The good news is that a more pacific spirit has instigated a coup against the ruling kleptocracy that has of late been presiding in my belly. The body politick responsible for drafting the epistles that appear here is thus restored to its traditional, harmonious constitution. Which is all to the good. That said, the rest of my week will be spent making sure that I've fully committed to the blank sheet of memory Robert Burns' Address to a Haggis before delivering the rousing, culinary ode to the assembled come Friday. To that effect, lest anyone hasn't seen it, I wanted to mention a BBC wheeze of last year, in celebration of the 250th anniversary of Burns' birth. Various warm-voiced actors and brass-throated orators came together to create an archive of his poetry, not rendered in simple text, but accompanied by warm, mellifluous recordings. There are now 410 works distilled in this collection.