Haggis is chicken vulvas wrapped in a cow’s scrotum

Dear Holly,

My husband is from Aberdeen and insists that we eat haggis to celebrate Burns night this year. I was fine with the idea until Delia from zumba revealed that haggis is made of chicken vulvas wrapped in a cow’s scrotum. Not quite as bad as a Tesco value burger, but it isn’t far off. How can I avoid eating this revolting dish without hurting my husband’s national pride?



Dear Jemima,

We’re doing a special project for Burns night at school and so we’ve been learning some of his poetry and all about his life and stuff. The first thing we learned is that Robert Burns is a rubbish speller, even worse than the kids in Mrs Penhay’s Sunshine Remedial class. I tried to read some of his poems and they were FULL of mistakes and I could hardly understand what he was saying. There’s an angry Scottish dinner lady at my school called Margaret who is ginger and shouts at you if you drop crumbs on the floor and no-one understands her either so they are probably related. The other thing we learned about Robert the Burns is that he liked to write poems about his dinner, which is a bit weird. If he was alive today he’d probably be putting videos on YouTube of him singing a rubbish song about chicken nuggets or something. Thankfully he’s dead.

Hope that helps!




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Middle class to seek Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's approval on everything

THE middle classes are not going to do anything without getting Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s explicit permission.

As the campaigning fop-forager unexpectedly withdrew his support for mackerel, wood-burning stove owners have found themselves unable to make further decisions without first knowing what Hugh thinks.

Father-of-two Tom Logan said: “The mackerel thing has just freaked me right out. It’s triggered total Hugh-based insecurity.

“What would Hugh think about these trousers I’m wearing? Would Hugh like my wife, or deem her unsuitable for me?

“Does Hugh think it’s ok to watch Holby City?

“I’m just staying on this chair until Hugh calls me on my mobile.”

Architect Emma Bradford said: “Dear god, the sands of Hugh’s approval are constantly shifting.

“Now I desperately need Hugh to tell me what I think. Not just about diet, but also about whether I might be a lesbian.

“Also cars, what is a good diesel hatchback? Hugh would know that. And more immediate things, like am I allowed to go to the toilet.

“What I feel towards Hugh is a mixture of love and terror.”