The Decline Is Optional

 

Look, no one had to import millions of people from the third world into the West, it wasn't some kind of necessity, and yet they've made it so. Who are these mysterious "they"? On the one hand, the rentier class and big equity congloms like Blackrock, allied with every business owner who looks forward to cheap labor. On the other, Leftists X in search of votes.

A perfect storm and net result? Your little shoe box style island, aka Great Britain, gets flooded with savages who hate you. But everything's just fine until you can't afford to pay their welfare, then everything gets messy. And that's just it, until you can't afford to pay their dole. Think about it, what happens then, once the taxpayer funded cash spigot runs dry.

All kinds of mayhem, and what we've seen in France is the precursor. Here in the States? We elected a government to at least nominally cut out fraud and secure the border, to stop the flow of illegal votes into the country and with it, to promote a living wage and hopefully affordable rents. What. Horrible. Fascism.

The remarkable thing is that we've got this far, like, a closed southern border, what? Yeah, it happened, and this brings me to the point. The great replacement, managed decline of the West, the craven hand-over of a once imperial, apex society to barely literate freeloaders didn't happen by accident. 

No, it was and is deliberate. None of this had to happen. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to reverse this satanic thing. Here at the Compound we're playing our part, and by the way, it's Trafalgar Day. A glorious Victory.

Ad Astra,

LSP

Marking Time

 

Here's the thing. You may have noticed Paris went up in flames last weekend; so very terrible and awful. How long d'ye think the State would've taken to knock that protest down if they'd decided to engage? In about 10 minutes, but they didn't. What does this suggest? Not least, the power you're paying taxes to for your protection ain't acting in your interest. In fact, it's operating against that. So what do you do? Climb aboard the chopper.

Point being, our decline is optional,

LSP

Karma Strikes Wood Cricket

 

"Karma's a bitch my little wood cricket," writes Gad Saad as a lib white woman cries out in shock and disbelief as the ferals she's supported in Paris loot her boutique. Suicidal empathy? That's part of it, living on fantasy leftist island is another. Imagine zhir bewilderment when the precious savages she loved, supported and voted for smashed through her fancy little shop.

Some believe that after thirty or so years of a hollowed out culture, of a country which has been taught to despise its roots, aesthetic and religion is little better than a vacuum, and nature abhors a vacuum. Witness the noxious gas that's now filling the public square of secular France. What can we say? You voted for it, dhimwits.

In related news, some UK general's telling the people to prepare for war and sacrifice. Is General Roly, real name, preparing the UK's gen pop for an external or internal war? The former's unlikely because the UK couldn't fight a war overseas if it tried, they don't have an army, navy or air force, you see. But they do have maybe just enough troops, just to quell civil... disturbance. And that, my dear friends, ain't a given.

I tell you kids, it's getting messy,

LSP

All Rhodesians?

 

You either get it or you don't. For those that do, gear up and learn to ride.

Cheers,

LSP

France is Revolting

 

Back in ye jolly olde Englande you'd read about revolting France and your average Clubland punter would typically write it off as "they're always at it." True, but as of today things seem a little more serious, with parts of Paris, Marseille, Lyons and elsewhere going up in flames, not least Limoges' beautiful town hall. Islamo-Marxists torched that and far more besides.

Where's the French government in all of this? Sub-Napoleon Globalist Macron's evidently hiding in the basement of the Élysée Palace, surrounded by a wall of law enforcement as his city's looted and burns. So much for garden Europa and that wicked lie, diversity's our strength. No, you liars, it's not, witness Paris tonight. Reminiscent of Baltimore a few years back, remember that?, but so much worse because the fall's so much greater. Ah, but there you have it.

The revolutionary nihilists and their meteorite worshipping friends hate what's left of Western civilization and want to destroy it, to burn it all down. Then, from the ashes, once the unjust oppression of our rulers is cast down, a truly free society will rise up, phoenixlike from the rubble. Or something like that, and Euro Anarcho-Marxists might want to look to Iran as a model of cooperation between Islam and the Left. Hint, it doesn't end well for the latter, pan to rainbows being thrown off buildings and all of that.

