The Royal Newfoundland Regiment

Princess Anne, the Colonel-in-Chief of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment, inspects the troops on the occasion of the regiment's 215th anniversary on Saturday, April 24, 2010 in St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada.

(AP Photo/The Canadian Press, Paul Daly)
Several hundred people gathered to see Princess Anne present the new Battle Honours or Colours that are replaced about every 25 years due to wear and tear. The Princess Royal is colonel-in-chief of the regiment - the only unit from North America to fight at Gallipoli starting in 1915.

It traces its history back to 1795 and is marking its 215th anniversary this year. King George V added the extraordinary prefix Royal to the regiment's title in 1917, in part for its valour at Ypres and Cambrai.

The pageantry and parade Saturday were part of Anne's two-day trip to the province with a special focus on those who served in the Great War. She made special reference to the carnage of Beaumont Hamel on July 1, 1916 when much of the Royal Newfoundland Regiment was killed or wounded.

Families across the province are still profoundly marked by the staggering losses of that day. "The 801 men who went over the top that morning earned the glorious title of 'Better than the Best'," Princess Anne said. "Only 68 of them were able to answer the roll call the next morning. We all live in hope that that sacrifice will never happen again."

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Manifestal Lunacy

The United Kingdom is standing before a general election.

Let us see what the major parties' manifestos say on the grand institutional matters.

The Labour Party Manifesto has a chapter 9 entitled “Democratic reform: A new politics: renewing our democracy and rebuilding trust.” Under a subtitle “The next stage of national renewal,” the Labour Party manifests:

• Referenda, held on the same day, for moving to the Alternative Vote for elections to the House of Commons and to a democratic and accountable Second Chamber.
• Improved citizenship education for young people followed by a free vote in Parliament on reducing the voting age to 16.

For those interested in details, they can be found in a PDF document.

The Liberal Democrats Manifesto follows suit. In a chapter entitled “your say,” in a section entitled “fairer politics,” amongst the main points are:

• Give the right to vote from age 16.
• Replace the House of Lords with a fully-elected second chamber with considerably fewer members than the current House.

For those interested in these details, they too can be found in a PDF document (also a PDF with only the cited chapter).

Then there is the Conservative Party Manifesto. In a chapter entitled “Change politics” and a section entitled “Make politics more accountable,” the Conservative Party manifests:

We will work to build a consensus for a mainly-elected second chamber to replace the current House of Lords, recognising that an efficient and effective second chamber should play an important role in our democracy and requires both legitimacy and public confidence.

“Conservative” indeed! In this manifesto there is no crazy flirting with minors. However, the House of Lords must go, apparently. Details can be found in a “conservative” PDF document.



The great High Tory Mr. Gerald Warner today sums up the upcoming election in Scotland on Sunday:

Choice is a luxury that is no longer on offer to British voters. The identical programmes of the three main political parties have effectively created a one-party state. It is the great irony of this general election that the expansion of the traditional two-horse race into a three-horse contest has brought not the slightest philosophical broadening of the electoral landscape.

Mr. Warner goes on:

It would be more accurate to say that Labour, Conservatives and Liberal Democrats share a homogenous culture. It is possible to detect slight differences in their respective agendas – the Liberal Democrats' dissent from the Iraq War would be one instance – but these are purely tactical variations in the implementation of a common political culture that Gordon Brown once described as “the Progressive Consensus”. When the advent of David Cameron as Conservative leader absorbed even the Tory Party into that consensus, multi-party democracy became history.

Progressive democracy marches onwards. The “solution” to the problems of modern democracy is even more democracy. Nothing is to check the will of the popular majority – nor stand in the way of those acting in its name. Liberty and decency be damned.

By the way, anyone care to bet on when universal suffrage is expanded to two-year-olds?

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A Pint or two for St. George’s Day!

Here in Australia, much is made of St. Patrick’s Day and to some extent St. Andrew’s Day. But, St. George’s Day on the 23rd of April comes and goes without a mention.

So today I’m sitting down and having a few pints of English Ale for St. George’s Day. England gave us a free parliament, the rule of Law and our language – so join me and raise a pint for old England!

Plus a little something to warm the cockles of your heart..!

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The Season Beckons

As all good traditionalists know, the remnants of the Season approach - with Wimbledon best known, but Henley and Royal Ascot being my favourites. The Boat Race has also been and gone for the year - with Cambridge defying the bookies and winning the 2010 race.

So - to Henley and Royal Ascot.

The Henley Royal Regatta was first held on the River Thames in 1839, with Prince Albert becoming the first Royal patron in 1851. Since Albert, all reigning monarchs have been patron - including HMQ.

The quality of the rowing is incredibly high, with competition from across Britain, the Commonwealth, and abroad. I've been to four Regattas and it's always a fantastic day out.

