This One's For Jules - Something Good

 

Is this not the best 2016 election night video ever? Fellow blogger Jules thought so over medium rare steak, claret, silver and pistols on the mahogany of that halcyon November night. Wow. He actually got in. Far. Out. Of course the rest is history, here's the video:

Perfection? Near enough as dammit.

Cheers,

LSP

Aberystwyth

 

Brother LSP with local farming folk

There you are on the Welsh/English border, on the very Marches themselves. So what do you do? Head for Wales like a bat out of hell in your brother's BMW station wagon while D peels off in the faithful Tigra for Bury St. Edmunds.

Off we roared down the country lanes of bucolic Wales, and it is bucolic, and two laned, hard to go fast down those little roads though we did our best. First stop? A bizarrely intact Jacobean country house. The owners bought it in the '70s, restored the place to original spec, no electricity, and live in a farmhouse on the grounds. Remarkable.

Then on to Llanddewi Brefi and its New Inn. We weren't greeted by several countrymen speaking Welsh at the bar but perhaps they were wary. Back in the '70's this pub and its rain washed village were home to an LSD factory which produced an estimated 60% of the world's psychedelic favorite. That's right, 60%.

Lo and behold, the Law zeroed in and closed down the millionaire hippies in the UK's biggest ever drug bust, Operation Julie. No more White Lightning at the New Inn today, though there is a musical. Several pints later we were on our way to Aber.

zoom in, how is this even here?!?

What a good little town. Yes, Pier Pressure's been hideously renovated, so don't go there, but there's plenty of places to relax in the chill Welsh wind as you look across the sea to Ireland and its raiders. When that becomes exhausting, fall back on family for delicious chicken enchiladas or go for a negroni, or both.

Speaking of which, we were strolling through the darkened streets of this seaside resort when a blood covered tackhead got in front of my brother and started shouting. We moved through, like a Panzergruppe, then the tackhead circled 'round and thumped my brother on the back.

Brother LSP turned around, he's large, and advanced aggressively to contact. I stood on the wings in reserve, "Hey, you gonna go him?" But it wasn't necessary, tackhead sensibly ran off into the night only to be picked up by the cops in one of their downtown vans.

I texted a friend, "We were in a fight, in Aber." And he replied, "Welcome to Wales." But it was just a minor skirmish and all was well. As is the town itself, lots of shops, restaurants and pubs, a beautiful seafront and the general atmos of a pre-internet town, old skool. 

Go there if you can, just don't go to Pier Pressure, it's rubbish and ruined.

Your Pal,

LSP

Walking The Eschaton

It was like a midsummer day in Borth on the Welsh Riviera. Overcast, a drizzling rain, not too cold, not too hot but no, this was North Central Texas and time to take Blue Eschaton for a walk.

The streets were empty, because of the Chinese Virus or because they always are? A mystery, and so was our old friend the Meth Shack. The Shack's under new management, who've been busy gutting the place with a view, presumably, to newer and better renters. Good luck with that worthy project.

Mourning the passing of an age, we advanced to the Pick 'n Steal. It still stands, essential business in the midst of lockdown. I tethered the Eschaton to an empty newspaper vending machine and went inside for a coffee "refill" in an invincible Yeti mug. 

The store's Owl Idol looked down with unflinching eyes on its supplicants, the usual crew of pajama wearin', slipper shufflin', lottery playin', blunt buyin' punters. There they were and there it was. Reassured that some things never change, I walked the furry apocalypse back to the Compound, mission accomplished. And then a curious thing happened.

Within a space of minutes, clouds rolled in from the north and with them a fierce wind. The temperature dropped like a stone in seconds, taking us from Borth in August to Borth in April. Fearing a Polar Vortex, I showed the Eschaton inside to warmth and safety.

Poor dog. You can imagine, centuries later, explorers discovering an elderly Heeler encased in ice, the remains of a fried cherry pie in his mouth, frozen where he stood on the awful day the Climate Changed.

That aside, I hope you've all managed to recover your firearms from the lakes and rivers and sensibly saved on SCUBA by use of powerful magnets and sturdy ropes.

God bless,

LSP

Climate Justice

Some people, say those who live in Aberystwyth, shake their fists at the weather and cry out for justice, climate justice. It's not fair that the climate should attack them on a daily basis with unending rain while a privileged elite live under the sunny skies of Texas. 

Fair? Hardly and if you doubt me, try taking a summer vacation in Borth without an umbrella and a fleece. But seriously, climate justice is about more than sharing the Texan sun with our weather oppressed Welsh friends, it's about "working at the intersections of environmental degradation and the racial, social, and economic inequities it perpetuates."

You see, anthropocentric global warming creates a greenhouse effect in the earth's atmosphere, causing the climate to change because of CO2 emissions. This makes the weather hot, which melts the ice caps and causes drought and catastrophic flooding. And it makes the weather cold, because the sun's heat is blocked by carbon dioxide, bringing on a new ice age. Polar bears are tragically driven schizophrenic by this injustice.

