PAUL:	Two hundred years since the 
	great Robbie Burns curdled his 
	final brogue, and the Scottish 
	and Hibernophile community of 
	St. John’s is puffing up the 
	bag and pipes to celebrate the 
	bard. I’m under one of many 
	tents here on the grounds of 
	St. Andrew’s Kirk, and there’s 
	fun and excitement all around.  
	Joining me now is committee 
	chair of the Robbie Burns 
	bicentennial, Fiona Muir.  

FIONA:	Great to ha’ ye here, Paul.

PAUL:	Clarification, Fiona: Burns 
	died on July 21st, 1796.  Why 
	the October kickoff?

FIONA:	A full year of events wouldee 
	cost a wee fortune, so we 
	decided te hold off till now 
	and go straight through te 
	Hogmanay,

PAUL:	I see, so--

FIONA:	Oh. Mind that caber, Paul!

PAUL:	Woaahhh!

FIONA:	Aye.  A great tosser, that 
	lad.  You should see the 
	testacles on him -- they’re 
	incredible.

PAUL:	I’m sure.

FIONA:	Ya’ought to have a look --

PAUL:	Maybe later.

FIONA:	like two great melons.

PAUL:	I’ll bet.  So, tossing the 
	caber... What else is on the 
	go?

FIONA:	Startin’ up a bit later -- 
	all-Scots Dours ‘ll be 
	playin’--, and there’s a 
	Scottish fashion 
	retrospective.

PAUL:	Those dapper Scots.

FIONA:	How about startin with a bit 
	o’ whisky-tasting?

PAUL:	Well, maybe a whiff.

FIONA:	The finest selection ever 
	assembled outside Scotland. 
	What’s your pleasure?

PAUL:	I recognize some of these: 
	Cardhu, Glenfiddich.  What’s 
	the rarest you’ve got?

FIONA:	Ah, well there’s the 
	Slugmagenmore, but my personal 
	favourite is the 
	Cragalachadülichvulin.

PAUL:	Well, gorgeous colour.  I used 
	to love the single malts.

FIONA:	This one’s a half-malt, very 
	rare ... but don’t worry, I’ll 
	pour you a double.  (has a 
	good laugh at her own joke)  
	Hah-ha-ha...!  Ooh, that’s 
	good.  Ah, Paul...! 

PAUL:	Well, I see you’ve been by 
	this table already. 

FIONA:	Aye, I’m loaded drunk, 
	actually.  I’ve been drinking 
	since the wee hours... it’s 
	tradition.

PAUL:	Lovely peatie aroma... Oh, 
	that’s soooo good.  Highland 
	malts...

FIONA:	No, lowland --very low...

PAUL:	I can smell the heather, 
	and... what’s that sharp edged 
	scent..?

FIONA:	That would be the meths.  
	Drink up, Paulio.

PAUL:	Oh no, I couldn’t.  Haven’t 
	had a drink in years.

FIONA:	“Tell me whisky’s name in 
	Greek, 	I’ll tell thee 
	reason.”

PAUL:	Well, maybe just roll it 
	across 	the tongue to honour 
	the bard.  	(sips) 
	Mmmmmmnnnnn... (spits out)

FIONA:	Are you mad?: retail that’s 
	five dollars o’ whisky you 
	just spit oot, man.
	
PAUL:	Believe me, you wouldn’t want 
	to see me back on the whisky.  
	
FIONA:	Nonsense!  Here, gimme that! 
	(snatches and gulps)  Let’s 
	check out the cock-a-leekie.

PAUL:	Great!  You know, I’ve always 
	had a soft spot for Scottish 
	cuisine.

FIONA:	Well, you’re in for a treat.

PAUL:	Look at this spread!  I don’t 
	believe this -- all my 
	favourites: mealy pudding, 
	kedgeree, bashed neeps...

FIONA:  	Aye, and tattie drottle, and 
	look, Paul...

PAUL:	Herring and Oatmeal Pie!  Oh 
	my god!

FIONA:	And a gorgeous Atholl Brose.

MAN:	Excuse me, yer wanted at the 
	cash, Fiona.

FIONA:	Back in a moment, Paul.  Dig 
	in.	

PAUL:	Wow!  Would you just look at 
	that haggis! (quotes) “Great 
	Chieftain o’ the puddin’ 
	race!”

MADSCOT:	So!  It’s dinner ya want is 
	it?

PAUL:	Ya, are you in charge here?  
	That would be great.

MADSCOT:	Well, if it’s dinner ye want, 
	then it’s dinner ye’ll get!

PAUL:	And you are...?

MS:	Oh, I’ve got a recipe fer you, 
	Paul Moth!

PAUL:	Excuse me?

MS:	Aye: a Moth broth! (laughs 
	maniacally)

PAUL:	A Moth broth.  That’s funny.

MS:	A curse upon the Moth clan and 
	all its seed!

PAUL:	Look, I think there must be 
	some mistake...

MS:	Aye, a mistake there was... a 
	black mistake that robbed the 
	Kilmarnock Camerons of their 
	domains -- and you, Paul 
	Stlaurent Boothby Moth, ha’ 
	been livin’ off those ill-
	gotten gains, and now I’m here 
	to collect the rent!
	
PAUL:	Look, this is crazy.  We’ve 
	never met.

MS:	(sings) Should old 
	acquaintance be forgot, and 
	never brought to mind...

PAUL:	Anyway, the Kilmarnock 
	Camerons... my family’s not 
	from Scotland -- I’ve never 
	even been to Scotland.

MS:	Does the battle of Culloden 
	not ring a wee bell?  The 
	black infamy of the Dutch-
	English treaty of Schleswig-
	Larraine?!!

PAUL:	Really, I just don’t know what 
	you’re talking about...
	
MS:	Some bra bricht moonlicht 
	nicht not too remote, we’ll 
	meet again, Paul Moth -- for 
	dinner! 

FIONA:	How’re ye makin’ out, Paul?

SFX:	BAGPIPES BEGIN HONKING.

MADSCOT:	There’s death in the cup -- so 
	beware.

PAUL:	What a strange character!
 
FIONA:	I’ll say.

PAUL:	Who is that guy?

FIONA:	A very, very dangerous man.  
	His name is Alec Sinclair, or 
	... no, Fraser McNiven, or 
	Mcsomething, or I’m not really 
	sure... but he’s a very 
	dangerous man.

PAUL:	He seems to have mistaken me 
	for someone else.  Really 
	riled up.

FIONA:	I’d be much afeared.

PAUL:	Why’s tha--

FIONA:	Oh, mind that caber!

PAUL:	Woahhh!

FIONA:	Come on, Paul, let’s dig in to 
	the fancies.

PAUL:	No, I don’t know, I’ve lost my 
	appetite for some reason, but 
	thank you so much for showing 
	us around here, Fiona Muir.

FIONA:	Pleasure.

PAUL:	And I urge everyone to come on 
	down to St. Andrew’s Kirk and 
	celebrate the death of this 
	great poet.

FIONA:	“If there’s another world, he 
	lives in bliss; if there is 
	none, he made the best of 
	this.”

PAUL:	Aye.

FIONA:	Aye.



Page 10 of 10