Of all the many wonderful things to have come out of Scotland (Rosie are you blushing yet?), the Haggis is the most underrated and maligned by weak-bellied English milk-feeders who wouldn't know one if it jumped into their mouths (not that it would - see below). I spotted one wandering round Waitrose (me, not the haggis, they don't sell them live), and thought yeh, you'll do. Succulently soft yet crunchy, bland yet spicy, juicy yet astringent, fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, great chieftain o' the pudding race ... Sorry, got carried away there. Splendid.
A Scottish friend of mine, Bob, when drunk once instructed me on how to catch one. The Haggis, he explained solemnly, is a timid, retiring little creature that runs around the summits of the Munroes, in a clockwise direction. Because of this, its right leg has evolved to be much shorter than its left. So, you station yourself in its path and wave your arms. It sees you, turns round to run away, and falls over.