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scotianostra · 5 years

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Robert Burns was born on January 25th 1759 at Alloway, Ayrshire.

Scotland's national poet is renowned around the world, other than Queen Victoria and religious figures there are more statues around the world to oor Rabbie than anyone else.

With people celebrating today at Burns Suppers today's post will look back at this celebration, it's history and traditions.

Remember every Burns Supper is individual and may not follow the same order or include them all.

This first supper was organised on July 21st 1801, the fifth anniversary of his passing, by the Reverend Hamilton Paul for a gathering of nine ‘honest men of Ayr’. For some years there was a question over whether a woman had been in attendance, as one of those noted had the Christian name Primrose, an uncommon name for a man. The venue was his cottage in Alloway.

The first "formal" Burns supper away from home I recall was on a weekend school trip to Innerwick in 1979, at Innerwick,it was the first timeI was called a chauvinist, and probably not the last!

It introduced all the key ingredients of the Burns Suppers we see today, namely good food, plenty of drink and friends who toasted the Immortal Memory of Robert Burns as well as reciting some of his works.

Guests at this first supper were served sheep’s head; this rarely features on modern menus! While it used to be the case that a Burns Supper was a male-only affair, this is definitely not still true.

Large Burns Suppers may have a top table for the Chairman, speakers and their partners, any special guests and the organising committee (if there is one), but you can also run a smaller and less formal affair.

The menu or Bill o’ Fare will detail what the party will be eating and usually includes a list of the speeches, speakers and entertainers. You may also find the words to ‘Auld Lang Syne’, which will be sung at the end of the evening before guests depart.

Most suppers start with a grace, most commonly ‘The Selkirk Grace’ attributed to Burns.

As a celebration night, dress can be quite formal. There’s no rule obliging a kilt to be worn but this has become common evening dress for many Scots. A dinner suit or trews (tartan dress trousers) are equally acceptable.

It should be noted that it’s very unlikely that Burns himself would have worn a kilt. He was a Lowlander and the kilt is traditionally Highland dress. It was also illegal to wear a kilt between 1747–82, in the aftermath of the Jacobite Risings.

At a more traditional Burns Night, ladies might wear a black or white dress with a hint of tartan, perhaps a tartan sash pinned to the right shoulder (only a Clan Chief’s wife should wear her sash pinned to the left).

Many suppers are ‘come as you are’. If you’re the organiser, just let your guests know how formal you intend the evening to be.

The first course is traditionally soup, either Scotch broth, cock-a-leekie or Cullen skink – all good Scottish recipes using fine Scottish ingredients.

Haggis is then served either as the main course or an intermediate course, depending on how posh your do is!

The haggis is accompanied by champit tatties (mashed potato) and neeps (mashed turnip).Sometimes carrot is mixed with the neeps, although this is not traditional. Many suppers now include a whisky sauce to accompany the haggis.

If it's a big "do" yer at the Haggis will of course be delivered on a silver platter by a procession comprising the chef, the piper and the person who will address the Haggis. A whisky-bearer should also arrive to ensure the toasts are well lubricated during "The Address to the Haggis "

There is no set tune for the piper to play, I have heard of many over the years, even the Star Wars theme during a supper with the films theme! A particular favourite of mine is A Man's A Man for A' That.

Address to a Haggis.

Fair fa’ your honest, sonsie face, Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race! Aboon them a’ ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye wordy of a grace As lang ‘s my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill, Your hurdies like a distant hill, Your pin wad help to mend a mill In time o’ need, While thro’ your pores the dews distil Like amber bead.

His knife see Rustic-labour dight, An’ cut ye up wi’ ready slight, Trenching your gushing entrails bright, Like onie ditch; And then, O what a glorious sight, Warm-reekin, rich!

