Monday, December 11, 2023


There was a little tub of duck liver pâté which was absolutely delicious! Thank you, Neil, for a splendid lunch. And I must say that I was surprised at the turn-out, considering that it was so cold, football is a passion among many people including the mostly sane, and it was so near to the holidays that fevered consumerist passions society-wide are at a high-water mark.

As was to be expected, I ate most of the pâté.
Unlike the other fellows I had already been there a for while.
And I had finished smoking my pipe. Whereas they had all just driven in and had filled their briars upon arrival. Yes, I did give them a fair shot at the pâté -- a half hour head start -- but many of them were, for some reason, hesitant about purplish bird goo, so shortly after three when I descended upon the snacks like the rapacious Assyrian conqueror upon a helpless Mesopotomian outlying city state, I had free reign.
Going ape I may have slightly went.

I very much like pâté.

I am a great fan of many versions of deceased duck.
That oily rich flesh and scrumptious liver.
It's a life-style choice.
From my point of view, the gathering of the pipe club was a splendid success. Nick had a lovely Virginia flake from Peretti (Ampersand), of which I sampled a bowlful after the purple goo. Earlier, before lunch, I had sliced up enough G. L. Pease Géométrie for two smokes, and another tobacco I've "sampled" the heck out of in the past several weeks is C & D's smallbatch Steamworks. The tin is nearly empty. Both of these would be excellent replacements for Stonehenge, which has been discontinued.

Joel and Bernard discussed the Boer Wars off to the side, on which due to his own family involvement the latter is an expert. I listened in, bowing to his superior knowledge, while as a fellow Dutchman I naturally take immense pleasure in the valiant resistance of my distant kin to braggadocious imperial over-reach. To be honest, other than their language and tea-time, there is not very much about Great Britain in the age of conquest that appeals to me. And let's face it, cricket is the most boring sport on the planet. The most exciting thing about the game are the cucumber sandwiches in the pavilion while the other side is at bat.

By the way: Blaming the Brits for the messed-up state of so much of the world is ridiculous. They were plenty messed to begin with, since independence they've simply continued where they left off, and it was their complete cock-ups before the Brits took over that gave the English an opening to impose a semblance of order on many of those places.

Although I do agree that internecine warfare and regular massacres are "cultural traditions", and we Western Nations have no business interfering when the howling savages kill each other. As long as we don't start doing it ourselves, because that would be "cultural appropriation", which is bad! So go ahead, fellas, express yourselves.

We need to put an electrified razor-wire fence straight through the Mediterranean, the Dardanelles, and the Straight of Hormuz. Maybe the English had the right idea.

That said, Dublin, London, Glasgow, and Manchester, are all diseased hell-holes filled with soccer hooligans and politically obtuse savages, and there's nothing to be done about that. Sad. Maybe mustard gas. Literacy didn't work.

Final note: I have suggested that, seeing as they resisted the proposal I made a year ago to do a run as a naked pipe-smoking contingent at Bay To Breakers (a zany annual SF event), an "uncostumed" effort, as it were, they all participate in either Saint Paddy's Day OR Santa Con as a team. A pipe smoking intoxicantry! But they may have had too much Bourbon, Scotch, and Port, to hear me. I was the only one drinking tea.
It being the right time of day for that.

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