The Water of Life

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far away, there lived a Good King who had (of course) three sons. Long before his time the Good King grows ill, and nothing can cure him; the princes try to find a way to save him but are at a loss until one day a little old woman (or a tiny old man, or a magical dwarf or a talking bird, depending on the story) tells them, "Fetch thy father the Water of Life, which shall surely make the Good King whole again." Of course, being a Good King, their father protests when the Eldest brother announces he is going to set off on this Great Quest, but the Eldest Prince is too determined; however, being the Eldest Prince, he is selfish and greedy, and rude to woodland animals and to old women/men/dwarves at crossroads. Always a bad plan. And of course, he gets himself trapped in a magical valley, or put under a curse, or turned to stone, because that is what happens to stupid Eldest Princes. The Second, also stupid Prince fares in a similar fashion, refusing to share his food with strangers/listen to their advice/cut their nails, and so the the Second Prince also gets trapped/cursed/petrified. (I feel like at some point, the Second Princes of the world must have started to notice a trend... except they are always vain and self-absorbed, so of course not.)

The Youngest Prince decides that his father the Good King wasn't heartbroken enough after losing two sons to their own idiocy, and decides to follow them to try to find the Water of Life. He is kind and honest and virtuous and humble and beautiful, of course, and little birds perch fearlessly on his his shoulders and baby bunnies skip about his feet. When he eventually encounters the stranger at the crossroads (old man, shall we say) he immediately offers to give the man his cloak for warmth and to share his food with him. The Old Man snorts, and says, "It's July you bloody great idiot, why on earth would I want your cloak?!" then sighs and munches on half of the Youngest Prince's BLT while telling him how to avoid the dangerous curses and spells, and giving him some loaves of bread to fend off hungry lions, and warning him not to taste the Water of Life himself. Off the Youngest Prince goes, singing to his woodland friends, while the Old Man sits back down, muttering "Bloody pansy." The Youngest Prince feeds the hungry lions, breaks the magic spells with his blinding good looks and humble charm, captures the heart of the (obviously beautiful and rich) Princess who guards the Water of Life, frees his idiot brothers and after having a lot of adventures in which he proves he is a First Class Hero and not a pansy at all, returns to his languishing father the Good King. The conniving, jealous Elder Princes had swapped the bottle of the Water of Life for a bottle of seawater, so that they would be favored in the Youngest Brother's stead, and the Good King coughs and chokes and splutters while the Youngest Prince scratches his head in naive confusion. When the Good King weakly raises the goblet of the real Water of Life to his lips, however, a strange expression of elation and amazement passes over his ravaged visage. "Is it working?" asks the Eldest Brother. "Are you healed?" demands the Second Brother. "What's going on?!" cries the Youngest Brother, as the Good King sits bold upright in bed. "By George!" The Good King exclaims, "That is the best whiskey I have ever tasted!" He scrambles out the bed, and grabs the bottle from the stunned Eldest Brother, holding it possessively against his chest, while beginning to dance a Highland Jig. "So smooth, such a delectable finish, such an incredible aroma! It truly is The Water of Life!"


Thus, the Whiskey Society of the University of Edinburgh was born.

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Apologies to everyone for the absolute ridiculousness, and to the Brothers Grimm for my irreverent retelling of their wonderful tale which may or amy not have actually been involved in the christening of the University Society dedicated to the appreciation of Scotch. Said society, of which I am not a real member, threw a Burn's Night ceilidh and whiskey tasting party which I was lucky enough to attend. I know I said the outing last weekend was one of the best nights of my life but by golly this one was too! Not because of the whiskey (I do not know enough about it to appreciate its subtleties I suppose) but because of the live band playing traditional music, the hilarity of Burn's night festivities in general (the night celebrating the renowned Scottish poet Robert Burns), and DANCING! Ceilidh (pronounced kay-lee) dancing of the Scottish variety is ridiculously fun, in my humble opinion. It's sort of like line- or contra-dancing, mixed with a little bit of highland- or Irish-step-dancing, with a little bit of waltzing and polka-ing on the side. (Like the group dancing they have a Dicken's Fairs actually...) If you know me at all, you can imagine how much I LOVED this! The band was brilliant, the company was wonderful, and I danced literally until my legs ached. Halfway through the evening, they served a haggis (still haven't had any yet, it was very small and really just to keep up tradition rather than to eat) and read Robert Burn's "Address to the Haggis" in full, broad Scottish brogue. Apparently this is part of a traditional celebration of Burn's Night, as is the consumption of said haggis, accompanied by "neeps and tatties" otherwise known as turnips and potatoes.

Address to the Haggis

Robert Burns

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 of a grace 
As lang's my arm. 

The groaning trencher there ye fill,
Your hudies like a distant hill, 
Your pin wad help to mend a mill 
In time o' need,
While thro' your pores the dews distil 

Like amber bead. 

His knife see rustic Labour dight,
An' cut ye up wi' ready slight,
Trenching your gushing entrails bright, 
Like onie ditch; 
And then, O what a glorious sight, 
Warm-reeking, rich! 

There is a great deal more of it, all just as silly, and just as incomprehensible, and at the appropriate moment- "cut!" the boy speaking the address cut into the Haggis, and everyone applauded. Then more dancing, more drinking, and the evening ended with the whole group singing Old Lang Syne. Huzzah for Robert Burns, his night, and ceilidhs!

Mixed success with the photography (ie, utter failure) but you get the general idea.
Amazing band, awesome music, tons of fun.