Take Note Ye Heathen

You may be a bit confused by this video because there's no trannies or Gaia DEI Rainbow riders in it. How, then, can the Garden-Threatening Russkies be force lethal, given their CIS-Gender commitment? 

Oscar disguised as Tyrol

Good question, and they're obviously too backward Slav Peasant to work it out. So just you wait until our unicorn brigades drive the subhuman Slavs back to Moscow, and don't you dare say Berlin 1945, it's not appropriate and history never rhymes.

Typical Oscar Photo Op

On topic, SS Dirlewanger thought he could disguise himself as a Tyrolienne, right up there in the Alps in 1945. Fail. He was beaten to death by Poles while in captivity. Well, can't say you didn't earn it, psycho.

Cheers,

LSP

Le Petit Prince

 

All the world knows Petit Prince Macron has promised French troops to Ukraine to fight against evil Putler Bear. Far-sighted readers will remember France has an ill-fated habit of attacking Russia. Perhaps it'll work out differently this time, eh?

What do you think. Do you think the entire French Army could defeat the Ukrainian Army or even the Polish Army? Perhaps it could handle the Romanian armed forces with the help of the British. Or not.

Serious point. What is NATO but a US Protectorate? And what happens when the money dries up, at 30++ TN USD$ and counting. Gold standard, anyone?

Advance to Contact,

LSP

Sunday Mass

 

You pull up to Mission #2, not far at all from Belle Starr's onetime ranch/hideout, and what do you see? Nothing fancy, just a couple of lines of pick ups, a horse trailer and a lowish church built in the 1980s in an act of faith on the part of people who retired from the Metrosprawl to live by the lake. They're mostly gone now, bless 'em. But what do you find inside?

The few readers of this unassuming mind-blog would be shocked. No guitar playing nuns, no wymxn priestesses, no rainbow flags, no felt applique banners, not even any liturgical dance. What you do get is an oriented sung Mass, Rite I (think Ordinariate style, all you RC trads), with traditional hymns. And here's the thing, the singing was led by a couple of ex-Baptist women.

I tell you, it was good, and I don't say that lightly. Imagine, if you can, Amazing Grace at the Offertory on a Loretta Lynn tip. Here's Miss Lynn:

High on a mountain top? You bet. In related news, I called our Senior Warden after Mass, "Hey, J, I haven't ridden for four years and feel it's time to get back on. Can you recommend someone to give me remedial lessons? You know, leads, asking for gaits the right way and all of that." She thought about it for a second or two, "Sure! Come out this week and ride with us, we'll find you a horse."

Now, pundits, mark me well. This is equivalent to, say, a pub guitarist calling up Jimmy Page and saying, "Hey man, is it OK if I jam with you and Eric Clapton?" You know, to get better on the guitar, and he replies, "You bet, swing by the studio sometime this week, Roy Harper's gonna be there too. He needs help."

J in the Zone and then some

Wow, what good people we have in this little country church, where the Word of God is preached and taught and the Sacraments confected. There's hope and no inconsiderable uplift in that and I feel privileged to serve here. Stay tuned for equestrian adventure.

Your Old Pal,

LSP

All The Colors Of The Canadian Rainbow

 

Justine Trudeau's beloved Rainbow Coalition ruling party is sending several million Loonies to beleaguered Ukraine to help with the war effort. Have a look:

Is ACoC running this program?

$4 million for gender-transformative mine action. What does that even mean, that EOD training will make you a tranny and the Russkies will lose the war because all their oppressively heteronormative Zemledeliye operators will die laughing?

A typical Cis-Gender Zemledeliye mine laying system

Help me out here, I'm lost,

LSP

Ride On?

 

Shadow LSP

Perhaps it's time to get back on the horse. I mean to say, there you are at the dear old Tolly in Calcutta and decide to go for a morning ride. So put on those burnished field boots, stroll over to the stables, swing into the saddle and... make a complete fool of yourself because you haven't actually ridden in a few years, four, to be precise.

The Tolly, I Think It's Time to Visit

All wrong. No, none of that. Instead you mount up and ride on into the dawn of a new Bengal day, moving from walk, to trot, to canter, to gallop, all seamlessly and in union with the horse itself. Man and beast at one. OK, so you have a warm up in the arena first to get to know the horse, but that's all good and your Syce suspends his inclination to scorn a new rider. Ride over, you fall back to the veranda for refreshments, the day is young.

