Jennifer writes:

I hope you're doing sth in honour of our national poet this weekend. (no, not McGonagall, but I fear Tay Bridge Disaster may get an airing at my gaff the morn's night).

Jonathan is charged with a toast to the lassies, and being a fairly literary type, has done something iambic or euphoric or something. He should just stick to Cock up yer Beaver and other such Rabbie classics.

For once, I'm not involved in a Burns night. But I am going to dinner with J.R. Firth's grandson. I will wear my kilt, though, and maybe give them a bit of a recital.

B-)