On Monday we commiserated on the most depressing day of the year but I have now discovered that this phenomena does not affect Scots as badly as the rest of the UK. And the reason why is the man on the right, the poet Robert Burns. We have a winter cure for the blues.
Today, in Scotland and throughout the world people will be celebrating Rabbie's birthday with a supper of cock-a leekie soup, haggis, neeps and tatties and a few drams of whiskey. A chosen few will be rehearsing the 'Address to the Haggis', a rousing poem directed at a steaming plate of sheep's stomach stuffed with offal and grain; 'The Immortal Memory', a personal account of why this bard's words are still relevant today; and of course no Burn's Supper would be complete without a rendition of 'Tam o' Shanter' a cautionary ghost story.
I will be celebrating tomorrow night in Ullapool Youth Hostel at the annual Ochil Mountaineering Club Burn's Supper. The agenda is a hill walk during the day, a quick scrub up and then a communal meal for about fifty members. The club is pretty talented so there is no doubt the evening will be a success.
The major problem for everyone will be the drive to Ullapool in the storm that is currently raging across Scotland.
How to catch a haggis