Now you see where I'm going with this. If you want to go on a tour of the Clubs of the Old Raj, you'd better be able to ride. That in mind, the Lenten fast is moving me to call up the Senior Warden and ask, "I say, J, d'ye know someone who can sort me out for remedial lessons, English style?"

Me a Few Year's Back at J's Arena With The Youngest 

She'll say yes and we can go from there, maybe to a half lease, and even if the Tolly plan, magnificent in scope, doesn't work out it's still way better than a gym membership. So let's see how this equestrian plan pans out. In the meanwhile, here's J in the day:

Just Outstanding

What an athlete! Her husband was too, RIP, a world champ Bronc Rider and MC/Treasurer at Mission #2 to boot. But rodeo aside, I feel that it'd be good to get in the saddle again and actually learn the discipline. Or something like that.

Cheers,

LSP

Liturgical Dance Is So Very Very Awesome

Liturgical dance is so very, very awesome.

Maybe that's why it's inspired so many thousands to go to church. Then again, maybe it's the beautiful altar frontals, nylon vestments and felt applique banners that did the trick. Here's a moving video:

Beautiful, isn't it. In related news, Baron Jacob Rothscild's dead. He once posed for the camera along with America's celebrity art witch, Marina Abramovic. The painting's entitled, Satan Summoning His Legions.

Appropriate, don't you think?

Out demons out,

LSP

Filthy

Just look at this filthy little beast. Some people think, mistakenly, that they don't have to clean their lowly .22s. Then they wonder why the dam thing doesn't work.

 

Same goes for shotguns. Perhaps you've been on a shoot where someone's gun doesn't work because he couldn't be bothered to clean it. That in mind, I set to this morning.

Chop, chop, that SXS barrel isn't going to clean itself!

And the same applied to a couple of old pumps. Speaking of which, I like the Mossberg Ulti Mag, what a workhorse. Mind you, I might have to replace the extractors as they're getting on a bit. Not hard to do but a bit of pain.

So there you have it, all clean and ready to go unless a tragic boating accident gets in the way.

#2A,

LSP

Can't Lose What You Never Had

 

All hail Lord Allman,

LSP

The Waterloo Room

 

No, not a POC

Imagine the scene, if you can. A candlelit room at 16 St. James Square on June the 21st in 1815. A small chamber orchestra plays quadrilles while the Prince Regent takes his place. But light-hearted gaity must have been brittle. 

Three days earlier, the Iron Duke, Wellington, had met the Upstart in the shock of Waterloo; the fate of Europe, not least England, hung in the balance. You can imagine the tension as London awaited the outcome.

It took three days for news of Wellington's triumph to reach London. Major Percy, an ADC, brought it via fast ship across the Channel along with two captured French Standards. He arrived in a carriage at St. James Square on the evening of the 21st. Brian Cathcart describes the moment:

"Tension mounted as the hours passed. On Wednesday evening the streets were again filled with expectant Londoners, while War Department officials manned their desks for a second night running. At the theatres and the society parties across the West End, one topic dominated. Meanwhile Major Percy was at last making swift progress in his post-chaise and four. Changing horses at Canterbury, Sittingbourne, Rochester and Dartford, he crested Shooters Hill in time to see London in the fading light of dusk. Then soon after 11pm his yellow carriage, with two captured French eagle standards thrusting from its windows, crossed Westminster Bridge into a delirious crowd.

"With this happy throng in tow, Percy made his way to Downing Street, where he was told that the Cabinet was dining at Lord Harrowby’s in Grosvenor Square. These unfortunate ministers had thus far passed an evening of all but unbearable tension. One account goes:

'They dined, they sat. No dispatch came. At length, when the night was far advanced, they broke up. Yet, delayed by a lingering hope that the expected messenger might appear, they stood awhile in a knot conversing on the pavement when suddenly was heard a faint and distant shout. It was the shout of victory! Hurrah! Escorted by a running and vociferous multitude, the Major drove up. He was taken into the house and the dispatch was opened.'

