Ah yes and evening of insults. What was that Glen called me (in Address to the haggis)? Slender stump? Then another barb in Immortal memory. I'm sure that had I'm lucky that I don't understood Scot. Then there was the pokes at England and as her sole representative I'm lucky I wasn't burned at the stake in proxy. All that I could weather after all it was not my first Burn's night with this bunch. But then from 2252.63 miles away, from the acid dripping keyboard of Panache and his Nor-Cal Rabble come fresh insults for so many SOKS around the table. I shall not repeats short of saying that it reduced poor Improv1 to inconsolable sobs and to reveal my personal plight to unite G. gallus domesticus plasticus. Other than that I had a plesent evening, I looked resplendant in my ancient MacLachlan.