Some Kind of Pathetic Joke?

 

No, this is apparently serious, Sarah Mullally's going to be the next Archwitch Archbishop of Canterbury. She's been operating as the bishop figure of London for several years and is, of course, pro-abortion, pro-homosexual marriage and a perfect example of what George Owers describes as "Rainbow Flag Erastianism" (RFE). Here he is, writing for The Critic:

If I were to try to imagine a candidate for the new Archbishop of Canterbury who is the furthest away from this, the worst and least suitable replacement for Welby possible, I would probably pick someone along the following lines. They’d be a former state bureaucrat who made an entire career out of the sort of bland HR department-inspired managerialism that is destroying the church, probably a senior civil servant in (say) the NHS. They’d be on record as having every tick-box lazy progressive political and theological opinion imaginable. They would, of course, have lived and worked in London for most of their life and be a thoroughgoing metropolitan. They would have no record of any serious theological or scholarly work, but be thoroughly intellectually mediocre.

Whoops, I just described the person announced this morning as the new Archbishop of Canterbury, Sarah Mullally. The Church of England making an appalling decision is too common to be surprising, but even I was a bit taken aback at the sheer perversity of this choice. She is the pure distilled essence of the hectoring lanyard class, a bureaucrat, a proceduralist and a progressive down to her fingertips. Her entire professional career was spent in the NHS, latterly as Chief Nursing Officer and “Director of Patient Experience”; she is on the record as being “pro-choice”, pro-gay marriage, on board with the usual check-box list of LGBTQIA+ orthodoxy; she has lived in London for most of her life. She will occupy an Archiepiscopal throne once occupied by theologians of the calibre of Anselm, Cranmer, Michael Ramsey and Rowan Williams: her sole contributions to the intellectual life of the church are a couple of those paper-thin (in every sense) “Advent/Lent reflection” books, the authorship of which appear to be compulsory now among senior bishops, and the readership of which is close to non-existent. 

 

Dam, nailed it, read the whole thing, it's not long, and we can add that Mullally's not even a priest much less a bishop. This would leave St. Augustine's throne vacant and yet another venerable institution, more than that, part of the visible Body of Christ on earth, is effectively gutted, and become a hollowed out apostate sham. To put it another way, a mawkish conflation of cucumber sandwiches on the lawn establishment nicety emmeshed in the godless anti-Christ orthodoxy which is the spirit of our age.

Of course some of you might argue that this has been the case since Reginald Pole's death in 1558, and the argument has force, papal ice block blessings notwithstanding. That in mind, the Cure D'Ars prophesied that Christianity in its fullness and ancient splendour will be restored in the UK. Whether the venerable if dismally suicidal Church of England will be part of any such revival remains to be seen.

In the meanwhile, we soldier on,

LSP

Hail The Old Hippie

 

Yep, that'd be Roy, bless him. Is he even alive? Whatev, here's a one man rock and roll band.

There was a time, dear readers, that Roy was my favorite live act. Some time ago, mind you.

Cheers,

LSP

Don't Fear The Reaper

 

Sometimes it's better in song, don't you think?

Keen-eyed readers of this humble mind blog will know we've been saying it for years.

DFTR,

LSP

Well That Was Fun - Part Four

 

So there we were, in the beating heart of the Rainbow Caliphate which is the UK, but not so fast. This is Pall Mall and the Reform Club and I tell you, there wasn't an emissary of the tyrannous New World Order in sight in the Coffee Room, at least a breakfast. So there is that.

Seriously though, I value London's clubland because it stands like an island of civilization in a sea of something else, a holdout of Great Britain, perhaps. It's fun too and congenial, which doesn't go amiss. Still, movement is a sign of life says the Philosopher, so off we went to the next and final set up, an Airbnb just off Covent Garden, in New Row.

"Cabbie, that'll be New Row, please," and off we sped. It's not far, walking distance, but bags were involved and a cab made sense, and it's fun too, like a tour. Then all of a sudden there we were, in New Row, with its Tesco Express, coffee shops, pubs and restaurants, about two minutes from Covent Garden and two minutes from Charing Cross Road.

Memories for me, for sure, and what a pleasant apartment, you can gaze down on Sheeky's from its overwatch. You know, I always used to love the curio bookseller shops between St. Martin's Lane and Charing Cross Road, and I love them today. They're still kinda there.

Whatev, Friday morning came all too soon and off we went to Paddington, Heathrow and a hideously cramped flight. Next time? Fly into Edinburgh and do the trip in reverse, with more time at the awesome RSC. All this, of course, if the UK remains a flyable destination.

END

Meanwhile - In England

 

Wow, so someone had the brazen, literal, no-holds-barred, total temerity to mock the Beloved Ruler of the Sceptered Isle? I'm aghast and shocked. Report yourself, BEACH EXTREMIST, immediately.  You'll note, sand terrorist, that there's a cop van in front of your provocative, subversive, FASCIST SLOGAN. Yeah, take note. As you do, note this: Hate Speech isn't Free Speech.

Nooses and Pitchforks down the Mall,

LSP

Fish

 

The sun began to rise over a somnolent rural enclave in North Central Texas, half-light giving way to autumnal sun, the glare's off summer but it's comfortably warm, in the 80s, beautiful. So what to do? Drink that strong covfefe and reflect on the situation while next door's rooster kicks up a racket and birds hit the feeders. "I know," you announce to the team, "Let's go fishing." Which is exactly what happened.

After the morning evolution we arrived at Lake Whitney with a couple of light rods and a box of worms. Would there be fish, would they bite? Kind of, a few half-hearted bites from baby perch and then boom, something bit hard and fast and out came a... baby perch. Fierce little fella.

To be honest, slow going, the fish were taking a sabbatical but, on the last throwaway cast something took the line and surged. What was this leviathan of the deep, a large bluegill or something else? It was something else, a catfish and a fighter. 

Out he came and would've stayed ashore if I'd brought a cooler, but no, he went back to fight again another day. And that was that, what a lot of fun. It's good to get out by the water and try your luck against the piscine adversary. Let's see more of this.

Fish On,

LSP