Rabbie Burns

Burns Night is upon us again…..no one here will be celebrating, apart from a Canadian who owns a kilt and can play the bagpipes. Leo is too ill to enjoy black bun, but we have haggis, though wthout the neeps, and whisky in which to toast the Immortal Memory.

Unfortunately, in moderation. And not only because the Speyside stuff is all you can get here….nothing from the islands. No Laphroaig, no Lavagulin, nor my father’s favourite, Highland Park, sweet from the peat cuttings which smoked the barley. Now, would you believe, they are marketing the stuff as Viking whisky…though I trust a glass of ‘the creature’ would not send one off on an orgy of murder and looting.

Still, one never knows……

Burns flourished in the period of the Scottish enlightenment…and grew up in the determination of the Scottish Presbyterian church that every child should go to school. He was well equipped to view his society, nomatter how his society viewed him.

Given his views on freedom and liberty, how would he react to what is happening in his beloved Scotia…where a government voted into power to gain independence from the United Kingdom hangs onto to power under UK control rather than strike out to fulfill its promises. Where in order to stay in power it aligns itself with the Greens – a party whose policies are now being inflicted on the nation.

Years ago, a good friend, a retired German vet who had been through post war imprisonment in work camps in Russia, described the Greens, then becoming a force in German politics, as terrorists, hell bent on overturning everything that made life worth living. That man was a prophet!

What he could not have foreseen was that their ideas would be adopted by governments world wide – apart from the governments producing the most pollution, that is.

We have net zero targets with governments galloping ahead to rely only on renewable energy sources without thinking for one moment whether these are as yet sufficient to maintain civilised life for the mass of people. In the meantime the suppliers of these energy forms enjoy state subsidies, paid for, of course, by the public, who are those who will suffer power outages when the renewables fail to produce.

The car is the enemy – unless it is electric powered. Let alone the cost, which will make it impossible for most people to buy one, what about the misery of those – including children – in the Democratic Republic of the Congo mining cobalt to produce lithium? Do the Greens care…or is the relief of that misery the job of charities? Save the planet…stuff the children.

The list is endless, but what concerns me currently is a recent development in Scotland whose parliament has recently passed the Gender Recognition Reform Act 1922 with the aim of permitting those wishing to change their legal gender to do so with less restrictions.

Given the blanket provisions of the act there has been public dissent, giving rise to demonstrations in support of the Act, on one of which these placards figured, behind the smirking faces of two Members of the Scottish Parliament

TERF stands for trans-exclusionary radical feminist…or, in English, women who do not think that trans woman are women.

How is it possible, in a land which used to pride itself on its respect for liberty and free speech, that its society has produced people who can think it possible to turn out with such disgraceful slogans? Where are the police, so hot on hate crimes? Where is the condemnation in the press…..in the Scottish Parliament? If you follow the link be prepared for some very disturbing content.

Robert Burns, unforgettably described by Mike Biles in his ‘A Bit About Britain’s High Days and Holidays’ as a chap whose brain was generally used merely as a periscope for his willie, and known to make appearances on the penitence stool at the kirk, might these days find himself cancelled should he now proclaim that ‘a man’s a man for a’ that’.

Happy Burns Night……

Here’s tae us,wha’s like us,

Gey few, an they’re a’ deid

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Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me A Bow-Wow

We shall return to this in due course, though, in passing, my maternal grandmother’s neighbour, a woman of firm views and strong language, used to do an impressive interpretation of said Jessie Matthews singing ‘Over my shoulder goes one care’…

which involved her miming throwing one large breast after the other over her shoulders…though from a woman whose pronouncement ‘There she stood, tits akimbo’ had puzzled our youth, anything was possible….if well outside our comprehension.

Revenons a nos moutons.

The BBC, aware that cricket fans deprived of their sport might run amok with Awful Consequences, decided to run commentaries on famous Test matches…five days on the trot at eight hours a day should keep them from menacing the police with bodyline bowling in the hours of daylight, thus aiding said police in their mssion to prevent people from sitting on park benches – Avoidance of Piles Caused by Corona Virus Regulations as ordained by Statutory Instrument.

The first one, the second Ashes Test of 2005, was due to start today…advertised as being at 10.30 am U.K. time, which translated as 3.30 am Costa Rican time.

Accordingly, I rose at 3.00 am in order to set up the proxy server which is supposed to kid the BBC that I am in the U.K. Why the BBC cannot understand that any number of people abroad would prefer to pay the BBC direct rather than go through this rigmarole is beyond me…

Mark you, the subscription should be for the whole range of BBC output, not that which its mandarins consider ‘suitable’, that is, unfunny comedies, so called celebrities and blasted David Attenborough, whose extinction at the hands, or claws, of some primeval monster would give me great pleasure. Preferably underwater.

Make tea while waiting for the proxy server to kick in. Am detected in such as a plaintive voice announces that it, too, would like tea…but not tea on its own…that would give rise to indigestion.

Would there be custard to go with trifle?

Trifle at 3.00 am is, in my view, akin to the Pelagian heresy. And, furthermore, there is no custard.

Express said view.

Ah…would there, in that case, be any chance of a pickled sea bass sandwich with lettuce and mayonnaise?

Said mayonnaise is a bone of contention in this household. I think mayonnaise is made with olive oil. Higher Authority, reared on frites with mayonnaise made with inferior oils, thinks sunflower oil is fine.

Not content with that, he has introduced to the household a vast jar of appalling mustard, heavy on the turmeric and vinegar and light on anything else. It is dreadful…but ought to be used. Personally I would use it to asperse the rulers of the England and Wales Cricket Board as that would certainly learn them…but we are an ocean apart. It is to be used in the fabrication of mayonnaise.

You want mayonnaise with that?

Not if it is too much trouble…in faint tones…

Make said mayonnaise, apply to sandwich, supply same and tea.

Return to computer.

The so and so BBC have cocked it up…the broadcast now begins two hours later….5.30 am.

Return to bed?

No….the floor needs washing as doggie paws have revelled in the start of the rainy season and this is an ideal time as it will dry before Danilo stamps his boots over it.

Floor washed.

Settle in front of laptop.

Name of the wee man! BBC Five Live not available!Frenzy of hiding the history, turning off, restarting…same gravy!

Turn off and go to interview the tiny black kitten dumped here some days ago, now living in a large rabbit hutch while we try to find a home for her. Very sweet and cuddly….but who wants a female kitten even if we will pay for treatments and injections?

Return to house, humming ‘Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow Wow ‘….’I’ve got a little cat and I’m very fond of that but I’d rather have a bow wow wow.’

Am greeted by Higher Authority who informs me that the lyrics of that particular ditty indicate that I prefer a penis to a vagina…according to some article in ‘The Guardian’.

I may be in total agreement, but after the the affair of the mustard and the mayonnaise am in no mood to say so.

Return to laptop. Find BBC Five Live.It works!

Marcus Trescothick is flaying theAustralian bowlers…all is well with the world…or at least it was in 2005.