I’ve written about our traditions already in my blog (I COULD Link the post here…but I’m too lazy to do that…so go read all my blog post).

So I’m not a huge fan of the word “traditions” because it can be used as a tool to manipulate people into not breaking away from the “norm”.

“Why do I have to change my last name?” a daughter may ask “It’s tradition” the reply would be. (Side note – never losing my name. I refuse to become lost to history).

However some traditions do enstill a sense of familiarity which can also reduce anxiety and also bring people closer together. Having a shared bonding experience can be wonderfu.

This daily prompt came at the perfect time because I just experienced a family tradition last night: Burns Night.

So I was born in England (Torquay – Agatha Christie, Fawlty Towers, Teenage Pregnancies) but my mum and dad hail from the wonderful area of Airdrie/Cauldercruix – near Glasgow.

This means that pulsing through my veins is Scottish Blood (mixed with a bit of Irish and American). My dad never lost his accent – which is fun whenever I introduce a boyfriend to him. “What the f*** is your dad saying?” is the most common response I get.

Burns night is a celebration of the Scottish poet Robert (Rabbie) Burns.

So if Robert Burns was around today – he’d definitely have a blog or definitely be a youtuber. He was a normal working man and would write poetry about his daily life. He was an OG influencer of his time.

He wrote poems such as: “To a mouse” where he expresses his regret of destroying the hard work of a mouse (his home) which would cause the mouse to now suffer through the harsh Scottish winter.

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! It’s silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s winds ensuin, Baith snell an’ keen!

or “My love is like a red red rose” – which I think is pretty self explanatory.

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.

Robert Burns died at the age of 37 in 1796 (my age…) due to heart complications and five years after his death his friends decided to make a ritual to remember and honour him. They’d sit around, drink whiskey and eat haggis and of course discuss his poems. This has since become a yearly ritual which continues to this day.

A traditional burns supper would start with a reading of the famous poem “Address to a haggis” which was written by Robert Burns in celebration of Haggis. (I mean I’d do the same thing today – Address to Cheesy Chips after a night of drinking”.

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An’ cut you up wi’ ready sleight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright,
Like ony ditch;
And then, O what a glorious sight,
Warm-reekin’, rich!

While the haggis is piped in (bagpipes are playing) and presented on a silver plate. The poem is read while someone traditionally cuts the haggis in a theatrical way so that it pops out of it’s skin.

So that’s the “ultra traditional” burns night tradition – but we don’t do this 100% to “code”.

Our Burns night tradition is we go my dads, he prepares the haggis and potato and turnip. He’s generally extremely excited because he gets to have his family around him. He’s not great at regulating his emotions so he drinks a lot, gets loud and can be a bit annoying. My sister loses her patience and then takes over the making of the dinner while my dad fafs with getting his tartan shawl on. He then comments on how much heating is on and will insist we all take a picture of the thermometer which will show a really high number “23°C”. He’ll then proceed to take off his jumper and complain about how hot it is.

We’ll get impatient and tell him that we need to start piping in the haggis before it gets cold. We’ll spend the next 5 minutes organising where the phone will be to take the video. We’ll place the phone in the exact same place as last year. Sit down, pour the whisky and turn the music up at t a really high volume (because my dad is over excited and thus needs it all a bit louder). My nephew will cover his ears and ask “why is it so loud” and then my dad will walk in with the haggis and everything, all the drama, the stress and the annoyances will be forgotten – and we will all have the shared joy of seeing this wonderful haggis appear onto the table.

My dad will cut it and we will all clap with awe and wonder – and then we will start to eat. And it will always be delicious – and we will comment on that and the family will be drama free for the next 30 minutes as we just enjoy the food and light conversation (because there is no deep conversation when a haggis is present)

So this is our tradition which I’m happy to partake in each year, as it doesn’t mean I’ll become invisible or be forced to stay with a man I don’t love because – it’s tradition.

Thanks for reading 🙂

XOXOXOXOXO