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Pass the Haggis . . .

1 July 2024

This past Christmastide, Mr. Milligan, he of Dear Husband and Webmaster identity, brought home what he called:


“The Commemorative Christmas 2023 Collector’s Tin of Walker’s Classic Shortbread.”


He was, of course, referring to the cookie tins where the “excess” campaign contributions to Nicola Sturgeon were buried, somewhere, in the garden out back of her house.


The lyrics from a Christian hymn sounded forth, through my comedic Scots-Irish mind.


“In the Garden” was written and composed, in 1912, by American Charles Austin Miles.  I meant, and mean, no disrespect to this old, beautiful, and beloved hymn which is one of my favorites:

“I come to the garden alone

while the dew is still on the roses . . .”

What in world went on in that stupendously stark, productive and inventive world of Scotland, auld Scotland, during the Nicola Sturgeon years??


Whilst researching and, then, writing THE GHOST, I caught more than a whiff of Miss (or Ms., or Mrs., or whatever) Sturgeon.  I opined:


“She’s cute as a button, but that’s only going to get her so far.”


I guess it got her far enough!


I also asked, aloud:

“How does someone with the name of a fish, and an unsightly one, win election after election after election among the Scots?!!”

I think we all know, now, because that fish definitely rotted from the head down!


In the bold move to Make Scotland Scots Again, the Scots citizenry are finding buried bits and pieces of the stinking hogwash that the Globalists, world-wide, have been foisting upon the unsuspecting natives of any nation, especially the natives actually born there!


While Dear Hubby can eat those rich shortbread fairly easily, I can only slowly munch down two, at most.  Three of the buttery cookies make me sick to my stomach.  And that sick-making sensation is precisely what I’ve been sensing is being felt by the Celts — everywhere in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

I wish for them to go from strength to strength, but they consistently go from outrage to outrage.  The outrage, however, is a marvelous driver for the Scots, perhaps also for the Irish.  I’ve enough of both racial genes in my lineage, and in my blood, to feel the fury that must be a weekly, if not daily, event.

Half a dozen or so years ago, I was in communication with a stained-glassmaker, an artisan, in the Highlands.  I’d purchased some lovely items from his online shop.  We got to discussing the crumbling infrastructure in each of our nations, where democratically-elected representatives of We, the People, have engaged in very little democracy and even less representation of We, the People.

In his neck of the Highlands, a grammar school had been constructed without adequate rebar in the concrete.  A collapse of one portion of the building occurred, but without any fatalities to The Children, who are The One and Only Absolute Reason for any and all political “contributions”, aka The Global Foundation.  I more aptly call it a private slush-fund.

I relayed the story of the 2017 Oroville Dam spillway failure in northern northern California. That corruption during publicly-funded construction went wayyyy back to the Governor Edmund Brown era of the 1960s.

The “official” documents-on-record to sunshine that technical history got sealed, real fast, by Governor (Son) Jerry Brown.  Geezer Moonbeam, rested and ready, had returned for his final go at the state-taxpayer-trough.  He was giving back!


There are doubtless hundreds, if not thousands of commemorative cash-tins all over the gardening landscapes of those countries of the UK, although EU suitcases in hotels in Brussels, and throughout the Eurozone, have been found, just bursting with boodle.  Here, in the USA, the graft, bribes, payoffs and payola get off-shored.  The Americans are an innovative lot!


While the lot of the working peoples in my nation sinks with the latest swindles by the unspeakably vulgar and malevolent morons At the Helm, the destinies of future heroes remain unknown.  Many of the heroes themselves remain unknown.

I like it that way.


Then there’s no chance to eliminate them from the fray, or from this Earth.


The National Bard of Scotland is Robert Burns. He was a Lowlander, and thus would most likely not have worn any tartan.  In January 2008, the venerable company of Lochcarron produced the Auld Scotland Tartan to mark his 250th anniversary to be celebrated that next year, 2009.


The creators and crafters at their mill in the heart of the Scottish Borders were inspired by the modern version of the toast of Mr. Burns to the Haggis during the annual traditional Robert Burns Dinner on 25 January.


I quote directly from the Lochcarron website, explaining the particulars of the Auld Scotland tartan:

The colours used are reminiscent of those associated with the Ayrshire countryside. The pale Yellow which is strongly featured recognises the importance of the barley used to create Scotland's National drink, whisky, traditionally used to toast the Haggis, which has itself a base of golden oats. Although Burns, being a Lowlander, would have been unlikely to wear tartan, had Auld Scotland been in existence, we feel sure he would have enjoyed wearing such a design, as would his 'drouthy cronies’ whilst perhaps gathering for a haggis supper.

Auld Scotland is quoted in the following final verse of the immortal toast.


Ye Pow's wha mak mankind your care,


And dish them out their bill o' fare,


Auld Scotland wants nae shinking ware


That jaups in luggies;


But, if you wish her gratefu' pray'r,


Gie her a Haggis!


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