The Address to the Faggot

Great Rabbie Burns did sadly err,
For 'tis no haggis, the pudding chief.
Above this Scottish dish of ald,
Stand the faggots, strong and proud.
And Englishmen from o'er the land
Weep tears of joy, come dinner time.

When I were but a wee scamp, growing up in the wilds of Wiltshire (Melksham) my mum used to buy faggots from a butcher's shop in the centre of town. They were quite dry, spicy, meaty and excellent, nothing at all like the Mr Brains faggots in gravy that seem to be the only faggots that are available these days. Sad this is, very sad indeed. My faggots were excellent, I didn't have and caul to wrap them in so made them small enough to fry in butter to brown them first and stop them fallling apart. I also made some gravy with reduced Guinness and fried onion for extra flavour. I bet you wish you were me.

So my 'Around Britain Week' begins in my childhood stomping ground of Wiltshire, among the farmers, pigs, landed toffs and army firing ranges. Where to next? Suggestions are always welcome.

And to any Americans who may read this, I realise the word faggot may cause some sniggering over there but over here we love our faggots too much to be throwing the word around like an insult.


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