"Sixteen pages long and written in the most sober terms, the dispatch took time to digest, but eventually delighted ministers were able to announce the news to the crowd outside, who greeted it, according to the Morning Post, with ‘universal and ecstatic cheering’. Now Percy had to report to the Prince Regent, who that night was the dinner guest of a banking family, the Boehms. Carriages were summoned and most of the Cabinet followed Percy’s chaise through the streets, once again trailing a crowd behind. Dorothy Boehm, the hostess, describes their arrival at 16 St James’s Square:

'The first quadrille was in the act of forming and the Prince was walking up to the dais on which his seat was placed, when I saw every one without the slightest sense of decorum rushing to the windows, which had been left wide open because of the excessive sultriness of the weather. The music ceased and the dance was stopped; for we heard nothing but the vociferous shouts of an enormous mob, who had just entered the Square and were running by the side of a post-chaise and four, out of whose windows were hanging three nasty French eagles. In a second the door of the carriage was flung open and, without waiting for the steps to be let down, out sprang Henry Percy – such a dusty figure! – with a flag in each hand, pushing aside everyone who happened to be in his way, darting up stairs, into the ball-room, stepping hastily up to the Regent, dropping on one knee, laying the flags at his feet, and pronouncing the words ‘Victory, Sir! Victory!’'"

Here it is today

Victory, Sir! Victory! The room in which those words were said remains today, substantially unchanged, the Waterloo Room of the East India Club. I look forward to raising a toast to the Iron Duke in that very same room later this year.

Vincite,

LSP

Is This Your Future - America?

 

America, is this your future?

Or maybe it's this:

Then again:

Cheers,

LSP

This And That

 

Yesterday was momentous. Yes, I drove into the Mega City connurb metrosprawl that is Fort Worth/Dallas, and was reminded yet again that spaghetti junctions didn't go outta style in the 1970s. What an entanglement of concrete, but it was worth it to get to the Clergy Day at St. Vincent's Cathedral in Bedford.

Where there was a presentation by a consultant figure on character and the voice techniques associated therein. There are, apparently, various character traits, each with their own way of speaking, and understanding this is beneficial to team leadership and self-realization to boot. So what are you, a Nurturer, Pioneer or Creative?

Oh look, you're really safe now at the cathedral. How idiotic

You'll be pleased to know I turned up late and resisted the heady urge to ask, "I think you've missed something out, Imperialist, Space Imperialist, what about that?" Lord Curzon on the sands of Mars aside, it was good to spend time with fellow clergy, what a good bunch of guys, easily the best clericus I've ever served with.

And it was good to be at the cathedral too, so many memories gathered up over the years and not bad for all that. Reverie over, I climbed into the rig and headed East on murder expressway 183 to Ma LSP's place in Dallas. She was in fine form, though recovering from oral surgery, and announced, "Your parcel's arrived."

Keepers Tweed is the best tweed imo

Good! And there it was, a Keepers Tweed coat, thanks, eBay. "I tell you, Mother, these things cost a solid 600 GBP new, if you can even find 'em." She thought about this, "It's awfully heavy, perhaps you can wear it for about two days here." I replied, quick as a flash, "It's the cloth, you see, Winter coat." Which it is, and tough as nails to boot.

On the way out to the bucolic boulevards of rural Texas she gave me a Japanese altar, I think that's what it is, which belonged to her Mother who collected such things. This now sits next to the front door, sanctified by icons, guns, rods and all of that.

Maybe 18th C? I'm guessing

So there you have it, what a good day, and today being the Feast of St. Matthias it's celebration all 'round.

Cheers,

LSP

The Sun Never Sets On The British Empire - In Space

 

Intrigued by the genius of AI, I typed in "British Empire in space, Union Jack, stars," half expecting a scene from Grand Zimbabwe on the Moon, but no, out came a pretty creditable Imperial Fleet Station. But what about "Imperial British Space Navy in battle"?

Not bad! Inspirational, in fact, and here's another:

Join up, boys, and see the stars.

For King and Country. Speaking of which, here's Lord Curzon, on the sands of Mars:

And it's Tommy this and Tommy that:

Stand strong, soldier, for the Empire.

Ad Astra,

LSP