Then, horn for horn, they stretch an’ strive: Deil tak the hindmost, on they drive, Till a’ their weel-swall’d kytes belyve Are bent like drums; Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive, Bethankit hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout, Or olio that wad staw a sow, Or fricassee wad mak her spew Wi’ perfect sconner, Looks down wi’ sneering, scornfu’ view On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash, As feckless as a wither’d rash, His spindle shank a guid whip-lash, His nieve a nit; Thro’ bluidy flood or field to dash, O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed, The trembling earth resounds his tread, Clap in his walie nieve a blade, He’ll make it whissle; An’ legs, an’ arms, an’ heads will sned, Like taps o’ thrissle.

Ye Pow’rs wha mak mankind your care, And dish them out their bill o’ fare, Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware That jaups in luggies; But, if ye wish her gratefu’ prayer, Gie her a Haggis!

Once the Address is complete, the Addresser gives a glass of whisky to the chef and the piper, and invites the whole company to ‘toast the haggis’.

The chef will then recover the haggis and leave the room to plate this part of the meal. Sometimes the haggis is passed around the table for guests to help themselves, adding tatties and neeps from large bowls placed on the table.

After the meal, the speeches and entertainment begin in earnest, starting with a toast to the monarch, known as The Loyal Toast.

This is followed by the main toast of the night, to The Immortal Memory of Robert Burns.

The Immortal Memory should be a heartfelt toast to the genius, life and works of our National Bard. At more formal dinners this speech focuses on a theme of Burns’s works, ending with a formal toast where all guests are invited to raise their glass.

The next speech will be The Toast to the Lassies, a reflection of Burns’s ‘appreciation’ of women. Traditionally, this takes the form of a witty reflection on the relationships between men and women, ending with the men rising to toast ‘the Lassies’.

This is followed by the Reply to the Toast to the Lassies. This should also be witty and seek to correct the previous speaker’s assumptions about women. The speech often ends with rousing applause from the women present, who then rise and raise their glasses to the men, toasting ‘the Laddies’.

At larger or more formal Burns Suppers, there may be further speeches that reflect on the guests and absent friends, Scotland and a formal vote of thanks.

The speeches are followed by entertainment – often including recitations and music. The night should end with a rousing rendition of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and three cheers, marking the end of a successful Burns Night.

#Scotland #History #Robert Burns #The Ploughman Poet

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memswrites · 7 years

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Aftercare

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs Pairing: Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya Rating: Gen. Warnings: None

Summary: Dazai's always there to bring him back, and there in the days after, too, when Chuuya needs him just a little more.

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Entry for @soukokuweek 2017, Day Two - “That’s what being a partner means, right?”

The apartment is still, almost too quiet for the middle of a weekday. Dazai has kicked everyone out – all the visitors and well-wishers, every person with curious, prying eyes and pressing questions, too. The only person he hasn’t is Kouyou, but there’s no kicking Kouyou out of anywhere and she’s left on her own already; she simply knows when space is needed.

And Dazai needs it, badly.

He leaves the living room, littered with cards and slowly browning flowers, bags of get well soon gifts and other bullshit that’ll probably end up in the trash, to head tiredly to the kitchen. There’s scotch in the cabinet with his name on it, fresh ice in the freezer and he pulls out a glass and fills it full with both. He sighs as he does, long, drawn out, too weary for someone that hasn’t cleared seventeen yet and while he’s got his mind on Kouyou and how maybe, perhaps, he could have done with her in his space after all right now, she likely wouldn’t approve of his methods of coping.

Regardless of his ill-timed regrets, he’s got his scotch, anyway, and the burn of it down his throat when he tosses it back is welcome. Dazai hasn’t been able to feel much of anything but a general, encompassing numbness since that night, and as feeling slowly ebbs on in, he can’t help the desire to chase it all away again with more burning alcohol, and feel a little less human than his mind and body are trying to make him.

It’s not the first time that they’ve done this, but each time he has hopes it’s the last time, as unlikely as that is. They still don’t have a decent handle on Corruption – no clue how long Chuuya can actually last while in it, no real idea what it even is, though Dazai has some guesses and none of them are particularly pleasant. It doesn’t really matter they’re inexperienced with the whole thing, and the fact that they can’t safely toy around with it is part of the reason Chuuya’s knocked out in his bedroom, pumped full of painkillers, practically dead to the world.

