Address to a Haggis

Last night, I had to pretend to enjoy the poetry of Robert Burns, as we gathered to celebrate his birthday for Burns Night.  ‘Twas an evening of kilts, bagpipes, Scottish poetry, dizzying Ceilidh dancing, and unusually-named food, consisting mainly of whisky and, of course, the all-important haggis (the glory of which was toasted with more whisky, naturally).

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