Just Go To Mass

 

So, LSP, where do you to Mass in London, if you go at all, which we doubt you ask with that knowing smile on your face. Ah hah, not so fast, punters, I do go to Mass in London and here's where, the Brompton Oratory in Knightsbridge.

Why? Because it's most awesome, with remarkable music, think Tallis, Tye, Byrd etc, and there you have it, the music transports your soul to heaven, and the oriented Novus Ordo but in Latin liturgy (lections English) does the same. And all with efficiency, they don't fumble about and mess around.

I tell you, this Solemn High Concert Mass lasts exactly one hour and fifteen minutes, perfect, leaving you with plenty of time to catch a cab, aka fast mover, to St. James' Square and Sunday lunch at the Club. No bad thing.

So, if you want a dose of real religion and you're in London, if you want to feel like you've been to church, go to the Brompton Oratory, it won't disappoint. Or go to St. Peter's London Docks, but that's a different if similar post.

Your Pal,

LSP

Up Up And Away

 

Perhaps you know the feeling, sometimes you have to get away because things get samey, and my solution was this. Fly to England with Ma LSP for a well needed break, which is exactly what we did. First stop, DFW Terminal D, next stop, Heathrow Terminal 3 followed by a fast train to Paddington.

Just Some Carousel

Take in the wonders of Victorian railway architecture then line up, in a weirdly long line, for a cab. Take that to the Farmers Club in Whitehall like a champ. Book into Farmers, most congenial, then set up in rooms overlooking the Thames and go from there.

"There", meant the NatLib, two doors down, and dinner in the club's monumental dining room. There you are, enjoying an autumnal menu under larger than life portraits of statesmen who shaped the world in their time. It's not hard to reflect on the scale and grandeur of the Empire in that setting, and by the same token, who are we now compared to them? Pygmies in the footsteps of giants.

Gordons is Awesome at Noon

Speaking of which, London's grown pretty gargantuan over the last 20 years or so, but has it grown better? Good question. There's certainly many more secular cathedrals of glass, concrete and steel rising out of the city's eastern skyline; St. Paul's is dwarfed in comparison, and I guess that's a sign of wealth. But are the people any richer?

Some are, obviously, no doubt about it, but lately London seems to lack the vibrancy of the mid '90s when you could feel and watch a tidal wave of wealth roll into the city, to say nothing of talent. Remember, ahem, Britpop? Still, the place is clearly running on multiple cylinders, to say nothing of hordes of Japanese and Korean tourists.

Ma LSP at Farmers

Regardless, the first week of the trip was all all about entertaining old friends, not least my Mother's, who are a step above, and then, after a weekend at the EIC (East India Club) and Mass at the Brompton Oratory, climbing aboard a train to idyllic Ludlow. This sits on the Welsh border and shouldn't be missed.

After several convivial days with SH and K, my brother drove in from Aberystwyth and off we went to the Welsh coast. It was good to be back in this rainy seaside resort and good to see my brother, who's a good man, but I only stayed a night, sadly. The next day I sped back to Town on a slow moving Transit for Wales train to meet old friends, setting up at an AirBnB in Soho on Frith Street.

The Jolly Old NatLib

Part of this may have involved a Techno Rickshaw around the storied streets of Soho, another part of it certainly involved a lot of Coach & Horses, French House and Bar Italia. One friend, we'd gone to dinner at the NatLib and immigrated to Soho, accused me of inverse Milton, "From Paradiso to Inferno, Padre!" Quite.

Then, Soho tomfoolery over, a sideways move to Bloomsbury and a pleasant little flat on Coptic Street overlooking the British Museum. Ma LSP joined me there for the last few days and we closed up with lunch at the Prix Fixe in Soho, followed by a glass or two at the French House and then, after a sensible rest, drinks and snacks at the Museum Tavern. And now?

Coptic Street

Back in the great state of Texas. It feels good. We may not have real bread, butchers, pubs, architecture to speak of, cobblers, butchers, fishmongers and clubs with imperial ceilings and portraits of Gladstone and statues of General Outram or Gordon. True enough, but we do have this, big skies, trucks, guns and NO NANNY STATE.

Rare LSP Tie Shot

So forgive the lack of comms, I've been busy. Stand by for further correspondence.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

Club War Shootout

 

OK, so here we are, jousting with Gospel imperatives. Viz. Which of these five clubs is the best club? Namely, the NatLib, the East India, the In & Out (Naval & Military), Farmers, and the loyal and true Royal Scots. Quite the shootout, who's most in the X Ring?

For sheer Jules Verne grandeur and scale it's gotta be the NatLib. I mean for goodness sake, the place is home to Europe's largest freestanding marble staircase and its minimum ceiling height competes with Mt. Everest. Hey, those Victorians thought big and the NatLib's got one of the best preserved Victorian interiors in London. All this to say nothing of  a great Terrace and good food and drink at a very reasonable price, right there at No. 1 Whitehall. Respect, but it doesn't have rooms and's shut on weekends, also, its dress code is shocking slack. So.