Poor people of color are also harmed by the inequity, as their huts flood and then become frozen blocks of ice. On the other hand, privileged whites, living in mining compounds on the high ground of the Mogollon Rim in Arizona, for example, are spared. 

Such is the perpetuation of economic, social and racial injustice, brought on by the Weather. You can take a course on it at the fabled school of higher learning we call "Cornell."

All this passed through my mind as I drove through the asset stripped streets of this rural Texan haven, while the rain crashed down with southern fury and wildfires raged through the pines of Arizona. What had gone wrong, had we somehow failed to pay our Climate Tax?

Smart people are investing in boats, skis and fireproof bunkers.

Your Pal,

LSP

Archbishop Of Wales Captured On Camera

Welsh schoolchildren got the fright of their lives when they met the Archbishop of Wales, John Davies, a few days before Easter after the Archbishop landed in a field outside Haverfordwest, Pembrokshire.

"It was terrifying," stated student spokesperson, Rhys Morgan, "At first we saw bright lights floating above Market Street and thought it was a UFO. Then it landed and out came the Archbishop. We asked him if he believed in the resurrection and he said, 'I don't think any of us actually knows, frankly.' Then he climbed back in his spaceship and flew off. We were scared out of our wits!"

However, while the frightened schoolchildren believe they saw the Archbishop of Wales, paranormal expert, Gareth Hunt, isn't convinced. "It looks like the Archbishop but it could be a fly on the lens, a hang-glider, or a simple camera malfunction. We can't jump to conclusions."

Archbishop Davies succeeded Barry Morgan in September, 2017, who was often spotted by UFO enthusiasts above the coastal towns of Borth and Aberystwyth as well as the Bristol Channel.

Ad Astra,

LSP

Pier Pressure

"I want to go to the Pier."

"Er, why?"

"Because it's awesome."

So that's what we did, climbed into the Mercedes and drove, fast and furious, through the winding streets of downtown Aberystwyth until we reached the wave racked seafront and its famous Pier. Gulls shrieked overhead as we skidded to a stop, loose Welsh grit flying like shrapnel.

Team on Target

"Do it!" No time for hesitation, this is D Day, and the Team was out of the vehicle and making for the Pier. Open the door, walk right through the casino glow of the slots, they mean nothing, and hit the objective. That's right, our target, Aber's notorious Inn on the Pier bar.

Windowpanes

It was empty. "I'd like a pint of San Miguel, please. Make that two, and a glass of red wine," I asked the lonely barman. "Right you are, sir," he replied, and there we were, on the Pier. "It's like being on the Channel Ferry," I observed, looking at the sea through the windows of the deserted bar. "I feel seasick," replied my brother. "Don't be ridiculous," said JS with characteristic common sense, "It's nothing like being on the Channel Ferry." 

Dizzy

We sipped our drinks, watching the seafront through windows that might have seen better days, or not. "But it is awesome," I replied at last, "It's the Pier."

We wanted to go outside, to the end of the Pier, and look out to sea and Ireland and the barman told us it was closed, but he did show us how to go through the snooker hall to an outside smoking area. We walked through the snooker tables, past young Welshmen sticking darts in their hands, and made it outside.

The Seafront

The sun shone through the clouds, illuminating the seafront with a golden glow. It was a good moment and I imagined the same coast, with its now ruined castle, standing guard against Irish raiders. 

The Aberystwyth Angel

Then the moment passed and we left, mission accomplished. "I feel dizzy," said my brother, "I know," I replied, "It's like being on the Channel Ferry." JS wasn't playing, "It's not like a ship at all. But look at that angel!" And sure enough, off to our right was an angel, wings outspread towards the sea.

Perhaps it's the spirit of the place.

LSP

Salute The Flag

But which one? I'd have thought that was obvious. Less obvious is the fact that everyone here at HQ is watching a Thanksgiving Day murder mystery, set in Aberystwyth.

A Typical Day in Aberystwyth

Myth has it that the drummer of the world famous pop band, the Scorpions, owned a mansion just outside of Aberystwyth. 

Braggable.

LSP

Borth

Borth

You may not know it but there's this small town in Wales called Borth. It's a short drive from Aberystwyth and seems to be pretty much controlled by older hippies who run all these overpriced junk antique shops, "galleries, and novelty cafes. Hippies are known for their thieving.

relaxing after a hard days thieving 

Borth also has sand dunes, which puts me in mind of Sting. Some people think that Sting's greatest cinematic performance was in Dune, others feel that he was even better in Brimstone and Treacle. But I won't judge, decide for yourself!

the genius of Sting

So go and visit Borth; it's just this little strip of hippie go-downs and a couple of pubs in a line facing the sea, right there on the Western edge of the Island.

edge of the world

Cheers,

LSP