I woke up this morning thinking ‘ooh, ouch
my head’
Whilst I rolled myself gingerly out of my
bed.
It wasn’t so bad that I wished I were dead
But I looked at the whites of my eyes –
they were red.
I stumbled about thinking how did this
happen
But soon I remembered: ‘twas the wee Bunnahabhain
I knew there was something - my feet, they
were itching
The urge was so strong to get down to the
kitchen
I opened the oven and all became clear
Twas the lure of cold haggis that was
lurking in there
A spoonful of tatties, a mouthful of neeps
The state of my being improving by leaps
A thimble of coffee, a bucket of milk
Slip down my throat just as smoothly as
silk
A mountain of toast, Marmite, jam, peanut
butter
The pleasure of it is complete – it is
utter.
Tearing myself from my plate and my knife
I tidy my place (cos I’m such a good wife)
It’s back up to bed with me – hmm well, for
now
I’ll get up again later, if I work out how.
The breakfast I’ve planned, for me and the
nipper,
Is quite the grand feast – poached eggs and
a kipper.
How I will eat it I really don’t know
It will be my third breakfast in a very
short row.
But eat it I must, every last bite
It will help with the aftermath of a great
Burns Night.
One thing I have learnt very well down the
years,
After nights on the whiskies, wines, ciders
and beers,
Of all of the meals, breakfasts, dinners
and lunches
There’s none so delightful as hangover
munchies