The East India's smaller, better run (?) and more trad, more of a gentleman's "home from home," perhaps. It also has rooms, nice, a wildly historic location, think Waterloo, and an excellent Sunday lunch. Yes, this club's open on Sundays and is perfect for Brompton Oratory after-Mass. It does not, however, have a commanding stairwell or a Terrace. Huh. Why not let members enjoy the balconies off the Waterloo room? Too dangerous, apparently. Said no one ever in 1816.

Then there's the In & Out. You can go there after lunch at the EI on Sunday because, guess what, it's actually open on Sunday, albeit in a limited capacity, and enjoy smoking in the club's beautiful courtyard while you have a sip of the right stuff. Also, its stairwell is well put together as is the club itself. I like this place, not least for its brazen goat.

Farmers? Cheek by jowl to the NatLib lies the Farmers Club. Unpretentious, most congenial, with a lovely terrace where you can smoke and drink, this outstanding club not only has rooms in Whitehall at a ridic decent price but's also open on weekends. You can hang on their terrace sipping Bloody Mary's as you gaze at the scrum over yonder at the NatLib. Nice. It's ceilings, however, are only about 11' and it has no stairwell to speak of. 

The Royal Scots does, and I have to recommend this place. Stay, if you visit Edinburgh, at the RSC. Get a double room overlooking the park, which is opened by real keys, and enjoy the congenial, country house vibe of this beautiful club/hotel. If you're a member you get discounted rates and access to a library, sitting room and recip rights all over. Seriously, I like this place. It's regimental, think Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard, it's civilized, not pompous, overblown and awful, it's well run and has outstanding recip rights. DM if you like.

So there you have it. Which club's best? NatLib for architecture, for sure, EI for put togetherness, I&O for courtyardery, Farmers for central London congenial at the right price, and the RSC for sheer tartan awesomeness. But of course they're all good, beacons of light and civilization in a world fast descending into darkness and barbarism.

Speaking of which, the NatLib has good overwatch. Will it become, ironically perhaps, a strongpoint? Who knows. In the meanwhile, I award the Royal Scots victory in this 5 Way Club Shootout. Feel free to disagree.

Your Most Clubbable Pal,

LSP

A Typical London Sunday

 

So whaddya do on any given Sunday in London, capitol city of the Sceptred Isle? Good question and there's many options, but here in LSPland we like to go down this route. 

Viz. Wake up, this is important. Then, ablutions complete, get dressed. Maybe this involves a Harvie & Hudson shirt, a regimental or club tie, and some kind of suit, two button, three button, double breasted. Your choice, there's no rule. Then polish your shoes, like a pro.

The Best Shirts? I Call Yes

Well done, you've got this far. Next step, walk with urgency to the nearest underground railway, picking up strong covfefe on the way. Two stops later you're in Knightsbridge, marvel at the hordes of tourists getting off at this stop and join them, where are they going?

Not to shop, because these are shut 'til Noon, so perhaps they're going to Mass, just like you. A few minutes later find yourself at the Brompton Oratory, right on time for the 11.00 am Solemn High, and guess what, this large church is packed with all manner of people. Young, old, rich, poor, English, foreign, you name it, there they are, all present and correct to worship God according to the Western Rite of the Mystical Body of Christ. But hold on.

Beautiful

Parse Western Rite as an oriented Solemn High with three Sacred Ministers, in Latin with English readings, and the order of the new(ish) Mass. In other words, an Eastward facing Solemn High Latin variant of the Novus Ordo, all set to beautiful music, think Tallis and all of that. Which, dear readers, is the way liturgical reform should have gone but didn't.

Well, the proof of the pudding's in the eating and the Oratory's packed while guitar playing nun, wymxn priestess churches aren't. So. Mass over, not that the sacrifice ever ends, stride out uplifted onto the Brompton Road. Gaze at Harrods on your right and reflect on the times you've been there since a child, but don't go in.

EIC - Most Congenial

Instead, catch a cab to the East India Club, it's not far away, just off St. James, and enjoy a drink before lunch. Maybe you want a Bloody Mary, a French 75 or a Martini, whatever, your call, then enjoy smoked salmon carved off the trolley, roast beef, perfectly medium rare, and a desert. My choice is this: A scoop of chocolate ice cream and a double espresso. You see, you can mix the coffee with the ice cream and it tastes like perfection, word to the wise.

Lunch evolution over, you can go upstairs to the comfortable and historic Waterloo Room or stroll over to the In & Out (Naval & Military) to enjoy the after party before heading back to SOHO. Yes, this is still a thing and doesn't seem to have changed so very much in thirty or so years. In fact, the place seems to be recovering after the UK's heinous COVID lockdown. 

Don't be Fooled, This Place is Always Packed

Whatever, Team LSP favors the FRENCH HOUSE and the COACH & HORSES. And that's how Sunday night finishes, mission accomplished, a job well done.

