I wasn't, obviously, being far too young and busy studying for something called "O Levels" at King's Cant. All very prestigious and thank you very much. Apologies, btw, to Col., then Major, Dewar RGJ, "D'ye think you could run with the boys in the Mess?" I thought about that for about a second as we strolled around Green Court and replied with youthful vigour that I could. All at the mighty age of 15. Huh, Vicar's son notwithstanding.
Flash forward 40 years and lo and behold, we're bombing the living heck out of Iran, arming a Kurdish insurgency and, here in Dallas, taking Ma LSP to the hospital for an outpatient visit. All good, and thank God local friendlies are on hand.
So what do you do after the hospital? Make up chicken salad, feed the aged p., then relax on the porch to the sound of thunder.
Wow, maybe it's almost time to unleash a few B17s, just for kicks. And here's a thought, maybe something like an upgraded P51 would be useful against low tech opposition? Cheap, too, which might be a factor in weeks to come.
Yes, over the Dallas Compound, but not because of errant Iranian drones or rogue F 4 strikes. No, because it seems right to grill up some chicken on this beautiful springlike day. In related news, the UK's airbase in Cyprus was hit by drones or missiles, maybe via Hezbollah, and guess what? It didn't have any air defense.
Well go figure. You'll also be amazed to know there aren't any Royal Navy ships stationed off Cyprus or anywhere else much, so the kindly Greeks have stepped in and sent a frigate and a couple of F 16s, or something like that, to defend Crown interests against the missile armed savages. You can imagine, dear readers, Lord Palmerston going apoplectic with rage at such a dismal state of affairs.
Terrifying prospect, but in the meanwhile we most definitely seem to be at war, UK assistance notwithstanding. What's your take on it? I'd say, for what little it's worth, that it's a good thing to take out the Ayatollahs and free the Persians. Can we do it without causing yet more chaos and nation wrecking in the Middle East? Precedent argues we won't, but maybe we'll buck the trend. For that matter, do we have enough munitions and their resupply to conduct a protracted war?
If not, this whole thing's a great gamble. To put it another way, will Iran fold like a paper monkey. Or not. Not being a betting man, I'm keeping my fighting monkey safely out of the ring to wager on a safer bet. You may feel otherwise, your call.
And almost forgot! Let's have Constantinople back while we're at it. You'll note the Iranians haven't attacked Turkey, a NATO member, even as they attack the UK, also a NATO member.
Wow, you no sooner wake up and drink a cup of strong covfefe then all hell breaks loose with Operation EPIC FURY. It seems memory runs deep; good work, Carter and every other US President until Trump.
The American Flag will rise in Tehran by tomorrow night.
In the meanwhile, Jews and Persians are celebrating in Golders Green, of all places. More power to 'em.
Golders Green is traditionally a Jewish area in North London but many Iranians live there too. In January the wall that had been filled with images of hostages (now returned) was covered with photos of those killed by the Iranian regime. Tonight the Iranians came to Golders… pic.twitter.com/hXJq4ay3kb
North Front in this instance being Dallas, where Ma LSP reclines on the sickbed of a fractured spine. That sounds awful, and it is, but she's made of stern stuff and's recovering on schedule. The important thing, they tell me, is to encourage movement, get up and go as opposed to sinking into the sofa forever.
No small caveat. People do just that, they break something, sink into the sofa, lose the will to live and die. No joke, and to that end we encourage movement which, as the Philosopher assures, is a sign of life. So, thank God all's on an upwards trajectory to full recovery here. She's fit, which helps. But that's just North Front or more accurately Home Front. What about everything else?
It seems Pakistan's got itself into a border war with Afghanistan, and we have to wonder, is this some kind of type of future UK polity? Outcome undecided. Then there's Iran or Persia, an ancient civilization controlled by a savage barbarian moon cult. Will we strike or will we not? All this to say nothing of the UK's latest HomoRainbowGreen/IslamoMarxist win in Gunchester. A lot going on, no doubt about it, and here, in Dallas?
Making dinner for the aged p. and voraciously reading PG Wodehouse. You know, it's been years since I did that and those missed years were ill-spent.
PS. Speaking of PGW, who famously said that the world he wrote about was small and is now non-existent, listen up. PGW's world may be gone but his vibe certainly existed in the '90s in London. I know this. Pan to a kitchen in South Ken where I'd been dropped off by a faithful driver, and no sooner as, noticed a chap with a ridiculous red suitcase on the kitchen table.
One thing leads to another, and I asked the redboxer kitcheneer, "I say, are you something to do with the government?" He looked at me and raised an eyebrow, perhaps a fraction of an inch, "I'm a Cabinet Minister, which is why I have this red suitcase."
I retreated, dear friends, to Lanson. An admirable fall back, do you not think?
Perhaps some of you remember Hunter Thompson's "Wave Speech." Viz.
Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. There was madness in any direction, at any hour. You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn't need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look west, and with the right kind of eyes, you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.
HST, most certainly surfing the vibe while discerning it to boot. Speaking of vibe, and this dates me, I remember my dad teaching a class at UWM in what, maybe 1968? There were all these shoeless, long haired fellas with headbands sitting cross legged on our living room floor for a seminar on Tolkein. My poor Mother, imagine the debris they left behind, but far out nonetheless, and I think right on the cresting wave of Thompson's watermark.
Hideous
Now, today? The choppy, sewage-ridden backwash of Hunter's breaking wave has left us in a sink of dissolved institutions and standards, see the collapse of the Western family and birth rate, and a risible university led Cultural Marxist orthodoxy. See what used to be Great Britain, where import the vote equals Raysism.
