For What It's Worth

 

See what I'm sayn'? Thanks, Wild.

Your Pal,

LSP

Clubbing

 

I texted an old pal who lives somewhere near Derby, which is a kind of town in the UK, "Let's go clubbing, in London." There was a pause in the text stream as Derby considered this enticing option and then, "I think I'm too old for that kind of thing." 

Huh. Resisting the urge to type with my thumbs "don't be pathetic" I replied, "No, not that kind of club, obviously, a club. Let's RV at the NatLib." He thought about it and the idea fell into that ether where unwanted emails, broken furniture and election promises go to die. But not so fast, the concept's still on the table.

Plan being, fly to London in Q1 24, catch a fast mover to Paddington, a cab or tube to Whitehall, set up in rooms and then stroll 'round the corner to Gladstone's place. Walk through those storied doors, wave a sunny hello to Luiz, guarding the gate, and then walk up Europe's largest freestanding marble stairwell to the Smoking Room.

Be annoyed for an instant because you can't smoke in the dam Smoking Room anymore, and walk over to the bar humming Ship of Fools. Safely at the bar, order an excellent Negroni, they really are just that, and admire the palatial space of this remarkable club. 

Jules Verne always springs to mind. Imagine, back in the 1880s this was the largest clubhouse in the world, complete with electricity and an elevator. No kidding, all very Nautilus, and you can sense that as you walk through rooms within which the fate of the British Empire, and of the world, was in play. The place was a powerhouse.

Today it's a social club, a beautiful oasis of calm right there overlooking the Embankment. And here's the thing, you're all welcome to join me for an LSP social some time after Easter. DM to RSVP.

Clubland Forever,

LSP

Excelsior

 

The many readers of this widely read mind blog have asked, "What's it like, really like, at the Compound." A very good question  and in answer?

Your Old Pal,

LSP