They’re tools. They’ve always been tools. Dazai doesn’t fool himself into thinking that they’re anything more to Mori; he lost that childlike ideation years ago and Mori’s never done much to prove him wrong. Perhaps to the others… yes… there’s something more there with the others, like Kouyou and old Hirotsu, and even little rabid Ryuu-kun, but the others aren’t the Boss, and what the Boss wants the Boss gets – nice little demonstration of his prized Double Black.

You could have said no. That we weren’t ready. You’re his partner, you know that better than anyone else –

Dazai shakes his head. You know better than that though, don’t you? He’d have told Mori no, if he thought it have done any good, but he knows Mori and knows sooner or later, he’d have gotten what he wanted, anyway. Mori hadn’t gotten the chance to see Corruption up close, after all, and it’s always been a fascination among the Mafia since he and Chuuya discovered it as children. Whatever other methods Mori would have used outside of a polite request would have been less than pleasant for either of them or anyone else involved. It’s as inevitable as the next drink Dazai slings back, and the second, and as unavoidable as Dazai passing out on the couch that evening.

Some partner you are.

The first thing Dazai does when he wakes up in the morning is trek to his bedroom, wobbling with a sloshing, unhappy stomach. His head feels like Kaiji exploded a truck load of lemons over it, and he can’t exactly see straight yet, but he knows his own apartment, damnit –

“Ouch, shit –!”

…except for when he stubs his toe on the door jam leading into his bedroom, it seems.

Chuuya’s still there, in his room, still in the same position on his back in the middle of his bed, arms folded atop the two layers of comforter that Dazai and Kouyou tucked him into the night before. There’s bags beneath his eyes that don’t belong there; even sleeping he looks tired, and the corners of his mouth sag down in a frown. His hair fans out over the pillows, and the vision is almost picture-book, strawberries and cream, until Dazai reaches out and runs his fingers through the sweat-greased tresses that haven’t been washed out in days.

Ahh… He’ll love that when he wakes up.

But he’s not awake yet. His chest rises and falls steady in his narcotics-induced sleep. Chuuya snores like an old man, something Dazai’s always expressed as an annoyance while finding it mildly endearing.

If he lingers any longer, he knows that he’ll start to think a little too hard on everything. So, he leaves Chuuya in his bed, giving a small little pat to his forehead, and decides to do something constructive on his day off.

The apartment is a mess, between what others brought over for Chuuya and his own mildly chaotic system. It’s a surprise to many to learn Dazai is the one that likes to live in organized chaos and not Chuuya, but Dazai knows if Chuuya wakes up to a mess after having been pushed through Corruption, a mild hospital wing stay, and no shower for days, it’ll only heat his already hot-headed mood. It doesn’t usually bother him; Chuuya’s frustrations with his sloppy living are usually amusing and really, does he care if Chuuya’s a gross, unshowered mess? Not really, not on a normal day, but it’s not a normal day and he recognizes it’s one of a few of the least things he can do at the moment, because Chuuya will care. He’s able to bring Chuuya back, after all, not fix the aftermath and that’s honestly the most annoying of the failings of his ability.

No point griping over things you can’t change.

He gathers the bags and the cards, scattered about the living room, as well as the flowers, and brings them to his bedroom. Flowers arranged on the nightstand, bags of gifts over by the window, out of the way. Cards to the nightstand, too, after he thinks about it, and then he sets to straightening the rest of the apartment.

It’s a distraction, mostly. A purposeful distraction but one nevertheless. It keeps him from looking at the clock every few minutes and instead only every hour or so, trying to gauge if Chuuya’s slept a little too long or if he can afford to let Chuuya sleep longer. Eventually it gets late enough and it’s been long enough since his last meal that he thinks it’s time to fix something to eat – and by fix, he preps instant noodles and dresses them up a little better than the packet of powder seasoning that comes with the noodles will do.

