Get Back

 

There it was, the urban glory of WC1, and then the nightmare that is Heathrow's Terminal Three. This used to be vaguely congenial, I recall, but presents itself now as some kind of psychotic night club in a bus station sponsored by Hermes, Gucci and Tissot. 

Nightmare? Yes, but word to the wise, you can buy an airplane book at WH Smiths and a surprisingly cheap sandwich at the Boots pharmacy franchise for £1.50. I bought several, along with Nial Gaiman's Neverwhere and headed through the madding crowd to Gate 36.

The sandwiches were tasty, bizarrely, Neverwhere entertaining and the flight easy and fast, getting into DFW an hour early. What can I say, an exception which proved the rule. And then touchdown on the DFW runway and there we were, home. A taxi ride later I was back in the sylvan idyll of Winnetka Heights, Dallas, and a warm welcome from Ma LSP, "Champagne?" Most assuredly yes.

So that was that, a successful recce patrol across the Atlantic and back to Texas, safe and sound. Lessons learned? Don't lose your phone and bank card after carousing at the jolly old NatLib, do go to Mass at the excellent St. Peter's London Docks and while you're at it, spare a thought for Turner's Old Star 'round the corner from the church, well worth the visit.

In other news, CONUS is being attacked by balloons in a vicious act of asymmetrical warfare, the Scottish National Party (SNP) is in tranny turmoil and the dear old Church of England's gone even gayer than it was already, which is saying something.

Get back,

LSP

SOTU Country Interlude

Not so long ago, a man went down the road to bring peaches to a woman friend while another man crouched, hiding behind a bush. He had been warned that morning against taking matters further, but to no avail, the warning meant little to him.

His pistol exploded in the night and the rounds struck home.

"Don't shoot me no more! I'm done to die."

He did, but not before another man emerged on the porch.

"You shoot him one more time, I'll blow your head off."

And there it is, a short episode in the ongoing story of country life in Texas. Speaking of which, how'd you like the long delayed SOTU? I enjoyed America will never be a socialist country, but that's just me.

Sunny Hello,

LSP

In Search of Texas

There's a lot of noise in the media these days about Texas. Is it some kind of neo-fascist Platonic Ideal, instantiated, Aristotle-style, in a landmass that's as big or bigger than a lot of lesser countries?

Or is it a place where the frontier, with its God, guns, church and country life, looms large? A place where people don't look too kindly at latte swilling coastal elites telling them to get with the program and ride the rainbow. Whatever the case, I took my dog for a walk after Morning Prayer and went in search of Texas. 

Hey, Look at This.

The Nepalese woman at the pick 'n steal accepted my money for a coffee, while a crew of Park Department workers played scratch card lottery. Some were black, some were white, some were Latino. They were having fun, loudly, at losing the lottery and the coffee tasted pretty good. Have to hand it to the Nepalese, they make damn good fighting knives and excellent coffee. Was that Texas?

Texas

On the way home, I passed 4 churches in the space of 4 blocks. Blue Destroyer used the entrance of one as a "convenience," he's a cow dog. Maybe that's Texas? Then I found a snake skin on the side of the road.

Satisfied with finally finding Texas, I went back to the Compound.

That is all.

LSP