Scotland the brave” when you press it (thanks mum).

I battled back tears of Nationalistic pride to perform the “Address To The Haggis” which went over the heads of the assembled Soft Southern Jessies. An hour of noshing to the plaintive strains of the Proclaimers and Karine Polwart ( I couldn’t find anything by Sydney Devine or Fran and Anna) and we were ready for the one piece of Scottish Culture my mates understand – ten year old Laphroaig and a Jura Malt.

After that point, there was a lot of singing, some strumming (of the guitar and the pink ukulele) until we all collapsed.

I think Burns would have approved.

*if you’re wondering, it WAS at the right weekend, I just never got round to posting this entry.