What A Busy Day!

 

What a busy day. First up, strong covfefe on the front porch as water fell from the skies upon this parched slice of rural paradise, blissful, and read the news while you're at it. Next? 

Shower, shave, make the bed (surely redundant info? Ed.), go for a morning constitutional to the Pick 'n Steal aka Filling Station, say Morning Prayer on the porch, work on Sunday's sermon, then help Senior Warden edit a Bunny Book in InDesign.

Yep, a Bunny Book. He's been made chief of the Texas Bunny Association or whatever it's called, and has to produce this great book. It's produced in Adobe's annoyingly rental InDesign and I was happy to help. A few graphic bunny design pages later and we were good to go. He to his ranch and I to vote.

That's right, unlike every other loyal rural voter I hadn't made the time to vote early, so I made up for it today. Not hard, there were hardly any people because everyone had tipped up last week and it was fun to talk to the election workers, who mostly seemed to work at the Pick 'n Steal. Most conviv.

Ahem, you're ironically a member of that? It's a broad Church

Voting, for what it's worth, done, I strolled over to the supermarket to buy some election day white wine and from there to an alterations tailor with a tan poplin 3 button roll to 2 suit coat. 

Could she fix this tried and trusted bit of cloth? Yes, she could. And C, who was waiting in the wings, asked me to bless some Holy Water for her, which I promised to do. "Better dunk it on her head," offered the seamstress. The rest is history.

Your Buddy,

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

Behold Devil Witch - Big Sur

 

Devil Witch

See what I'm saying? Speaking of which, an old pal asked me, at the NatLib no less, "How could you possibly support Putin?" I looked him straight in the eye and asked, "Do you support Pussy Riot? Jarvis Cocker? The LGTBQ+ rainbow agenda?"

He told me he supported none of those things, and I replied, "P Riot, Cocker, the Rainbow, all going down,  Cossack style. What's not to like?" He replied a few bites later into a NatLib bar snack, "I think, LSP, it's time for you to grow up." I thought about that for a second, "I'm afraid, old boy, that that boat's already sailed."

Speaking of which, Ma LSP had a fur coat, seal fur, which everyone called Big Fur. You get the point.

Cheers,

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

Cassidy

 

Just some lighthearted beatnik nonsense from the Compound, Cassidy. Remember, kids, speed kills and if you want a new drug, ZaZa perhaps, visit VM.

Cheers,

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