I once knew a chap in Fresno, CA, whose father had emigrated from Scotland around 1904 or so. Seeking to keep faith with his forebears, the son, a newly minted architect, attended a St. Andrew's Day festival and Highland Games with his new bride (circa 1940). She told the story on him in the 1960's. As the haggis was being piped in, my acquaintance looked at his bride and whispered, "I'm havin' none of that - I know what's in it and it stinks!" A very large lady with long henna-red hair leaned across and slapped him on the back, saying, "Ah, c'mon Alistair; it'll put some lead in yer pencil!"