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by Lachie Strummer - 12:03 on 23 January 2009


Oh no, the season of Burns is upon us once again.
He was a great poet, a man of his time.
Only  thing I’m not sure about are Burns Suppers.
Fat bankers in tartan trousers eating haggis and downing malt whisky whilst reciting poems about poverty, mice and a horse with no tail.
Oh aye, and Eddie Reader giving it all she’s got on  television, arms flailing like a faulty wind turbine, face contorted like she’s really enjoying herself ( in the biblical sense). Not forgetting, of course,  a wee tear in her eye.

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