I’m not Scottish. As far as I’m aware, I don’t have any Scottish heritage. Neither does Owen. However, eating haggis with neeps, tatties and whisky sauce on Burns Night has somehow become a tradition for us since we first moved into our flat over three years ago. Come to think of it, most of the traditions in our home revolve around food and drink – eating pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, making elderflower cordial in June and, more recently, making parkin for Bonfire Night.
We’d originally planned on having our Burns Night dinner last night, after going to the pub in celebration of January Payday Friday (sweet, sweet January Payday Friday). However, you know how these things go – you’re persuaded to stay for another drink, and then to go out for something to eat instead of going home to cook. So, our Burns Night was tonight instead. And very tasty it was too, eaten while watching the Pixar film Brave, appropriately enough.