I had my annual dose of Burns the other night. Let me re-phrase... I was at a Burns Supper last weekend.
300 men in a large hall, eating haggis, drinking whisky etc, listening to Burns’ poetry and the guest speakers’ dirty jokes. What’s not to love?
For an evening all of these men are kept enthralled by the great man’s work, but the shame is... and I’m making a guess here, but I would think the bulk of the audience then forget about him until next year’s Burns’ Supper. As for looking at other poetry? Fuggedaboutit.
Also... I’m all for being proud of our national bard, his work is known throughout the planet and brings a gazillion visitors to our shores every year, but can he not be the be-all-and-end-all? Scotland has a host of fantastic poets and authors and guess what? Lots of them are still alive!!!! And what’s more lots of them could do with making a living at it.
Don’t get me wrong, Burns deserves his place, but too much attention on the dead guy gives no room to the peeps who could turn out to be the nation’s future literary stars.
Just sayin’.
Anywho, back to the Supper. The speakers and performers were, to a man, brilliant. As usual I spent the night laughing at the anecdotes and jokes and thinking; I must remember that, I must remember that, I must remember that.
Here are a couple I managed to store in the old gray cells.
One speaker tried to give a definition of poetry in comparison to prose.
He said, “There was a young woman from Madras.
Who went in to the water up to her knees.
This is prose. If she had kept on walking it would have been poetry.”
Another speaker talked about young Johnny who was asked a question by his teacher. There are 8 crows on the wall, the teacher said, if the farmer shoots one how many are left?
None, said Johnny. Because the sound of the gun would have made them all fly away.
The actual answer is 7, said the teacher but I like the way you’re thinking.
I’ve a question for you, said Johnny. There are three women on a park bench eating an ice-lolly. One is licking, one is biting and one is sucking the lolly. Which one is married?
The one who is sucking, said the teacher.
No, said Johnny, it’s the one wearing the wedding ring. But I like the way you’re thinking.
Another guy talked about visiting his old stomping ground (a local small seaside town that has a bit of a rough rep) when he still worked in the local police force. He walked along the seafront to a public convenience. He was delighted to recognise the caretaker from his time there all those years ago. ‘Howzitgaun?’ he asked the ol’ fella.
The ol’ fella mashed his guns before replying. ‘Know what? With all these dope-heads, junkies and homosexuals, it’s a breath of fresh air when someone comes in here for a shite.”
And on that note, I’m offski.
Laters.
ps
If any of the jokes I've replayed cause offence you can register said offence at www.whogivesafuck.com
