Wisdom

 

Wonder at the Offertory, here's Farrer:

THE alms for which your generosity is asked are nothing exterior to the sacrament, but a part of it.  If you were living in the days of the ancient church, you would be bringing not money, but cakes of bread and flasks of wine.  All would be placed upon the altar; part would be consecrated for the eucharist, the remainder would be given to the sick and poor.  Now you bring money.  But your money is still presented along with the bread and wine, and it still means the same thing.  The offering is your offering; it is you yourselves who are laid on the altar to be consecrated, and to be made the body of Christ.  Your gift is a token of yourself.  I break the bread for the death of Christ, and we are all sacrificed to God in Christ's death, dying in him to our own will, and receiving Christ our true life in communion.

 

...it is you yourselves who are laid on the altar to be consecrated, and to be made the body of Christ. Reflect on that, dear readers, all three of you, as you approach the altar with altar with joy and gladness, to say nothing of fear and trembling before the living presence of God.

If you think, in your vain, worldly conceit that you can somehow ignore this and come out smiling like a gilded loon at the other end you are sadly mistaken. I'll put it another way. God will not be mocked, not least by the risible Rainbow Cult which is a mockery in itself. Homily over and mind how you go.

Salve,

LSP

Warrior - On The Edge Of Time

 

Looking kinda close, eh. Assault and battery? Wager the dam monkey on it. Still, and in parting, footprints in the sands of time, what?

Your Old Pal and Space Rock forever,

LSP

Assault And Battery

 

On the edge of time, readers, what few there are of you.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Clubbing

 

So what do you do in central London? Many things, but I like to go clubbing, this time 'round the good old National Liberal Club, No. 1 Whitehall. So, pull on a blazer, straighten your tie, wrestle with annoying but cool miniature shotgun shell cufflinks, give those loafers a brush and head off, it's not far.

Pass through Russell Square and admire the British Museum without going in, then take a left on Museum Street and go south, myriad memories. Then, as if by instinct, perhaps it is, muscle memory, you find yourself on the Strand.

Cut down Villiers Street and rushing masses of people getting off work. They're heading for home via Charing Cross, going to a pub or some kind of restaurant or all three, but you're going to the club. That in mind, take a right on the Embankment and stroll far from the madding crowd to Gladstone's 1882 setup overlooking the Thames and Embankment Gardens.

Walk through that storied portico and there you are. "Good evening," says someone at the door and you offer a sunny hello as you head to the bar. And there it is and there they are, the Nat Libs, having fun in a stunningly beautiful Victorian interior, some say the best in London, right there in the heart of the city.

The bar's congenial, the Terrace is great and the dining room's lovely. The Smoking Room's perfect too, except for the annoying fact that you're not allowed to smoke in it, but you can smoke on the Terrace, so all's not lost.

After a few drinks at the bar, head across the room for dinner. It's not bad and the club's proud of their chef, though I thought it a bit fixy. More trad club staples, please, and less Frenchifying. Still, a minor complaint and the company was good. A retired Colonel, a shooting salesman, several entertaining people from Ireland, think Parnell, and a retired civil servant with an interest in late antiquity. Far out, we talked Theodoric, Belisarius, #2A, Ireland and Army. Nice.

Eclectic and you can imagine the conversation at the table, also imagine that I was on my very best behavior. Well, it's hard not to be when you're sitting under life sized portraits of Gladstone. Dinner over, retire to the bar, chat with friends and then head home to Mecklenbugh Square, a good time had by all.

What a lot of fun and yet again haunted by ghosts and memories. Of my Father, who was a member, Gladstone himself and the Empire on which the sun never set. Today, this club's mostly for socializing and finding a place to relax in the midst of the rush of the city, but it was once a political powerhouse. And that's just it, was once.

Go there if you can, it has great reciprocal rights.

By Gladstone's Axe,

LSP