Let's see how this current revolt against the execrable Macronist regime pans out. Some think it's an excuse for martial law, the cancellation of next year's elections and with it Marine Le Pen. Possible, I wouldn't put anything beyond those sociopath, godless sharks, but even if the secular French power's playing that kind of chess, which I maybe kinda doubt, the fact remains the same. 

Viz. Import the third world, get the third world, and when the third world was lured into your country with the promise of free cash and that cash dries up, well then, expect the savages to burn it all down. After all, it's not as though the imported votes owe any loyalty or patriotism to their host country, quite the reverse when Moslem.

My prediction, for what little it's worth. Things are gonna get messy in beautiful, soft power, velvet glove, rainbow utopia Europe, and maybe the UK too. Because, dear readers, all two of you, imported votes won't act kindly when the cash spigot's turned off.  But what do I know, just a humble LSP in a town which honors the Confederate fallen.

Arma Virumque,

LSP

A Plane Back To Texas

 

Maybe I'm wrong, but it seems to me as though economy or "cattle class" air travel's gotten worse. Cramped, uncomfortable, and topped off with inedible food which you're supposed to eat with reconstituted wooden approximations to knife, fork and spoon (KFS). Maybe this is because about half of the plane is devoted to higher paying customers, Preferred Economy, Premium, Business and First, leaving little room for miserable, cheapskate cattle.

"Good business model," I thought, squeezed into a narrow chair, "Charge a premium for something everyone used to take for granted, like real cutlery and edible food, and let those who can't afford it sit at the back of the plane." A parable, if you like, for the middle class, which used to be able to afford a house in, say, London or Edinburgh, and now can't. Still, the flight wasn't bad and I passed the time reading Ursula Le Guin's excellent early sci-fi.

Before you can say City of Illusions, the plane lurched and settled onto the tarmac at DFW and off we went to meet our fate at customs. and baggage reclaim. All easy and quick, thanks to facial recognition tech which will not and cannot ever be used against us. And then onto the road outside Terminal D, departures.

What a contrast to Heathrow. All about the car, and there seemed a vitality or life to the thing, prosperity even, all kinds of movement, which made the UK airport experience seem somehow smaller, constricted and staid. In fairness, LHR has direct rail downtown and DFW doesn't, so I caught a fast cab run by a Nigerian who played Evangelical sermons throughout the trip on "forgiveness," very important. 

Take note, forgiveness, if we would be forgiven, is key. Theological imperatives aside, I arrived at Dallas HQ in good time and that was that, holiday excursion to the UK at an end. And what had this recce patrol discovered?

That London's Zone 1 isn't a Commie Caliphate, and neither were Ludlow, Edinburgh and Cheltenham, to say nothing of Clubland. Take heart, punters, that part of the UK's far more homogenous than DEI America. That said, soft Left globalism seemed to be the default position of the educated class, fed by its appalling BBC and execrable Guardian et al. A default which may be showing signs of cracking, thanks  to the country's effectively open dinghy border. Even left-centrist people are saying enough is enough.

As they should. Why should tiny, shoebox size England provide welfare for all the world? It can't and ultimately won't. Just you watch the gleeful reaction of all those imported votes when the cash spigot's turned off, don't say messy. 

Be that as it may, there were far fewer Rainbow, Climate Hoax, Trans billboards on display than in the last few years. Perhaps the mood of the Caliphate is shifting, and go figure, the UK tends to mirror US trends; does this mean a patriot shift incoming? I'd like to hope so, and in the meanwhile, it's great to be back in the Texas Free State.

More anon,

LSP

Here Endeth The Exeat

Cheltenham was a lot of fun but ghostly with it. You know what it's like, you walk the streets of a town you used to know well and it's familiar, you recognize it, but memories crowd around like shades seen through the corner of an eye or an overlay, making the place weirdly unfamiliar, or something like that. Whatever, a few nights in 'Nam over it was time to ride the rails back to London.

It's not hard, just get on a train and go, then set up at the conveniently central and priced Tavistock hotel; I like that place, it's cheap and walking distance to everywhere. From there, hang out at the Lamb by Covent Garden. The pub used to be known as the "bucket of blood," thanks to bare knuckle fights, and sits next to an alley where assassins tried to kill Dryden but failed. Clearly a rough place back in the late seventeenth century.

