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The Flarks

A  great night with Mary and Don, a Burns-ish Supper with sixteen at the table for a traditional menu, complete with MacSween’s haggis, imported somehow from Edinburgh. Thanks to both of them and to Melanie and Alan who provided great support. Perhaps one day, if I feel mischievous, I will organise a MacGonagall Supper, in celebration of Scotland’s other bard, Sir William Topaz MacGonagall, acknowledged even in his own lifetime as the world’s worst poet.

Essentially a MacGonagall supper is a Burns Supper in reverse, beginning with the poetry, whisky and cigars, followed by Cranachan, main course, haggis, all the way to the soup. However, variations are permissible; I have heard of one MacGonagall night that began with a stripper putting her clothes on. The truest of the true, though, is, they say, one that begins with the celebrants throwing up in the car park.

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