Cheers,

LSP

GODZILLA

 

This one's for AJ who finds himself in China right about now. Hey, fella, we're safe here in the North Central Texas Exclusion Zone (NCTEZ). Sayn'. See you at the East India or maybe the RSC in Edinburgh.

Don't Fear The Reaper,

Ever,

LSP

BACK

 

So just what, exactly, are you back from, so-called LSP? I'll tell you, an explosive tour around the Old Country. In brief: Survive the Eclipse Event, enter a portal and land at Heathrow, set up in Whitehall, take care of business, stroll 'round the corner to the jolly old NatLib and go from there, London's your oyster, and what an oyster it is.

Typical Whitehall Street Scene

Yes indeed, not least the Brompton Oratory where they celebrate the Mass in Solemn High grand style and, let the reader understand, in good time. Yep, an hour and fifteen minutes from beginning to end, concert high. 

NatLib - Shocking Slack

After that, catch a cab to St. James Square and Sunday lunch at the East India, order off the trolley like a pro and then, delicious meal over, stroll across the way to the In & Out (Naval and Military) and take advantage of their beautiful courtyard.

A Brazen Goat

Brazen courtyard goat notwithstanding, catch a fast train to Edinburgh and stay at the Royal Scots, what a congenial club. Ludlow beckons next, an idyllic market town which is rightly famous for the Blue Boar. Stop there for drinks and snacks. Next up? Back to London and Soho.

Prix Fixe

Get off at Euston, thanking God you're wearing a stab vest, catch a cab to Soho and have fun from thereon in. Maybe that involves multiple Negronis. Last leg of the tour, fly into Calgary and marvel at one gallon of milk costing EIGHT BUCKS. No kidding, something better change. Rock on.

Your Expat Pal,

LSP

The Waterloo Room

 

No, not a POC

Imagine the scene, if you can. A candlelit room at 16 St. James Square on June the 21st in 1815. A small chamber orchestra plays quadrilles while the Prince Regent takes his place. But light-hearted gaity must have been brittle. 

Three days earlier, the Iron Duke, Wellington, had met the Upstart in the shock of Waterloo; the fate of Europe, not least England, hung in the balance. You can imagine the tension as London awaited the outcome.

It took three days for news of Wellington's triumph to reach London. Major Percy, an ADC, brought it via fast ship across the Channel along with two captured French Standards. He arrived in a carriage at St. James Square on the evening of the 21st. Brian Cathcart describes the moment:

"Tension mounted as the hours passed. On Wednesday evening the streets were again filled with expectant Londoners, while War Department officials manned their desks for a second night running. At the theatres and the society parties across the West End, one topic dominated. Meanwhile Major Percy was at last making swift progress in his post-chaise and four. Changing horses at Canterbury, Sittingbourne, Rochester and Dartford, he crested Shooters Hill in time to see London in the fading light of dusk. Then soon after 11pm his yellow carriage, with two captured French eagle standards thrusting from its windows, crossed Westminster Bridge into a delirious crowd.

"With this happy throng in tow, Percy made his way to Downing Street, where he was told that the Cabinet was dining at Lord Harrowby’s in Grosvenor Square. These unfortunate ministers had thus far passed an evening of all but unbearable tension. One account goes:

'They dined, they sat. No dispatch came. At length, when the night was far advanced, they broke up. Yet, delayed by a lingering hope that the expected messenger might appear, they stood awhile in a knot conversing on the pavement when suddenly was heard a faint and distant shout. It was the shout of victory! Hurrah! Escorted by a running and vociferous multitude, the Major drove up. He was taken into the house and the dispatch was opened.'

"Sixteen pages long and written in the most sober terms, the dispatch took time to digest, but eventually delighted ministers were able to announce the news to the crowd outside, who greeted it, according to the Morning Post, with ‘universal and ecstatic cheering’. Now Percy had to report to the Prince Regent, who that night was the dinner guest of a banking family, the Boehms. Carriages were summoned and most of the Cabinet followed Percy’s chaise through the streets, once again trailing a crowd behind. Dorothy Boehm, the hostess, describes their arrival at 16 St James’s Square:

'The first quadrille was in the act of forming and the Prince was walking up to the dais on which his seat was placed, when I saw every one without the slightest sense of decorum rushing to the windows, which had been left wide open because of the excessive sultriness of the weather. The music ceased and the dance was stopped; for we heard nothing but the vociferous shouts of an enormous mob, who had just entered the Square and were running by the side of a post-chaise and four, out of whose windows were hanging three nasty French eagles. In a second the door of the carriage was flung open and, without waiting for the steps to be let down, out sprang Henry Percy – such a dusty figure! – with a flag in each hand, pushing aside everyone who happened to be in his way, darting up stairs, into the ball-room, stepping hastily up to the Regent, dropping on one knee, laying the flags at his feet, and pronouncing the words ‘Victory, Sir! Victory!’'"

Here it is today

Victory, Sir! Victory! The room in which those words were said remains today, substantially unchanged, the Waterloo Room of the East India Club. I look forward to raising a toast to the Iron Duke in that very same room later this year.

Vincite,

LSP