They’re good enough, for the moment. Chuuya will need more than instant noodles or… He looks through his cabinets and there’s bread that’s not too hard to make sandwiches with, and about a spoonful of peanut butter in the bottom of his peanut butter jar… rice… more rice…

He sighs. He hates cooking, and doesn’t do it very well on his own, either, but he drags his ass out after finishing up his noodles to see if he can bring back something decent for when Chuuya wakes up.

Dazai pulls a recipe from online, and has Kouyou on the phone.

“…and that’s boiled now, Dazai-kun?”

“Yes, Kouyou-san.”

“Whisk in the miso paste then.”

He does, keeping his phone propped between his shoulder and ear. He’s never made miso soup, but the simplest of recipes seemed easy enough to make. He calls Kouyou merely for a second opinion – he’s an Executive, and therefore definitely self-sufficient, after all.

“Ah, got that. Then –”

“The onions, tofu, mix those in too.”

“…alright. I think it’s all done –”

“What is?”

Dazai isn’t often taken by surprise, but he doesn’t hear Chuuya leave the room and looks over his shoulder a little wide-eyed when Chuuya speaks. Chuuya doesn’t look much better, if he’s honest, even with the twenty-six going on twenty-seven hours of sleep. If Dazai didn’t know better he’d have been steam-rolled, but that’s entirely beside the point. He stares at Chuuya, who glares tiredly back at him, before slowly approaching with stiff steps on legs that peek out under the oversized shirt Dazai put him in, with the intention being that sleeping in his shirt and boxers would be a little more comfortable than sleeping in his works clothes and harness.

Chuuya peeks into the pot of miso boiling on the stove. He sniffs at it, and Dazai’s pleased he doesn’t seem by put-off by the scent. Chuuya gives it a curious stir as Kouyou tries to get Dazai’s attention again on the other end.

“Is that him? He’s awake? Dazai-kun?”

“Hm? Ah, yes, Kouyou-san, he’s awake.”

“…how does he look?”

Like he needs another twenty-four hours of sleep. Like he’s going to topple over any second now. Like he needs to never do another damn thing Mori says again –

“Better.”

Kouyou sighs, a tired sort of relief in her voice.

“I’ll let you go, Dazai-kun. I’ll call later and check on him. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Kouyou-san.”

The line goes quiet and Dazai hangs up. Meanwhile, Chuuya’s still stirring, almost listlessly, watching the tofu and onion swirl around in the miso broth.

“Doing that won’t make it taste any better,” Dazai says after a moment. Chuuya doesn’t have to look at him for Dazai to know that he’s rolled his eyes.

“I can’t believe you cooked.” Chuuya’s voice sounds raw, like he’s speaking through a sore throat. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”

“As if I’d kill you in such a lackluster manner.”

“Heh. Funny.”

It’s not, not really, but they lapse into a silence and it’s not too uncomfortable.

“Seriously, I can’t believe you cooked. You never cook.”

“I cook.”

“Tch. Instant noodles doesn’t count. No, you don’t.” He pauses. And Dazai counts down the seconds to the inevitable question. “It was bad this time, wasn’t it? How long have I been out?”

Dazai shifts against the counter, idly playing with a loose string from one of his bandages.

“Since coming out of it, or since being here?”

“What do you think?”

“That you’re hungry, which is why you’re so annoyed.”

That’s not the case, but Chuuya doesn’t argue with him about it as Dazai pulls down a bowl. Dazai spoons it full of miso, salts and peppers and plops a spoon into it before sliding it across the counter over to Chuuya. Chuuya merely stares down at it, and then around the apartment. One of his brows raise as he does, and Dazai has the urge to slide his fingers through Chuuya’s messy, greasy hair if only to distract him.

The food does that for him, though. Chuuya takes a spoonful, and then another. He coughs, once, and Dazai realizes he was maybe a little heavy handed on the pepper.

At least it’s not killing him….

Chuuya’s tired blues scan the apartment while he eats, and it’s only a few more quite spoonfuls that he eats before he’s talking again.

“You cleaned, too.”

“How uncommonly observant.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

Trying not to.

“How’d you sleep?”

“Like shit, Dazai. Drugged shit.”