Today it's a popular pub, and its cobbled courtyard is pretty much full. I like it a lot and it's a convenient staging post for drinks and dinner at the NatLib, not so far away on the Embankment. Regardless, the last week of London was good in a Lamb, Reform, NatLib kind of way and then it was time, all too soon, to return to Texas. So wheel your suitcase out of the Tav, stop for a refreshingly foamy coffee drink outside Russell Square tube and head underground to Heathrow.

Ten hours later you're in Texas, DFW, and everything's different. How so? Big question, and I'll not attempt an answer here and now but there is this, you can carry a pistol in Texas and you can't in the UK. Free men, you see, can defend themselves, slaves cannot. And here endeth the exeat.

More anon,

LSP

Cheltenham - Back In The 'Nam

 

Cheltenham or "'Nam" is a dreamy Regency town which advertises itself as the "heart of the Cotswolds" and perhaps it is. I've always thought the center of town was like a park, with Montpellier and the Promenade running through the midst of it, surrounded by Georgian town houses and substantial villas. What's not to like, in a rus in urbe kind of way and that's where I went after the RSC and good old Edinburgh.

First things first, catch a cab from the station to Hotel 131, which is across the road from the Queens Hotel, facing Imperial Gardens. 131 is new and occupies three substantial buildings which would once have been owned and lived in by people of quality. It's a hotel now and not a bad one, despite annoying dance music being played on its otherwise pleasant terrace. Get over that and the fact that the place is like stepping into a Soho nightclub in the late '90s and you're ok.

Nostalgia for central London 30 years ago aside, step out onto the Promenade like a boss and make your way down the leafy, almost ritzy Promenade to the High Street. It hasn't changed all that much since I lived there back in the mists of time apart from restaurants, which seem to be everywhere, annoyingly. Ignoring them, head to the Cotswold Inn to meet an old friend.

Now the Cotswold is, I think, the last biker bar in central Cheltenham, favored by what used to be the Wolves Outlaws and now simply the Outlaws. They dropped the Wolves thing and rolled into a greater transatlantic beast, at least that's my take. 

Whatever the case, they seem to like me there and it was all very, "Alright, Padre!" I've become, curiously, an unofficial chaplain, and I told one of the probationary Outlaws that the Cotswold was the last biker bar in town. He looked at me and exclaimed, "Tradition's important!" So it is, they train them well there. You'll be pleased to know I stuck to traditional Outlaw MC Padre rig, a single breasted blazer, open neck shirt, smart trousers and loafers. Gotta show respect, don't you think?

A few pints later, it was time to head off for Moroccan food, and man was it tasty. Who knew, right in the heart of the Cotswolds, delicious, and it was great to catch up with my old friend. He's had a hard time but hasn't sunk beneath the waves, sort of thing.

The next day, a friend came to visit from Hereford and we had fun strolling around the pubs and leafy boulevards of the place. I cut to the chase, "Tell me, PHA, is this country Communist?" He looked at me with apocalyptic folk music wisdom and asked, "Does it look that way?" We glanced over at a Lexus, a Mercedes and several BMWs, "Yes, if the Politburo's anything to go by."

Someone else's photo of Imperial Gardens

My pal, in fairness, is probably mostly a Commie, even though he's a bell ringer, and doubtless thinks England isn't Red enough. I dispute this, believing it's far too Bolshevik already, but we didn't argue and enjoyed our pints as we walked this incredibly beautiful country town. Go there if you can.

Next evolution? Back to London and then home to the great state of Texas.

Cheers,

LSP

Return To Ludlow & Edinburgh

 

Today's Columbus Day or as you like to call it, "Indigenous Peoples' Day," but two weeks ago it was just another Monday in Sadiq Khan's London, a warm one at that. Almost as though the Sceptered Isle's capital city hadn't paid enough weather tax, which is Net Zero absurd because of course it has, why else would energy be so expensive there? Regardless, I strolled over to the train station, Euston, and rode the rails to Ludlow, a beautiful market town on the border with savage and doubtless Anarcho-Soviet Wales.

