Wishing a happy Easter to all our Orthodox brothers and sisters. Well done, unlike the Worldwide Anglican Non Communion (WANC) and the Marxist Climate Controller in the Vatican, you've resisted the urge to go rainbow gay.
God will bless you for it and one day, perhaps, when the West returns to sanity, we can restart true ecumenism and the Church will speak again with one voice. In the meanwhile:
Bless you all,
LSP
For sheer Jules Verne grandeur and scale it's gotta be the NatLib. I mean for goodness sake, the place is home to Europe's largest freestanding marble staircase and its minimum ceiling height competes with Mt. Everest. Hey, those Victorians thought big and the NatLib's got one of the best preserved Victorian interiors in London. All this to say nothing of a great Terrace and good food and drink at a very reasonable price, right there at No. 1 Whitehall. Respect, but it doesn't have rooms and's shut on weekends, also, its dress code is shocking slack. So.
The East India's smaller, better run (?) and more trad, more of a gentleman's "home from home," perhaps. It also has rooms, nice, a wildly historic location, think Waterloo, and an excellent Sunday lunch. Yes, this club's open on Sundays and is perfect for Brompton Oratory after-Mass. It does not, however, have a commanding stairwell or a Terrace. Huh. Why not let members enjoy the balconies off the Waterloo room? Too dangerous, apparently. Said no one ever in 1816.
Then there's the In & Out. You can go there after lunch at the EI on Sunday because, guess what, it's actually open on Sunday, albeit in a limited capacity, and enjoy smoking in the club's beautiful courtyard while you have a sip of the right stuff. Also, its stairwell is well put together as is the club itself. I like this place, not least for its brazen goat.
Farmers? Cheek by jowl to the NatLib lies the Farmers Club. Unpretentious, most congenial, with a lovely terrace where you can smoke and drink, this outstanding club not only has rooms in Whitehall at a ridic decent price but's also open on weekends. You can hang on their terrace sipping Bloody Mary's as you gaze at the scrum over yonder at the NatLib. Nice. It's ceilings, however, are only about 11' and it has no stairwell to speak of.
The Royal Scots does, and I have to recommend this place. Stay, if you visit Edinburgh, at the RSC. Get a double room overlooking the park, which is opened by real keys, and enjoy the congenial, country house vibe of this beautiful club/hotel. If you're a member you get discounted rates and access to a library, sitting room and recip rights all over. Seriously, I like this place. It's regimental, think Pontius Pilate's Bodyguard, it's civilized, not pompous, overblown and awful, it's well run and has outstanding recip rights. DM if you like.
So there you have it. Which club's best? NatLib for architecture, for sure, EI for put togetherness, I&O for courtyardery, Farmers for central London congenial at the right price, and the RSC for sheer tartan awesomeness. But of course they're all good, beacons of light and civilization in a world fast descending into darkness and barbarism.
Your Most Clubbable Pal,
LSP
A Warning to America: 25 Ways the US is Being Destroyed | Explained in Under 2 Minutes pic.twitter.com/qwmBO8DmMt
— Western Lensman (@WesternLensman) April 22, 2024
Cheers,
LSP
That'd be Fort Hood, of course, for my eldest's official promotion to Sergeant. It'd been a while since I visited the Great Place so first things first, go to the Visitor Center and get a pass, it's not hard, then check into one of the post's hotels. I chose the Holiday Inn Express, just around the corner from the main gate, and lo and behold, it was full of soldiers. It's also cheap, clean, and friendly, so there you have it.
Next step, set up by the pool of this former transit barracks (?) and enjoy a glass of wine while waiting for the acting Sergeant to arrive, and then go out for dinner and drinks. Easy. Or not. I'd foolishly thought there'd be a congenial NCO Club or some kind of restaurant open in the evening on post where I could take the kid out for a pre-promotion ceremony celebration. But no, there wasn't. So we got an Uber to something called the Twisted Kilt, which is a kind of sports bar where the waitresses wear kilts and Killeen's ne'er do wells look for fights.
