Happy Birthday, Mr Burns

When making a speech along the lines of an 'Answer for the Lassies' at a Burns Night Supper it, apparently, is supposed to be elegant, sweet and, well, not too long. And, mine would have been all of these, or none of these, but it would've gone okay. I planned to speak about the difficulty of trying to make gay repartee about the gentler sex (read = male and 'all the time, please') without resorting to the base level of just plain sexism.

I would then have gone on to explain (or commiserate with my sisterhood) that this was quite a challenge but, as I am from the stronger sex, do-able. I had lined up a short burst of analysis on whether Rabbie himself, being now of the age 250 years, would be a 'grumpy old man' were he still of this mortal coil. Together with some of what he may have thought of the lack of buses on our roads, the price of a pint and the slow speed of the Internet, in this modern (for us, very rural) world.

I had found a poeti account of how our male counterparts could score points with their women folk, in the bums and bigness realms, etc. Though, having sired at least 14 illegitimate children, he clearly had such a way with women that he could point the modern man in the right direction. Meanwhile taking advice on where he could locate a working condom machine.

However, all was not to be. The cold still rages within this house and home. We, feeling ill and sick with guilt, had to cancel our attendance at our pal's hostelry. Where, thankfully, Kathryn still has a copy of her last year's speech, which she was happy to deliver.

Speaking of deliveries, we did wonder if we could email them, to send us our haggis, tatties and neaps - as we'd nothing in for our dinner!

Gah.