“Fun.”

“Not really.”

Dazai doesn’t have anything else to say to that, and Chuuya goes back to eating. Dazai lets him, and watches how Chuuya shovels his bites into his mouth. His hand shakes, spills a little, but he doesn’t hover too bad, only goes to grab a paper towel and hand it over to Chuuya to clean up for himself. After another few bites, Chuuya speaks again.

“Has he at least satisfied with what he saw?” Chuuya doesn’t have to say who he is.

“He said we were above and beyond expectation.”

“Well, great I guess.”

“I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.”

Chuuya pauses his bite, and looks over at Dazai. The bags that were there while he was sleeping still hang under his eyes, somehow more than they had before. Last time they had gone through with Corruption, it had been out of necessity, and it hadn’t left Chuuya looking so weary. What a waste of the ability, doing it for show, letting it drag out the way it had.

Dazai can tell that Chuuya’s not particularly convinced by his assertion, though he supposes that’s fine; he’s not convinced that Mori took it to heart, either, and can see it in the shrug that Chuuya gives before he goes back to his soup.

“You’re going to unravel those if you keep picking at them, you useless mummy.”

Dazai hadn’t realized he was still picking at his bandages, but stops and shakes his head.

“Come on. Finish up.”

“Why the hurry?” Chuuya grumbles out.

“I need a bath and you might as well take one with me, too.”

Dazai preps the bath while Chuuya finishes eating. Nothing fancy, but it’s warm and bubbly with a bit of liquid soap poured in while it was filling. Dazai strips, out of clothes and bandages and piles them out of the way on top of toilet. When he sinks into the water, he sighs, leans his head back, and waits for Chuuya.

I told him it wasn’t going to happen again.

There’s a number of ways he could make it happen, and if he thinks enough on it, a handful of those ways he could do and get away with, without getting himself into too much trouble. It’s less himself in trouble and more Chuuya, though. Mori likes using him as leverage, sometimes. Mori likes using a lot of things as leverage. It didn’t used to work… there was a point where he didn’t have a lot to care about, but now it seemed there was a lot – comparatively speaking.

I’ll tell him it’s not something that can be controlled right now, even with No Longer Human. He wouldn’t risk Chuuya like that… Chuuya’s too powerful and useful in the long run he needs him more than he needs –

“Are you trying to drown?”

Dazai opens his eyes and looks over. Chuuya’s already out of his clothes and has two towels bundled in his arms. For the first time that evening, Dazai smiles, a little.

“That wouldn’t be very pleasant, would it?”

“Don’t know; never tried to drown.”

“It’s not very fun.”

Chuuya rolls his eyes, but there’s a tug of a smirk of his own at the corner of his lips. Chuuya walks in, still wobbly even if he tries hard not to be. He sets the towels aside and lowers himself gingerly into the bath in front of Dazai, back to chest. Dazai reaches out to help him, splaying his fingers along Chuuya’s back while his other hand takes Chuuya by the wrist to steady him.

They don’t say anything while Dazai washes him. He soaps up a sponge with the same liquid soap he’d used for the bubbles in their bath, drags it and suds along Chuuya’s scarred, bruised back. He’s gentle with it, at least, while Chuuya sits and slowly his hands ease out the tension in the way Chuuya sits, until he’s slumped forward a little. He mutters something, as Dazai brings his hands up and over his shoulders.

“Hm?”

Chuuya doesn’t respond immediately, but Dazai just keeps washing him until he does.

“I said thank you,” Chuuya says, louder this time. “For the soup. For this.” Then, quieter again – “Mori’s a shit-head, you know?”

Dazai pauses at the wavering in Chuuya’s voice, used to Chuuya being free with his emotions though never quick to tears. It’s unsettling. Angering. But he knows Chuuya won’t want to be coddled even if he’s appreciative of… this. He’s always been appreciative of this, after rough missions.

His arms wrap around Chuuya, holding him about his waist while he settles his chin on Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”

#soukokuweek #skk week #soukoku #double black #fic #fics #ayyeeo

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