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

Turn It Off

 

Perhaps you've cancelled your sub to this degenerate rainbow "streaming service." If not, why not. While you're at it, cancel your BBC sub too, if you live in the Sceptered Isle. It's Privileged Smug-Marxist rubbish, not unlike Netflix, when you think about it. Slime, turn it off.

Cheers,

LSP

Pete Onna Warpath!

 

Did you hear our Secretary for War address an unsmiling conventicle of Generals, and Admirals? He told them, no more DEI, no more "dudes in dresses," no more wokery nonsense, just common sense. Check it out:

He's not in favor of the jelly roll either, is this a problem? Senior officers were notoriously silent. What, too fat to fight?

.@PeteHegseth going after the fat generals 😂 pic.twitter.com/vlRhY4iKNZ

— drefanzor memes (@drefanzor) September 30, 2025

Perhaps you think War Hegseth's wrong, I don't. Whatev, your call.

Cheers,

LSP 

Well That Was Fun - Part Three

 

Get off the train from Ludlow to Euston and wonder at the redeveloped ugliness of the station. Aesthetic reverie over, walk those wheely suitcases through the madding crowd towards the taxi rank, "Look, my dear, Northerners, keep your wallet safe." We weren't pickpocketed in Euston, remarkably, and found a cab, there were lots, "Reform Club, cabbie." He was happy to oblige and there we were on Pall Mall in good order and all of that. Nice.

Climb up those storied stairs and check in to chambers with the club's polite, friendly, attentive, helpful front desk. Room 320 and off you go. Basic, yes, but civilized, and know this - the Reform has two floors of rooms, they call them chambers, each of which features a pantry, complete with fridge, ironing board, tea, coffee, and all of that. Helpful and pleasant. Word to the wise, you can leave your wine, cheese et al in the fridge for a week while you go adventuring and guess what? It's there when you return. I told you, civilized.

Later that evening I struck out for Chinatown and takeaway, striding with purpose down Waterloo Place, just off Pall Mall. A voice rang out in the night, "Fr. LSP!" Sure enough, it was an old friend, RW, "Lovely to see you! Just heading to Chinatown for food, staying at Reform." He announced that he'd just come from Chinatown and was heading to the Travelers Club (next to Reform).  And so we passed, like ships in the night, and I brought back a score of Chinese food to our room, tasty.

Wantons, spring rolls, chicken and all of that later I figured it was time to explore the club after hours. So off you go into the midst of the thing, and what a thing it is. Regardless, I ended up in the Atrium and, as I crossed the deserted marble tiled floor there was a sound, a faint sound of a woman singing, coming from the Atrium's upper level. 

The words were indistinct and the song ceased after maybe less than 30 seconds. Eerie, and I knew no one was upstairs because I'd scouted it out earlier, on my descent to the ground floor. Struck by this, I went to the porters and asked them if they'd heard anything similar. No, they hadn't, but perhaps they hadn't served for long at the club. More on this later.

Ghosts aside, we rallied for breakfast in the Coffee Room (dining room) the next day. I had a "full English breakfast,"  which involved Black Pudding and sausage, yum. Mrs. LSP went with the Eggs Benedict option and all was delicious. Then we fell back to the garden for coffee and cigarettes to recoup before Mass at the Brompton Oratory.  And what a garden.

gotta get back to the garden

There you are, in the heart of London,  in the midst of the Rainbow Caliphate itself, in an oasis of peace, calm and order. Beautiful. Next and final stop? An Airbnb just off Covent Garden and a flight home to the great state of Texas.

Cheers,

LSP

Michaelmas

 

It's the Feast of St. Michael and all Angels today, so here's a prayer:

Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

 

Those who feel they can go against angelic power with impunity might want to think again.

Defende nos,

LSP

Just For Kix

 
 

Just by way of light amusement.

Hey, gotta love some Space Rock, right?

Arduus Ad Solem,

LSP

Well That Was Fun - Part Two

 

That's right, we climbed off the train at EDI (Edinburgh) and bundled into a cab. "Where to, sir?" Good question, "Royal Scots Club, cabbie," and off we went to the RSC. What a great little club. Back in the day it was very much regimental, and it holds that ethos today, which I like. And here's the thing, the RSC's relaxing, civilized, congenial, and altogether worth joining unless you're a Lib, in which case you'd hate it.

After several hearty meet-ups with the President of the Ghost Club, an old friend, we reluctantly left the RSC to Waverly and thence to the halcyon market town idyl that is Ludlow. Watch out, kids, navigate that change at Crewe, and ride the rails into town. And what a town.