Typical Communist Street Scene

"Why Ludlow?" asked an old friend who I met at the town's small but well put together train station the following day. "Because," I replied with razor sharp logic, "I like it, and I have friends here." He seemed to understand, "Ah, now I understand," and we toiled up the hill to the center of town and the Blue Boar pub, lunch and the arrival of MCP, our old boss or Guv'nor in the mid '90s. Great fun, and I think we drank the place clean of Viognier. Were my friends there Communist? No, they were not, and some considerably not.

Room with a view

Neither, I think, was the town itself, unless you count unspoiled late medieval architecture and a market overlooked by a fortress somehow Marxist. And guess what? The place clearly needs to pay a steep fine for its appalling lack of DEI. Didn't see one single burqa or anything even approaching it. Huh. Go to Ludlow if you can, it's very pleasant or as my old boss would say, "Middle Earth."

Edinburgh

Then it was time to move, that being a sign of life, and the movement took me to Edinburgh and the Royal Scots Club (RSC) thanks to a weirdly cheap off-peak rail ticket via Crewe. I like Edinburgh a lot, once you get past the tartan gifte shoppes, and I especially enjoy the RSC, but was it taken over by the Frankfort School and Rainbow Marxism? I sat at the bar to find out.

RSC

Before long, a group of men set up beside me and we fell to talking, lo and behold, they worked in the arms trade or adjacent and go figure, they weren't commies, not at all, quite the reverse. This same pattern occurred twice over so many days and we all got along famously, go figure. That was the day shift, the evenings were mostly taken up with a trad crew of younger guys who seemed to mostly look up to Enoch Powell. No, they weren't Bolsheviks, far from it, and we had a lot of fun.

Note Tartan as opposed to DEI

As with Ludlow, visit the RSC if you can, not a Snackbar in sight and if you're a member you get a great discount on rooms, but much of the place is open to the public in a small, relaxed country house hotel kind of way, so don't let membership stop you from visiting. The Club was founded after WWI as a monument to the men of the Royal Scots Regiment, Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard, who gave their lives in the conflict.

Fast Mover

Next stop on this whirlwind tour of the UK? Cheltenham, a town of contrasts, lovely Georgian buildings as if set in a park, and bikers. Perhaps I'd find the Islamo-Marxist Caliphate there.

Stay Tuned,

LSP

Back - In London

 

It started like this. Fly into Heathrow from DFW, marvel at the T shirt and shorts weather then get a convenient train downtown and set up at the Reform Club. Most Pall Mall congenial and all very "welcome back, sir. Negroni?" Fortified by the right stuff, wander around Zone One in search of the Islamo-Marxist Caliphate, where was it?

Not in Clubland, unsurprisingly, and not much anywhere else except Trafalgar Square, where Sadiq's Khanate has installed hideous Allahu Akbarriers around the monument to Nelson's glorious victory, oh, and a temporary racist statue to boot. Recce into the heart of this once imperial city over, fall back to somewhere pleasant to meet old friends for lunch and dinner. I like the bar, dining room and terrace of the NatLib for that, and of course the Reform is splendid.

So that was a welcome social blast even if it wasn't particularly Communist, although the Reform, Travelers and Athenaeum do share a communal garden just off Waterloo Place, which is very pleasant in a collectivist kind of way. That aside, and by way of ending the first phase of this tour, I met an old pal in Rotherhithe, where the Mayflower set sail from, and enjoyed Choral Evensong at St. Mary's, where the Master of the pilgrim ship is buried, as well as an obligatory pint at the Mayflower pub.

Had Rotherhithe been taken over by the Commie Caliphate? It didn't seem that way as we strolled along the Thames, stopping at several sensible hostelries on the way to Tower Bridge, which lights up like a jewel in the night. Could London make such a monument today? Questionable.

The next day, Monday, it was time to head to Shropshire and Ludlow, once home to a mighty fortress castle and today one of England's more beautiful market towns. Would I find Communism there? Stay tuned to find out.

Cheers,

LSP

Fly Away

 

See you on the other side.

Cheers,

LSP

Random Scruton Wisdom

 

“Leftwing people find it very hard to get on with rightwing people, because they believe that they are evil. Whereas I have no problem getting on with leftwing people, because I simply believe that they are mistaken.”

Note Scruton's cool hair.

Scruton is a hero.

Cheers,

LSP