Burns Suppers

The Meenister’s Log

At this time of year, many different groups of people get together to celebrate the birthday of the Scottish Bard, Robert Burns (not to be confused with Rabbi Burns who was the Jewish comedian George Burns’ cousin)

Robert Burns

Weirdly,   it is assumed that the Parish Minister can add to the speechifying, even if, like me, you know or care little about our national poet.  It’s also assumed that all Ministers are excellent singers (I’m tone deaf) and can recite “Tam o’ Shanter” by heart and with all the appropriate actions (I’ve got such a poor memory that even after forty years of ministry, I have to READ the Lord’s Prayer!)

Anyhow…..

……..here are two examples from different speeches made a long time ago (and for those of a sensitive disposition, please don’t read the latter)

A wee Glesga fella decided one night to play “Partick Roulette”  For those unfamiliar with this phrase – it means frying chips when you’re pissed.

So the pan catches fire and he catches fire with an extra whoosh as he’s wearing a spilled alcohol sweater.

He ends up in hospital swathed in bandages.

To his surprise, out of the corner of his one remaining eye, he sees John Wayne, and the Duke is muttering something like “Oh, my love has a red red nose”

“OMG” he thinks, “I’m hallucinating – nae mare Lighter Fluid fur me”

Then – it can’t be Clint Eastwood, surely?  The “Man with no Name” is reciting “Wee, cowboy timorous feastie”

And Roy Rodgers “Tam o’ Sea shanty”

Enough!  “Nurse!”

“Nurse, where the hell am I?”

“In the bad burns unit”

“Where?”

“In the Western”*

* Western Infirmary, Glasgow  

WARNING – the following is “R” rated – do not read if easily offended (but I bet you will….)

This was at an all male Burns’ Supper in a former mining village:

Jean Armour was worried and agitated.  Her Rabbie hadn’t been home for a couple of nights.

Her friend tried to comfort her, “Och, ye ken whit he’s like, he’ll be hame soon”

And with that, staggering down the street came the man himself, holding a bunch of flowers (probably taken from St Michael’s Kirkyard).

“Here he is!  And he’s brocht ye flooers”

To which Rabbie’s long suffering wife responded, “You know what this will mean?”

“Whit, lass?”

“I’ll be lying on my back all night with my legs apart”

“Oh, dae ye no have a vase?”

http://www.youtube.com/embed/k2NvX6GLlYU

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Filed under The Ramblings of a Reformed Ecclesiastic

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