Beautiful, medieval, half-timbered gorgeousness. And oh, let's not forget the bakeries, butchers and market, where you can buy all this real food. Real food, far out, right? Back in the day Ludlow had a wall, with gates, portcullis style. Maybe it will again, let the reader understand.

Caveat in mind, we boarded the train to London several days later. It was easy and involved sandwiches, many sandwiches, which you can order from the buffet car. Tasty as you like and then some, but stop. Do you remember dining cars? You know, with white table cloths, waiters and all of that. All gone, apparently, in our progressively awful new world order.

Devolution of Western Civ aside, we rolled into Euston with the North's great unwashed, no bad thing, mind your wallet. From there? "Reform Club, please, cabbie." Quick as a flash, "Yes, sir," and off we went. And thus began the third evolution of this remarkable adventure. Stay tuned for part three of this foray into the beating heart of the Rainbow Caliphate.

Best,

LSP

Well That Was Fun - Part One

 

It's been a busy couple of weeks and it started like this. You climb onto a plane at DFW, marvel at the lack of people on the flight, and fly to London. Get out at London Heathrow's curiously cramped Terminal 3 and head downtown via train, then set up in Whitehall. Great result, you've made it.

Go exploring for the next couple of days and meet up with old friends on Pall Mall and Soho, notably the famous Coach and Horses on Greek Street. It's a tradition and a good one, if noisy, and you can end the evening with strong covefe at Bar Italia, another tradition. Next evolution?

Go full-on patriot and join Unite The Kingdom, a massive march protesting open borders great replacement immigration, censorship and the iniquity of the UK's Rainbow Caliphate orthodoxy. Seriously, it was a big march, maybe a million strong, which the smug, mendacious, passive aggressive BBC deceitfully undercounted by around 900,000 people.

Well, we navved into the midst of it after an informal lunch in the courtyard of the In & Out (Naval & Military Club) and were struck by the good humor, patriotism and sense of the crowd, many of whom were shocked by Charlie Kirk's assassination and, curiously, were eager to share their faith. Quite a thing, and well worthy of a separate post. More on this later.

Marching for freedom against the wickedness of Globalist Puppet Two-Tier Kier done, we fell back to Trafalgar Square where the boys were starting to get a bit rowdy, and from there to the Harp for a pint and from there to clubland, which meant negronis in the Waterloo Room of the East India, nice. From there?

A delicious dinner at Cafe Zedel, which is an art deco bistro restaurant off Piccadilly Circus. I think it used to be the restaurant of a hotel my Mother stayed in during her purgatorial time at General Synod. Whatever, it's been fixed up and offers good French style food at a very reasonable price. Check it out, but be warned, it can be very full and very noisy; the latter compounded by live jazz 1930s style from a side stage. Hey, living the dream.

Saying goodbye to friends at Piccadilly Circus, we headed down Shaftsbury Avenue in the rain to Soho and the French House. I love the French House, it has magic, and the magic wasn't absent that night. We fell in with a couple of young Gurkha officers (logistics) who'd been at the club that afternoon. 

One was an ADC and I told him, "ADCs always frightened me," which they did, and he told me he wasn't especially frightening, which he didn't seem to be. "But perhaps you can be," I offered by way of social compromise. And so the evening spun on, but not uncontrollably so, and we found ourselves, safe and sound, back at the civilized, relaxing, congenial, attentive, polite, Reform Club. Result.

The next day was all about Mass at the Brompton Oratory, beautiful, lunch at the East India Club which, I tell you, punches high when it comes to salmon and roast beef, not kidding, and from there an easy night. All good, and the next step? Edinburgh and the Royal Scots.

That, dear readers, all five of you, is the next stop on this exciting and adventurous excursion into Kier Starmer's Great Britain, aka Rainbow Caliphate. Stay tuned.

Your Pal,

LSP

Reform Club

 

Reform Club. There is no need to leave. So I guess the Club Shootout's settled, more on this anon. In the meanwhile, let's see what tomorrow brings.

Your Friend,

LSP

A Short Sunday Sermon

 

Do you remember, gentle readers, when we in the West excoriated the Russian Soviets for atheistical malfeasance? Sure you do, the Red Bolsheviks hated Christ and tried to stamp him out; many, many faithful Christians lost their lives in the Red Terror and beyond. Fast forward to today.

What was once Western Christendom has been taken over by Christ-hating Cultural Marxism. They really, really hate the Faith, which explains the bizarre alliance of the Rainbow Left with Islam. The enemy of my enemy, goes the saying, is my friend. It'd also go some way towards parsing their utter, spitting hatred of Russia.

🙏🏼☦️🇷🇸🇷🇺☦️🙏🏼 pic.twitter.com/fj7HxAX6BE

— VukFeNix (@vukfenix) September 7, 2025

 

Yes, the same Russia which threw off its godless Bolshevik tyrant rulers and re-embraced the Cross, the Faith. That seems to be going strong in the New Rome, here's a short video.

