Pastoralia

By 11.30 am I'd driven 100 miles to visit two people, and that's the way it is in a country that's decided to be a road. Still, I'm not complaining, the drive through the Texan countryside was alright, I35 less so, but whatever. 

More importantly, the person I saw in hospital had complained the week before of being "whupped like a dog." She was a whole lot better today and I said, "Your spirit has returned," and so it had. Praise God for that.

Giles Fraser

Back at the Compound I reflected on pastoralia in the missions and what I'd been trained for in England, before the hideous onslaught of womyn priests, trans naming ceremonies and the craven capitulation of Cursitor Doom and associated comshill leftist clergypersons to Islamism. 

Back then it was about walking around the parish, flying the flag and visiting shut-ins who just remembered the last Boer War, well, WWI anyway. "It was all horses and guns, Father," they'd say, cheerily. May they rest in peace and Rule Britannia.

These days it's about climbing into the rig and putting miles on the clock and you know what, it's not time wasted.

God bless,

LSP