Burns night

Today marks the birthday of our national bard, Robert Burns. He would have been 254 years old. His songs poetry and the philosophy behind many have been gifts to the world and, according to Wikipaedia, a seminal influence on Bob Dylan.

His life and works are traditionally celebrated at Burns suppers at Burns night. In fact, I can't remember ever calling it Burns Day, it has always been Burns Night - what can that mean?

In the past, I have hated Burns night and did my best to avoid them. They used to be, and some might still be, all male affairs and that had an impact on content and behaviour. We have moved on from that; they are joyous affairs not only of Burns work but also of his legacy.

As my contribution, I went down to Biggar poetry garden where there are plaques of garden-related extracts from many Scottish poets. I found two from Burns (there might be more under the snow!) and chose this one. Burns referred to it as a 'simple old Scots song which I picked up in the country'. Simple love songs are good.

Eddie Reader's delightful version :