So, it's still January then...

This month seems never ending but at last, Friday introduces February.  As it goes this hasn't been a particularly depressing endless grey month.  Instead we had quite a few sunny if cold days, no snow - much to the chagrin of Eldest - so instead we had to import snow from the nearby town of Falkirk.

We went in to the cinema to see Les Miserable (sob sob poor Gavroche!) and came out to see our little car with a cosy, snow blanket.  Much joy was had with an impromptu snow fight which caused a lot of bewilderment amongst passing drivers in the car park as old ladies such as I am are not meant to be firing well aimed snowballs at their sons.  Yah boo sucks to that!

I realise this mundane post focusses too much on the British obsession of weather and I do not wear a British mantle easily so we'll just say Scottish are as obsessed too.  And with better reason as, unlike this year, we usually get a boot in the rear from it during winter.  I miss the snow.  Plus the boys major disappointment at *no* *snow* *days*!

As well as cinema day, last Friday was Burns night when the kind of people Robert Burns himself parodied heavily in his work hold feasts of haggis to celebrate the great man, no sense of irony at all.  This is one of my favourites and perfectly encapsulates everything I think of politicians although it was originally (I believe) aimed at those Scottish Lords who handed Scotland to an arranged marriage with England.

Such A Parcel Of Rogues In A Nation

Fareweel to a' our Scottish fame, 
Fareweel our ancient glory; 
Fareweel ev'n to the Scottish name, 
Sae fam'd in martial story. 
Now Sark rins over Solway sands, 
An' Tweed rins to the ocean, 
To mark where England's province stands- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 

What force or guile could not subdue, 
Thro' many warlike ages, 
Is wrought now by a coward few, 
For hireling traitor's wages. 
The English stell we could disdain, 
Secure in valour's station; 
But English gold has been our bane- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation! 

O would, or I had seen the day 
That Treason thus could sell us, 
My auld grey head had lien in clay, 
Wi' Bruce and loyal Wallace! 
But pith and power, till my last hour, 
I'll mak this declaration; 
We're bought and sold for English gold- 
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!