![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRofC3AwBspFptaeDXNp05qtenQbSTqfep04LkEKLhPfH09q_3r3cFmFGycvRKf4MF34EVPtoJpziSWMAD_uNgHNLnWZ6bsZfm8-Thyphenhyphen-_HkwTKRVS31OAjF-g6gMSVLGRe0La_pAD4GJ0/s640/..January-1-6.jpg)
25 January, Burns Night. Today is the 250th anniversary of the birth of Scotland's poet Robert Burns, and we're just about to sit down to our family Burns Supper. The neeps (yellow turnip) have been mashed, the tatties (potatoes) are nearly ready, and the haggis is (shock! horror!) about to have its 5 minutes in the microwave. Even more heretical, we're having vegetarian haggis. The children are probably haggised-out. Haggis will have been on the school lunch menu this week, and my son went to the school Burns Supper for senior pupils, resplendent in the young Scottish male's 'kilt casual' look: kilt with untucked and open necked striped or floral shirt.
But I'm not showing you any of this. Instead, an example of the reach of Robert Burns into every area of Scottish life - the Robert Burns milk carton. The thatched cottage is his cottage in Alloway. The plough represents his harsh early life as the son of a tenant farmer. Enough history - I'm off for my haggis.
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