Tony Blair is opening a new hospital in Edinburgh. Some PR bright spark says it would be a good idea to get some snaps of Tony talking with some of the patients, so a consultant duly leads Tony onto the nearest ward.

Up at the first bed, the patient sits bolt upright in bed, grabs Blair's arm and says:

"Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!"

Quickly onto the next bed where the patient stares Blair up and down and says:

"Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o' the puddin-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm:"

Finally the last bed where the patient, with eyeballs whizzing round and round says:

"Ha! whare ye gaun' ye crowlin ferlie? Your impudence protects you sairly;

I canna say but ye strunt rarely Owre gauze and lace,"

Blair has finally had enough and turns on the consultant: "It's a stitch up, you've brought me onto a psychiatric ward deliberately!"

"No," replies the consultant, "this is the Serious Burns Unit."

Very Good!