Still, it was fun, in a sports bar kilt kinda way and we made it back to the Hood safe and sound. Word to the wise, if you're going out for a drink or two, get an Uber as opposed to going through the Bernie Beck main gate in your truck and getting a DUI. This happens a lot, curiously.
Next morning, pull on a suit, I went two button, and drive over to Brigade for the promotion ceremony. It wasn't desperately formal but it was moving, at least for me. What happens is this:
After a brief introduction to Company Command, "Fine body of men you have here, Sarn't," line up before the troops with the two men about to be promoted. Listen to valedictory acclamation from assorted leadership and then, when the time is right, face your son, take his corporal's hat off, replace it with one adorned with sergeant's chevrons and then do the same thing for chest rank. Take the old rank off, put the new rank on, and thump it in.
As I understand it, the chest rank replacement used to be a bit of an ordeal because of actual, literal, metal pins. These days it's all about velcro, but you can still put the thing on with purpose. That done, stand aside before falling out. So there you have it.
Later that evening, take the newly pinned NCO out to Tanks because there's nowhere to eat and drink, apparently, on a Wednesday evening at the Great Place, huh. Stand outside Tanks and ask yourself, "What have we gotten ourselves into?" Damning the torpedoes you stride through the dark portal of this dive bar only to discover you can smoke there, great result, and that it's significantly better than the nasty Twisted Kilt. Not unlike Detroit in the mid/late '90s.
Pleased by this, we shot a few games of pool, which I embarrassingly won, enjoyed a few G&Ts and then headed back to Hood via Uber. All good, until disaster struck at the gate, "Do you have any firearms in your vehicle," asked security, sensibly, "Yes, a pistol," replied the driver, honestly. Hey, if you were driving Uber in Killeen you'd have one too. Whatever, he got detained, while the Sergeant and I walked back to the hotel through the long grass of Hood's fields. Well done, mission accomplished, and what can I say?
First: It's no small thing to take part in your son's promotion. Well done, boy. Second: I was impressed by the demeanor of the troops and command at B Company 57 ESB. Intelligent, well they are techs..., respectful, switched on and full of youthful vigor, patriots to boot. Third: This is very, very different than UKLF as I knew it, back in the mists of time.
Ahem, where's the starch, why is there not an hobnailed boot in sight? Why does a Platoon Sergeant have his hands in his pockets? Are there no rifles with shiny bayonets to Pre...Sent... Arms! Apparently not, and I brought this up with the boy over pool at Tanks. "Dad," he said, I know what you mean," he drilled with the Calgary Highlanders as a Cadet, "But, when this thing gets moving it's like an unstoppable machine." Hey now, I can believe it.
Back at the Compound now and all is well. Good work, son, proud of you.
Semper,
LSP
Everyone's armed, so maybe some rainbow warriors outta DC are gonna take 'em away. Maybe you've seen the film, Civil War? Rock on, kids.
Stand Steady,
LSP
Maybe you haven't noticed but Scotland's preposterous diversity hire's been fired, SNLR, services no longer required. That's right, the absurd Humza Yousaf has been sent packing after a mere month of his pathetically outrageous DEI, Rainbow Globohomo hate crime law.
Well done, Scots, kick such net worth 5MN trash to the curb,
LSP
So whaddya do on any given Sunday in London, capitol city of the Sceptred Isle? Good question and there's many options, but here in LSPland we like to go down this route.
Viz. Wake up, this is important. Then, ablutions complete, get dressed. Maybe this involves a Harvie & Hudson shirt, a regimental or club tie, and some kind of suit, two button, three button, double breasted. Your choice, there's no rule. Then polish your shoes, like a pro.
Well done, you've got this far. Next step, walk with urgency to the nearest underground railway, picking up strong covfefe on the way. Two stops later you're in Knightsbridge, marvel at the hordes of tourists getting off at this stop and join them, where are they going?
