Days of Wine and Roses?

No! This was a Day of Whisky and Haggis
and of Cabers and Scotch Eggs, Hammers, Axes, Fried Mars Bars, Claymores, dancing, snowball battles, skiing, and laughter.

St Andrew's Day in Caledon.

First and foremost, I must express thanks to the following people for their contributions to the celebration:

Lord Edward Pearse, Earl of Primbroke, who so many months ago asked me if I would be interested in collaborating on the St. Andrew's Day festivities. And who created so many beautiful tartans for the enjoyment of others, organized much, created foods, notices and signs, and played wonderful Scottish and Celtic Music for the day and the Ceilidh.

Lady Kate Nicholas, Grafinya Inbir Abigh for her work on the St. Andrew's Icons, the Scottish Flags, the haggis, and a number of other things

Lady Christine McAllister, Countess of Primbroke for her assistance with creation of food items, and support.

Professor Alfonso Avalanche for his wonderful Caber Toss and Hammer Throw

Dame Lapin Paris and Phineas Matova for their great organization and good humor as they ran the Caber and Hammer Tossing Contests

Sir Telemachus Dean for his work to facilitate and participate in the Tournament of Ducal Champions - sponsored by the Loch Avie Academy of Arms.

Colonel Hotspur O'Toole for representing the Loch in the tournament.

The Winners of the competitions - as promised:

Caber Toss - Duke Regent of Kintyre, Erasmus Margulis
Hammer Toss (early)- Countess Sea Song, Autopilotpatty Poppy
Academy of Arms Tournament of Ducal Champions - Miss Alex Fitzsimmons
Hammer Toss (late) - Loch Avie's Own, Hotspur O'Toole
Snowball Fight (late) - a toss up really but - Miss Vi Paravane, TotalLunar Eclipse, Iason Hassanov, Baron Wulfenbach, and Hotspur O'Toole were all right in there with Professor Alfonso Avalanche and me.

George - My domesticated wild haggis

Address To A Haggis
by Robert Burns.

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o' the puddin-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy of a grace
As lang's my arm.

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hurdies like a distant hill,
Your pin wad help to mend a mill
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil
Like amber bead.

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

Then, horn for horn, they strech an' strive:
Deil tak the hindmost! on they drive,
Till a' their weel-swall'd kytes belyve,
Are bent like drums;
Then auld Guidman, maist like to rive,
'Bethankit!' hums.

Is there that owre his French ragout
Or olio that wad staw a sow,
Or fricassee wad mak her spew
Wi' perfect sconner,
Looks down wi' sneering, scornfu' view
On sic a dinner?

Poor devil! see him owre his trash,
As feckless as a wither'd rash,
His spindle shank, a guid whip-lash,
His nieve a nit;
Thro' bluidy flood or field to dash,
O how unfit!

But mark the Rustic, haggis-fed,
The trembling earth resounds his tread.
Clap in his walie nieve a blade,
He'll make it whissle;
An' legs, an' arms, an' heads will sned,
Like taps o' thrissle.

Ye Pow'rs wha mak mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o 'fare,
Auld Scotland wants nae skinking ware
That jaups in luggies;
But, if ye wish her gratefu' prayer,
Gie her a Haggis!

The crowd at the Caber Toss

Kintyre's Champion, Alex Fitzsimmons
Murdan's Champion, Diamanda Gustafson
The final bout

And now my collection of pictures from the wonderful day. I certainly did not capture all the fun and festivities. I covet any other pictures that may be out there. Please feel free to send them along to me as you see fit.