In anticipation of Burns' night on Sunday, I'm listening to Eddi Reader's towering versions of the great man's songs.
Whilst I work here on a tricky problem involving partial type indicators for inbound roaming I can simultaneously identify with the life, loves and struggle of a sixteenth century tenant farmer. It's a strange, but not entirely unpleasant, combination. There are more parallels than you might imagine.
Well not really but Burns words have an undeniable resonance and relevance to my country (from which I'm in exile [1]) even now. Especially now!
Time to get rid of this piece of shit phone, I'm thinking. It's just suggested gaggis and haggip before making me spell haggis.
What a dope. WTF is a gaggis?
[1] Well ... not really.
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