Not to shop, because these are shut 'til Noon, so perhaps they're going to Mass, just like you. A few minutes later find yourself at the Brompton Oratory, right on time for the 11.00 am Solemn High, and guess what, this large church is packed with all manner of people. Young, old, rich, poor, English, foreign, you name it, there they are, all present and correct to worship God according to the Western Rite of the Mystical Body of Christ. But hold on.
Parse Western Rite as an oriented Solemn High with three Sacred Ministers, in Latin with English readings, and the order of the new(ish) Mass. In other words, an Eastward facing Solemn High Latin variant of the Novus Ordo, all set to beautiful music, think Tallis and all of that. Which, dear readers, is the way liturgical reform should have gone but didn't.
Well, the proof of the pudding's in the eating and the Oratory's packed while guitar playing nun, wymxn priestess churches aren't. So. Mass over, not that the sacrifice ever ends, stride out uplifted onto the Brompton Road. Gaze at Harrods on your right and reflect on the times you've been there since a child, but don't go in.
Instead, catch a cab to the East India Club, it's not far away, just off St. James, and enjoy a drink before lunch. Maybe you want a Bloody Mary, a French 75 or a Martini, whatever, your call, then enjoy smoked salmon carved off the trolley, roast beef, perfectly medium rare, and a desert. My choice is this: A scoop of chocolate ice cream and a double espresso. You see, you can mix the coffee with the ice cream and it tastes like perfection, word to the wise.
Lunch evolution over, you can go upstairs to the comfortable and historic Waterloo Room or stroll over to the In & Out (Naval & Military) to enjoy the after party before heading back to SOHO. Yes, this is still a thing and doesn't seem to have changed so very much in thirty or so years. In fact, the place seems to be recovering after the UK's heinous COVID lockdown.
Whatever, Team LSP favors the FRENCH HOUSE and the COACH & HORSES. And that's how Sunday night finishes, mission accomplished, a job well done.
Cheers,
LSP
This one's for AJ who finds himself in China right about now. Hey, fella, we're safe here in the North Central Texas Exclusion Zone (NCTEZ). Sayn'. See you at the East India or maybe the RSC in Edinburgh.
Ever,
LSP
See what I'm saying? Speaking of which, an old pal asked me, at the NatLib no less, "How could you possibly support Putin?" I looked him straight in the eye and asked, "Do you support Pussy Riot? Jarvis Cocker? The LGTBQ+ rainbow agenda?"
He told me he supported none of those things, and I replied, "P Riot, Cocker, the Rainbow, all going down, Cossack style. What's not to like?" He replied a few bites later into a NatLib bar snack, "I think, LSP, it's time for you to grow up." I thought about that for a second, "I'm afraid, old boy, that that boat's already sailed."
Speaking of which, Ma LSP had a fur coat, seal fur, which everyone called Big Fur. You get the point.
Cheers,
LSP
So just what, exactly, are you back from, so-called LSP? I'll tell you, an explosive tour around the Old Country. In brief: Survive the Eclipse Event, enter a portal and land at Heathrow, set up in Whitehall, take care of business, stroll 'round the corner to the jolly old NatLib and go from there, London's your oyster, and what an oyster it is.
Yes indeed, not least the Brompton Oratory where they celebrate the Mass in Solemn High grand style and, let the reader understand, in good time. Yep, an hour and fifteen minutes from beginning to end, concert high.
After that, catch a cab to St. James Square and Sunday lunch at the East India, order off the trolley like a pro and then, delicious meal over, stroll across the way to the In & Out (Naval and Military) and take advantage of their beautiful courtyard.
Brazen courtyard goat notwithstanding, catch a fast train to Edinburgh and stay at the Royal Scots, what a congenial club. Ludlow beckons next, an idyllic market town which is rightly famous for the Blue Boar. Stop there for drinks and snacks. Next up? Back to London and Soho.
Get off at Euston, thanking God you're wearing a stab vest, catch a cab to Soho and have fun from thereon in. Maybe that involves multiple Negronis. Last leg of the tour, fly into Calgary and marvel at one gallon of milk costing EIGHT BUCKS. No kidding, something better change. Rock on.
Your Expat Pal,
LSP
