Had to go to hospital yesterday. As I sat in the waiting room, a nurse popped in and said “The best laid schemes o' mice an' men Gang aft a-gley, An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain For promis'd joy.”
Later, a doctor came in and said “Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face,
Great chieftain o the puddin'-race!
Aboon them a' ye tak your place,
Painch, tripe, or thairm:
Weel are ye wordy o' a grace.”
I went to the receptionist to ask if I was in A&E, she replied, “No, this is the Burns unit.”