England, I think, and for what little it's worth, is beginning to wake up to their great replacement in the name of Diversity is our Strength, which it obviously isn't. America certainly has, and you'll note the descendants of Hunter's high watermark howling and shrieking about it. Tough luck, oh dear. But hold on, Parse Thompson as talking about the Uniparty, Old and Evil. Maybe his cresting wave of the '60s was just the beginning of a more thorough root and branch takedown.
Do bear in mind, dear friends, that I am a Monarchist, Chuck Cider 3 notwithstanding. And no pagan.
Everyone's heard of Cecil Rhodes, mining magnate and driven son of the Empire, but perhaps you've forgotten his Pioneer Column, guided by the legendary Frederick Selous. The Column set north from today's South Africa to what would become Rhodesia in 1890. According to something called "Pindula":
The Pioneer Column was made up of individuals of various expertise. It was led by Frank Johnson who was formerly of the Bechuanaland Protectorate Police, and Rhodes's military advisor, before he became leader of the column. Johnson employed the services of Fredrick Selous who was a professional hunter with vast knowledge of Mashonaland. He was the guide for the Column.
He then began to recruit volunteers to take part in the colonisation of Mashonaland. The volunteers were to be offered 3000 hectares of arable land and 15 mining claims as a reward for their services. The Pioneer Column was placed under the military directorship of an Irish Commander Lieutenant Colonel Edward Pennefather.
The Pioneer Column was made up of 180 sappers, 200 volunteers and 62 wagons. No women were allowed. Another group soon joined the Column. It added 110 men, 16 wagons, 130 horses and 250 cattle. They set out from Mcloutsie (Fort Tuli, on the Shashe River, border with Bechuanaland) on 28 June 1890 and arrived at Fort Victoria on 12 September. The British flag was hoisted, symbolising occupation.
It's said that the 200 volunteers were chosen from amongst thousands of applicants for their exceptional qualities of character and ability. And go figure, their immediate descendants went on to create a civilised state from land occupied by hunter gatherers and savages.
Remarkable men, not least Selous himself, and, let the record show, Great Britain sold those pioneers down the river, ceding a once prosperous nation into the hands of corrupt communists, it's laughably called Zimbabwe now. What a betrayal.
That aside, and it's a large aside, can you imagine Rhodes and Curzon meeting, perhaps in the "Secret Society" or over a brandy at the Rand Club or at White's in London. "I say, Rhodes, you do try hard," pan to cigar smoke, flashing eyes and, "Yes!" Or something like that. And what can we say.
Dear Lord, Kyrie Elieson, but well done nonetheless
It's said with justice that a nation's architecture reflects its soul. A soul which is beautiful, good and true will build accordingly, see the great gothic cathedrals. A soul which is ugly, bad and false will create monstrosities, obviously. We create, mirroring God, in our own image, and what an image that most abundantly is. Walk into any post World War II Western city and behold its ugly, brutal, dehumanizing, unlivable buildings.
Good work, so-called "King's" how very beautiful
"Oh, look at that block of concrete, glass and pale brick. I want to live there!" said no one pretty much ever, and go figure, they don't unless they have to.
To put it another way, why do tourists go to Trafalgar Square and Oxford instead of Slough and the Elephant & Castle? Because the former's beautiful and the latter most definitely isn't. Granted, but what possessed our architectural elite to go full ugly?
I always used to imagine shooting this with missiles
Let's cut to the chase. Because the architectural and artistic department of our world went full Cultural Marxist, Bolshevik nihilist. Their goal? To tear down and destroy, which they most certainly did, and then erect their hideous structures which deliberately mock the human soul. Or something like that and you can read all about it in Tom Wolfe's excellent From Bauhaus to our House and the American Conservative. But here's the thing.
Behold your rulers, serfs
It doesn't have to be this way, we don't have to surround ourselves with soul-destroying ugliness. We can and should build beautifully, to uplift the spirit. And we will, when we return to God and the Faith once delivered. Build, punters, back better.
This seems relevant, right about now. And dear punters, all three of you, have you cancelled your timeshares in Jalisco, walked back that all inclusive? Hope so, if not, shelter in place and hope the good guys catch up with you. That in mind, El Mencho's dead after a gunfight with Mexican armed forces and, obviously, no US involvement. I like this infovid, you might too:
Right on, and maybe today's action against the savage, cannibal, devil worshipping CJNG is the first of many similar ops. Let's see these killers held to account. Rumors that Mexico's President has fled the country with a duffel bag full of cash and bullion are exactly that, rumors.
You know, in the UK, they mostly think us Fascist for closing the southern border, "You Fascists!" they shout, and when you mention Cartel they glaze over, as if a light's been thrown off. These are the same people who've imported millions of savage Moslems into their homeland for free gib-me-dat, aka welfare. It'll end in tears you know, just saying.
First it was Andy, the UK's famous playboy prince, and now it's Mandy aka Prince of Darkness, Blair's fixer in chief and until recently ambassador to the US. Who knows, maybe Andy ratted on Mandy but whatever the case, Lord Peter Mandelson was arrested today and taken into custody by plainclothes officers from London's Met.
One commenter on social media put it succinctly, "This pervy creep should have been behind bars years ago." Well said, everyone agrees with that pithy verdict but have to ask, who next, Two-Tier Kier, Blair himself? For that matter, why the UK, isn't there anyone in the US that needs locking up? And via the Crewkerne Gazette:
Peter Mandelson was arrested earlier, but the real drama begins when you see the cellmate they’ve paired him with.
Let’s just say it has all the elegance of a Greek tragedy… if Euripides had been on ketamine.
