Robbie Burns Night

According to the Putmayo calendar (of international CD compilation fame), Friday was Robbie Burns Night. So, always looking for a creative diversion, we celebrated with potato-leek soup, whisky and late-night poetry readings. The Scottish assistant Louise brought her Scot's dictionary and we quizzed her. What's truss? Rubbish. Birl? To spin until dizzy. And did you know whisky spelled whiskey doesn't come from Scotland?

So, in his honor, a portion of his well-loved poem To a Mouse. True and timely for those of us with a lot of life to sort out.

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o' mice an 'men
Gang aft agley,
An'lea'e us nought but grief an' pain,
For promis'd joy!

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee:
But, Och! I backward cast my e'e.
On prospects drear!
An' forward, tho' I canna see,
I guess an' fear!