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

BUSTED!

 

A Tahoe screamed around the corner, sirens wailing in the morning heat, a bust in progress but no big deal, happens. Then more sirens, this thing's escalating and I stood up in the front office, aka "porch" to see the action.

Lo and behold, Old D drives by the house, going slow in his beat up Toyota, followed by three more Tahoes full of sound and fury. "Pull over, fella," I thought to myself, "Stop blocking the road and let the cops take out the meth dealer 'round the corner."

D duly turns the corner, pulls into his driveway and bang, the posse screeches to a halt and it's Glocks out, get away from the vehicle! D does this quietly and gets taken to jail, for he was the perpetrator. But what had he done?

Gotten into a crazy verbal with someone at a fast food joint? Accused a random stranger of being in danger of hellfire at the Brookshires? Delivered an end times Alex Jones rant at Tractor Supply before running out on the store with an unpaid bag of cat food? All likely scenarios, but no, it seems his crime was failing to register his vehicle and then failing to stop when the LEO son et lumière began. D was scared and freaked out, apparently.

He's been charged with evading arrest, $5000 bail, and I like the guy. Crazy? Yes. Dangerous? No. In need of help? Most definitely, and I offered to do what I could. In the meanwhile, real, dangerous, evil criminals walk free down the marbled corridors of power, to say nothing of this town's drug dealers.

Look. A Crook

That said, couldn't the above deal have been handled differently?  Especially in a place where people know each other? Well, there it is, and I file this tale of crime and punishment under Country Life in Texas.

Justice,

LSP

Basta

Have you heard the news? Quondam presidential hopeful Michael Avenatti, popularly known as Creepy Porn Lawyer (CPL), has been found guilty on all counts of attempting to extort money from Nike. He awaits sentencing.

Race Cars! No coke obvs

Avenatti, signature sign-off Basta, who obviously isn't a coke addict, represented famous prostitute Stormy Daniels in a case against Trump, which ended badly with Stormy being ordered to pay 45's legal costs. But the once and not so future president started to sink under the sheer weight of hubris and totally fictional cocaine bills.

Prostitute. Clearly no coke

Before you could say "8 Ball," CPL was hauled before the court for fraud, extortion, skulduggery and malfeasance. Nike, it seems, didn't take kindly to the wannabe race car driver's cokehead's attempt at blackmail, and his former wife's not too keen either. 

No Coke Involved Whatsoever

But look, here at the Compound we don't sit and gloat. No, we hope that a coke free CPL has learned his lesson and will rise from the ashes to use his skills to help us all in the not inconsiderable task of making America great again.

A Man in Full without any coke whatsoever

I know, you're saying, "Is this a chapter in a Tom Wolfe novel,  like Bonfire of the Vanities or A Man in Full?!?" What can we say? Cinéma vérité.

Basta,

LSP

Busted!

Presented with no comment, via everyone's fave pagan. Why? if you have to ask...

Cheers,

LSP