Just Chilling

 

Surely, LSP, which hardly sounds like a real name, you mean 'baking'" Well you have a point, it's ridiculously hot here in the great state of Texas because of climate change. That's right, we've moved from balmy July to oven-hot August. So what to do?

The same old thing, not unlike Wellington at Waterloo, when you think on it. Get up, drink strong coffee on the back deck, say Morning Prayer 1928 style, wash up and then take the dog for a constitutional. Sometimes that means a walk to the Pick 'n Steal, today it meant fallow ground behind the Compound.

What was this green space? Something to do with a hospital, I think, now it's a field. Why, we ask ourselves, is it not a communal pool? Good question. Green field dog run complete, amble over to Craig Street and enjoy the shade of some old oaks while you look at what was once a house. The place was demolished last year and lies empty, reclaimed by nature.

A parable for our declining civilization? Perhaps, but don't get too excited, people are moving here from Dallas, Alberta and California because property's still comparatively cheap, which means it won't be in a year or so. Still, reflect on this: Our town numbered some 20,000 souls well into the 1950s, it's around a third of that now. Sic transit, eh? Don't say ancient Rome.

EL SENOR

In other news, El Senor scored a major PR victory in his war against war; behold all those European, vassals leaders, sitting in the Office. Will it bring peace? Dunno, above my pay grade, but a reverse Kissinger alliance with Russia against China would be interesting, don't you think? And let's get back all those billions we've spent on Biden's war at taxpayer expense.

That in mind, sorry UK, better get in line and while you're at it, stop putting people in prison for Wrong Think, you Stasi mountebanks.

Cheers,

LSP

A Chance Encounter in Texas

We all get into routines, some are good, some less so. My routine is this. Say Morning Prayer from the 1928 Prayer Book, none of your newfangled rubbish, thank you very much, then take the dog for a walk and get a coffee. That's what I did today, and as I was standing outside the filling station, sipping my coffee, and enjoying the crisp, sunny Texan morning, I heard singing.

It was faint at first and sounded like a spiritual. The singing grew louder; sure enough, it was a spiritual and its source was a middle aged black man walking down the road by the 1st Baptist Church. He was wearing a Russian style hat with ear flaps and a dirty old parka, defense against the cold, I suppose.

Blue Stryker went on guard as the singing gentleman came closer and stopped,  just out of range of the leashed dog. I smiled at him and he smiled back, "Is that a cow dog?" he asked, "They're real smart dogs! I got three. Say, do you have a cigarette?" I told I did and threw him one, as he cleverly stayed out of the dog's attack zone. "Bless you, brother," he said, and went on his way, singing his spiritual. "God bless you," I replied, and meant it.

I liked that man and file this story under "country life in Texas."

Your Old Friend,

LSP