Burns' Night

The great and the good of Lilongwe came together on Saturday night to celebrate the life of that great womanising troubadour and Scotland's favourite son, Rabbie Burns, with a ceilidh at the Sunbird Capital, Lilongwe's favourite hotel. I opted to improvise a kilt from the most Scottish looking chitenje I could find. The original plan was to get it properly tailored, but I didn't manage to find the time to take it to the tailor, so I just relied on copious safety pins to preserve my modesty. The whole experience was formative. I'd always had the Scots down as simpletons who'd just never figured out how to make trousers, but I see now their tortured genius. The air flow inherent in wearing a kilt is vital in maintaining an acceptable core temperature when ceilidh dancing. Moreover, the sporran makes up for an alarming lack of pockets and the sgian-dubh is vital for fending off those friends and enemies who would wish to remove one's kilt mid-dance.

In other news, the garden is a mess because we've had the tree-surgeons in. They don't bother with ropes and harnesses here. Just shimmy up the tree with their chainsaws slung around their waists and get chopping. Proper job.