Wee sleekit courin timorous beastie,

Oh what a panic's in thy breastie.

Burns night in the Fleck house involved haggis, neeps and tatties, washed down with a nip (mine was chilli & ginger gin, as I don't like whisky) followed by our attempts to recite a few of his amazing poems.
Here's hoping no wee timorous beasties get caught in the kitchen tonight!