Today in Moscow, a massive Orthodox procession with hundreds of flags of our Lord Jesus Christ.

🇷🇺☦️ pic.twitter.com/fCbAksjGtq

— Based Serbia (@SerbiaBased) September 7, 2025

Imagine the howls of outrage over such a procession if it were held in, say, England. We've become the enemy in the cold war we fought against and in theory won. Perhaps that will change, by the grace of God, as it did in Russia.

Here Endeth The Lesson,

LSP

Batshit Bonkers!

 

Gotta hand it to her.

 

KATIE HOPKINS LIVE AT NUMBER 10

… where it’s all about to kick off with the black & white t towel brigade .. pic.twitter.com/JFSVHV4ymu

— Katie Hopkins (@KTHopkins) September 6, 2025

So how come the UK's beloved Stasi haven't taken this maven down?  Good question. For goodness sake, don't you know that hate speech doesn't equal free speech?

Cheers,

LSP

Listen Up All Ye Heathen

 

"JESUS broke the bread which he gave to his disciples, and they did the same afterwards in observing his sacrament.  In fact the earliest name for it was 'the bread-breaking'.  He broke it himself, in token that his enemies would break his body; he broke it himself, because his sacrifice was voluntary, he consented that they should do what they did.  In the prayers after the consecration I must also break the bread; I must break it over the name of Jesus when I pray for deliverance from all evils through his death.  Must I break the body, must I perform in solemn symbol the work of Christ's executioners?  I must, for I must accept, I must identify myself with his willingness to die for my salvation.  There are no limits to the self-bestowing love of God; no truth is more common on our lips than this, and none more distant from our hearts." (Farrer, Crown of the Year)

"Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me," says Christ, "cannot be my disciple." We share in that cross, it lives in us when we receive the Sacrament of the Altar. Do we accept or reject this gift?

Serious question with serious consequences.

Your call,

LSP

How Very Awesome!

 

Great Britain has a new Home Secretary, Shabana Mahmoud. Shabana's a self-proclaimed devout Moslem who's now in charge of the UK's borders, counter-terrorism, immigration, and MI5. What, dear friends, could possibly go wrong?

Do you get the feeling that the beloved rulers of the United Kingdom are openly laughing in the face of their subjects? Take that, serfs, whilst (why do my fellow Brits insist on "whilst"?) we destroy your farms, arrest you for thoughtcrime and tax the pitiful amount you earn into oblivion.

Two-Bit Crook

Others say that Two-Tier Kier's government without mandate is simply rearranging chairs on the Titanic prior to a Labour wipeout in a 2027 snap election. Let's see. In related news, Angela Huckster Rayner's had to resign because of mortgage fraud. Bye bye, Ginger Growler.Sound familiar?

Cheers,

LSP

Question

 

If you were an irregular cavalry unit how would you dress? Good question. Like Probyn, obviously. Here he is in latter years. Respect.

Ride On,

LSP

Total Abject Failure

 

There was a plan, and a dam good one. Viz. Go fishing on Lake Whitney this morning. So what happened, you ask in questioning wonder. I'll tell you, the plan went all to hell and there was no fishing, I wasn't even able to break free of the Compound except to check the PO Box and Walmart, and that was on a schedule. Huh. Total FAIL  So here's some earlier action to virtually make up the miserable deficit.

Surprise striper, caught on a baby bluegill. Huh, far out, wasn't expecting that one.

Well... dam... big fish, light rod. What a lot of fun.

Never underestimate the fun of a plate sized bluegill, tasty too. Kid's a Sergeant now, remarkably. Ahem, commission please, but that's up to him. Whatev. Dads, don't take your kids to degenerate drag queen story hours, take them fishing instead.

Just some bass on the mighty, mighty Brazos.

Message to market? Get back on the water.

Tight Lines,

LSP

Batshit Bonkers

 

Let's hear it from Katie herself:

Batshit Bonkers Britain Wed 3 Sept

Many British police have lost their tiny minds. Sofa humping eunuchs. Get a bloody grip. pic.twitter.com/CjR6iy6gUY

— Katie Hopkins (@KTHopkins) September 3, 2025

Do any of you, yes all three of you readers, have any notion whatsoever why this ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE isn't slung into gaol immediately? Free speech, fellow Soviets, is not hate speech.

Cheers,

LSP 

So What's Next?

 

So what's next? A multipolar order, the collapse of the Dollar, an imploding Pound, race war and balkanization in the UK, the demographic crisis of the West, yield curves going weird, time to invest in precious metal, the return of the Latin Mass and the Rite of Western Christendom? Who knows, perhaps all of this and far, far more. 

