To read the latest issue, click 'Issues by year' in the menu above

A Scot deprived of usquebaugh
Is very disinclined to laugh.

He’s short of bounce; he lacks panache.
His face is glum, his heart an ache.

He will not dance a gladsome reel
Or gaily strum a ukelele.

He won’t drink Babycham, nor take
A glass of Malibu or sake.

Whatever other drink you pour,
He’ll look extremely dour and sour.

Yet, I have noted, in his doles
He shuns excessive hyperboles

But quite exclusively emotes
In gruffly-accented litotes,

And even when the precious fluid
Comes at last, just says, “That’s guid.”


George Simmers
(from An Essay on Rhyme and other verses)