Today is the birthday of the famous 18th century Scottish poet, Robert Burns. When the Englishman was in the Navy Burns Suppers to celebrate this date were a regular fixture on the social calendar. I'm not sure if this was a naval thing - many of the bases were in Scotland - or just a fashion thing, but the evening would inevitably be a rowdy affair with Haggis and too much drinking.
Tonight, however, instead of celebrating Burns, we are going to celebrate Shakespeare, by going to see Julius Caesar with an all-female cast at The Donmar Warehouse in Soho. Should be interesting.
So I thought I'd share with you a favourite poem by Burns, to pacify his restless soul (I'm guessing here).
A Red, Red Rose
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.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!
And fare-thee-weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!
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Red roses have a special significance to the story of The Englishman too, so you can imagine why I like this poem so well!
Hope you have a good time if you are going to a Burns Supper tonight!
