Burns Night

Today is the birthday of the famous 18th century Scottish poet, Robert Burns. When the Englishman was in the Navy Burns Suppers to celebrate this date were a regular fixture on the social calendar. I'm not sure if this was a naval thing - many of the bases were in Scotland - or just a fashion thing, but the evening would inevitably be a rowdy affair with Haggis and too much drinking.

Tonight, however, instead of celebrating Burns, we are going to celebrate Shakespeare, by going to see Julius Caesar with an all-female cast at The Donmar Warehouse in Soho. Should be interesting.

So I thought I'd share with you a favourite poem by Burns, to pacify his restless soul (I'm guessing here).
 

A Red, Red Rose O my Luve's like a red, red rose,  That's newly sprung in June:  O my Luve's like the melodie,  That's sweetly play'd in tune.  As fair art thou, my bonie lass,  So deep in luve am I;  And I will luve thee still, my dear,  Till a' the seas gang dry.  Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,  And the rocks melt wi' the sun;  And I will luve thee still, my dear,  While the sands o' life shall run.  And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!  And fare-thee-weel, a while!  And I will come again, my Luve,  Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

Red roses have a special significance to the story of The Englishman too, so you can imagine why I like this poem so well!

Hope you have a good time if you are going to a Burns Supper tonight!