Belated Burns Night summary

Perhaps I was just so overcome by the epicurean excess of January 25th that it has taken me until now to recover fully - at least to the point of sufficient coherence to cut and paste and captionize for some sort of recollection of that night.

In any event, here is a small and woefully insufficient recap of that wonderful evening, nearly two weeks ago.

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After we were all seated, the very first thing (after the head table is piped in) is the Address to a Haggis.  A proper oration of that poem is an art form unto itself - your scotch brogue has to be flawless; your manner effete, haughty and reverent; your knife-hand steady as a surgeon's; and your anticipation palpable enough to rival oatmeal for viscosity. 

It's so awesome.

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Then, it's just frikkin' cool that it gets piped back out on a silver platter, escorted by septuagenarians with claymores.  Mind me another dish what can make THAT claim, eh?!

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My regular annual table mates:
James (the best man at my wedding), his dad Peter, and Neil, who's the chairman of the provincial Capital Health board.  (This event is one of the year's best opportunities to rub elbows with some of the local and provincial political elite, if you're into that sort of thing.  Me, I go for the haggis.)

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The lassies (yes, they wear underwear) stepping very lightly as they each prance about two crossed swords on the floor. 

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A brand new addition to the Bill this year was a performance by the PPCLI Drum Corp.  I think it's pretty hard these days to look good in pith helmets, but these guys totally pulled it off.  They also performed under black lights with the house lights turned off to further emphasize their precision, which was outstanding.

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See?  A drum corp performing under black lights.  (That's, like, a 10-second exposure, totally free hand.  Sorry.)

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Every year, the official Burns Club piper plays a few skirls on the Waterloo Pipes, a set of bagpipes that was played at the Battle of Waterloo - so they're kind of old.  Watching him stride up and down the centre aisle while 500 men stare rapt at a lone piper is one of the highlights of the night.

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The final entertainment of the evening is always the Alberta Caledonia Pipe Band.  The dear, departed author Dorothy Dunnett has always, in my mind, had the best description of the sound of bagpipes:

Then a desolate, mammoth, mourning Troll inflated its lungs and uttered. Through the shocked air tore a stern, snoring shriek followed by another. It became a united bray; the bray a wobble; the wobble a tune. High above the gallery balustrade swam a human head, inhumanly antennaed; the cheeks plimmed, the eyes closed, the fingers leaped, and all audible hell released itself.

That's exactly what listening to a Grade 1 pipe band is like.

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Then, when all is done, the entire room disperses, mourning the 364 day wait ahead of us until next year.

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I cornered a guy to take a shot of the three of us as we were leaving for the night.

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And one more, just for the ladies in the audience:

Comments

[Dave]

Wow, I never knew you were Scottish Simon!!!

Excellent story and pictures... Someday I hope to visit Scotland.. (I've already been to England and Ireland...)

Again, excellent job.

[Moksha Gren]

Wonderful recap, Si. I'm glad you had such a good time. I have to admit though that the image of a plate of haggis being paraded in like a king is a bit surreal to me. But then...maybe some of my favorite foods could benefit from a claymore filled entrace. I mean...what couldn't really?

I really do wish sometimes that I had some sort of cultural anchor like you do. Pure-blooded American mutt that I am, I don't have many roots that go any deeper than my grandparents. I envy that

I love the last photo. Curse my hectic work right now...such delightful photoshop possibilities had I the time ;)

[Alec]

"And then, O what a glorious sicht,
Warm-reekin, rich!"

Only with Scots and haggis, would "reekin" mean something positive.

Oh, and may I say that's an impressively sized censored bubble you've got there.

[Terri]

That's a pretty big censor sign you've got there. Amy must be pleased!

[Paula]

Well, THAT was worth the wait.

[Émilie B]

I like the next-to-last pic best, sorry. Scrolling slowly down, it goes "classy tux, classy tux, classy tux... skirts!". Mind, they're classy skirts. ;)

[Mark]

Yay! Burns night looks and sounds like an absolute blast. I couldn't help noticing that you looked like one of the few young folks there. Is attending Burns Night a dying art?

I feel like Moksha does -- a little envious (dare I ascribe that to him?) over your having such a rich cultural tradition. I have Irish blood, and might pass for such considering my freckles, but then my blue eyes might ruin it. Oh well.

Plus, the Scots get to wear kilts and all that garb.

Just a cool wrap-up, man. And my meeting with a bagpiper wasn't nearly as much fun, I'm sure.

[Simon]

Dave,

Technically, I'm only about a quarter Scottish, the rest being comprised of mostly German, Polish, and rumours of Irish. But I have the Scotch last name, and kilts are uber-cool, so I ran with it.

Moksha,

A good time was had by all, indeed. As it is every year. The surreal aura does nothing but add to that. And cultural anchors are good, to be sure. They still don't count for balls if you don't have a reliable sense of self that doesn't depend upon it. And if photoshop were important enough to you, you'd make the time! ;)

Alec,

Every time I think of (or have the pleasure to eat) haggis, I can only ever think of that line from Mike Myers in "So I Married an Axe Murderer," where he said, in response to someone's critique of haggis, "I think most Scottish cuisine is based on a dare."

Terri,

Amy is pleased, generally. That's all I'll say. And a large part of me hopes she doesn't say any more.

Paula,

So, it was good for you too, eh?
;)

Émy,

Classy skirts is a highly acceptable alternative to calling them kilts. Thanks.

Mark,

I don't think attending Burns suppers is a dying art. In fact, it's quite alive and well. Burns suppers are held - in some form or other - in well over 100 countries around the globe. In fact, between the day preceding the 25th and the day after, it would be safe to say that there is a Burns supper going on every minute of the day for that entire span of time. The issue with our own local Burns supper is that it's very much an Old Boys' Club, and you have to know someone who knows someone in order to get in. Takes a while to earn that right, for most.

[moira boot]

Hi
Is it posible to get a copy of the response from the lassies at your last burns supper?
thank you