You do know, gentle readers, all three of you, that the problem with debt is that someone, eventually, wants to be paid back, typically at interest. That in mind, The Compound's debt free, entirely, not one loan or credit card on site. Cash on the nail's our policy.

That in mind, what next? The collapse of what little's left of Western Civ, obviously, and it won't be nice. In the meanwhile, the Team are fixing to go swimming and fishing in the lake tomorrow, Who knows, maybe some spritely Blue Gill will end up in the fry pan, delicious.

Be Good,

LSP

Round About

 

What an excellent little book!

LSP

Well That Was Fun

 

Part of the UK LSP contingent have descended upon Dallas and it only seemed right to join in for Labor Day festivities; part of this meant grilling chicken thighs. It's not hard, fire up the Weber, brush the thighs with olive oil, apply salt and pepper, then grill on indirect heat, covered, for 40 minutes. Enjoy a glass of something cold, this is Texas, while you wait.

After 30 minutes or so uncover the succulent thighs and behold their indirect heat awesomeness, then brush with BBQ sauce if you like or not if you don't, no rule. Here's the thing. Some people don't like BBQ sauce on their thighs, they're chicken thigh purists and that's OK. 

I do, and like way it caramelizes, adding to the flavor of the crispy skin. Whatever, Operation Brush The Thighs complete, flip 'em onto direct heat for around 5 minutes for a sizzling char. Flip, repeat, remove from the grill to rest and eat.

Well done, you've grilled up a delicious, affordable, juicy chicken feast for the Labor Day team. And what can we say? What we always say. Fall upon your scoff.

Like a Warrior,

LSP

PS. Have you heard about the British comedian who was arrested at Heathrow for three anti trans posts on social media? More on that anon.

Labor Day!

 

Hey now

Yours,

LSP

Sunday Wisdom

 

"He who exalts himself will be humbled," says Christ, and "he who humbles himself will be exalted." To that end I sermonized on pride this morning. Avoid it, dear friends, like the plague it is, the deadliest of deadly sins. Yes indeed, and in that resolve hear this by Austin Farrer:

We never come to God without committing ourselves to him entirely, so far as in us lies, and in the present moment. It seems sometimes to be preached, however, that by a decision once for all made, we can commit ourselves irrevocably. But if this is preached, then it is not true. Today’s decisions cannot tie tomorrow’s hands. What I give to God today, such is my frailty, I may take back or withhold tomorrow. It is through this that God disciplines me, through this that he breaks my pride. The heart is sick and desperately perverse, even the redeemed heart: what it gave God yesterday it takes back today. Our wickedness is so great that we fail to do promised actions, which we had perfectly envisaged at the time of promising. But even if we had the virtue to keep our promise with God when the circumstances are foreseen and unaltered, we should still lack the power to commit ourselves on issues which cannot be perfectly felt or foreseen in advance. He who promises to be chaste, does well and may be perfectly sincere; but he has not by that promise dealt with the temptation he will face when he falls in mutual love with an actual woman, and cannot marry her. Our fences cannot be jumped beforehand, nor our battles won before the enemy appears. You promise fidelity to Christ today, and you are sincere; but it will spare you none of the agony of decision, if a day comes when political brigands hold to our heads the pistol of absolute power, and say, ‘Your religion or your life.’

No, we cannot commit ourselves in a day, because we cannot, merely by saying we will, put our whole trust in God. To trust in God is a thing which has to be learnt. We may stand up and make our profession of faith, clasp a missioner’s hand and say, ‘I have taken Christ for my Savior, I trust him for all.’ But we shall still trust ourselves to do our part in the new covenant we have entered. For we do not learn what dependence on God is, except through having our self-dependence broken in the mill of life, slowly and painfully. Many tears, much shame, continual repentance, this is the lot of those who pledge themselves to God. A paradoxical pledge; we learn to keep it by breaking it. True confessions, bravely and sincerely made to our confessor and absolved with the word of Christ, these are the means by which we learn distrust of ourselves, and trust in God alone. On every such occasion we affirm our self-commital. We bring to life every promise we previously made, back to our confirmation, back to our baptism when others’ lips promised for us, back behind that to the cross, on which Christ committed us to God by dying for us.

 

Such wisdom, and this stood out, "For we do not learn what dependence on God is, except through having our self-dependence broken in the mill of life, slowly and painfully. Many tears, much shame, continual repentance, this is the lot of those who pledge themselves to God."

We can add: The lot of those who take the lowest place at the marriage feast only to be called, "Friend, come up higher." Higher, to paradise itself.

God bless you all,

LSP