More can be found about the regatta here. If you don't have access to the Stewards Enclosure, there are two clubs with good reciprocal lists that also overlook the race, the Leander and Phyllis Court clubs. If you have the reciprocal, I strongly recommend Phyllis Court - there is something charming (and very English) about being charged an arm and a leg for some poached salmon and a pint of Pimms in the rain. Great spot to catch the end of the races too. After, the masses troop back to the Henley railway station for the journey back to London (via Twyford).

Royal Ascot - the last place remaining for the mass wearing of morning dress in British public life - also needs no introduction. Dating from 1711, HM and other members of the Royal Family arrive in horse-drawn carriages. The dress code for the Royal Enclosure is very strict, with gentlemen required to wear morning dress, complete with top hat, and ladies attired suitably and classically.

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The Muthaiga Country Club

The Muthaiga Country Club by way of Admiral Cod, for those wandering gentlemen who might one day find themselves in Nairobi, Kenya. The old colonial club is situated in the affluent suburb of Muthaiga, about 15 minutes drive from the city center. The Muthaiga Country Club opened on New Year's Eve in 1913, and became a gathering place for the elite society of British East Africa, which later became the colony of Kenya in 1920.

Denys Finch Hatton

The Nairobi Club had a bar and a large billiard room, the walls festooned with the usual array of horns and dented with the imprint of errant balls. It was ramshackle enough, and in what one of his business partners called ‘an unusual outburst of respectability’, Berkeley Cole, a prominent farmer, announced that he was sick of being treated like a pig and yearned for a club of a refined nature where you rang a bell and a drink was brought to you on a ‘spotless tray’. A backer came forward, a site was identified three miles from town and architects, surveyors and builders were imported. The result was a low, unobtrusive edifice with modest Doric columns at the entrance and a pinkish pebbledash finish, the interior designed around parquet floors, a peristyle that was initially not roofed, and a fleet of sofas with loose chintz covers. The Muthaiga Club was generally considered ahead of its time as well as too far out of Nairobi, and initially membership was low, but a coterie of aristocrats including Berkeley, Delamere and Denys remained enthusiastic. Although only fourteen of them sat down to the inaugural New Year’s Eve Dinner at the close of 1913, the event was staged comme il faut, with multiple courses prepared by a top chef shipped in from the Bombay Yacht Club and music played by the band of the King’s African Rifles. Muthaiga had the best cellar in Africa, with a range of clarets from Châteaux Pauillac, Lafite and Latour downwards, a shop selling Charbonnel and Walker chocolates and freshly baked croissants. Delamere was the first president, and over the years he and his cronies nurtured that peculiar sense of deliberate enclavity that marked out the colonial club from Bombay to Calgary. Muthaiga was Denys’s home from home in East Africa for two decades. Lounging in his characteristic slouchy pose on the terrace with its modern blue screens, surveying the tennis courts and trailing bougainvillea, he found the companionship he needed after the solitary life of the bush.

Excerpt from Too Close to the Sun: The Life and Times of Denys Finch Hatton, by Sara Wheeler (2006)

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A Loyal Birthday Address to Her Majesty

To Her Gracious and Sacred Majesty Elizabeth, by the Grace of God of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Canada, Australia, New Zealand, Jamaica, Barbados, The Bahamas, Grenada, Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Tuvalu, Saint Lucia, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Antigua and Barbuda, Belize, Saint Christopher and Nevis and her other realms and territories; Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith.

YOUR MAJESTY,

Whereas your Parliaments, dominated as they are by Wreckers, Levellers, Traitors and Malcontents, may neglect to send Your Majesty a Loyal Address on the Occasion of Your Majesty's 84th Birthday,

And whereas Your Majesty's Crown, and the beloved constitution hallowed by the dust and the blood of our Fathers ought to be at the centre of our national life, and the protection of the same our chief care,

Therefore I, the least of Your Majesty's loyal subjects, have taken it upon myself to present to your most Gracious and Excellent Majesty this Loyal Address, upon Subjects Patriotic and Loyal, wherewith to confound Your Majesty's enemies, and for the maintenance of the loyalty which is your and our chief protection against Levelling Modernism and the Paineite Rabble who wish to destroy our honour, our history, our liberty, and Your Majesty.

Madam, this year marks the fifty-eighth of your reign. You have conducted yourself with grace, dignity and responsibility to all your subjects, and all your peoples. Your contribution to our stability and well-being has often gone un-noticed. You have never complained, but have unfailingly continued steadfast in your duties. For this, I salute you.

You stand at the end of a proud tradition, stretching back into the mists of time. Your Majesty sat upon the Stone of Destiny, upon King Edward's chair. You were anointed, hallowed, consecrated unto God by the Primate and Metropolitan of All England. You were crowned, acclaimed, and recognised, by right of blood succession, Queen regnant of this and your other Realms. You were lifted up above us "by the power, authority and ordinance of Almighty God". For this, I salute you, and Praise God for his grace unto us.

Your Majesty is a Christian Prince, a link in the chain between your people and God's Justice. As such, you are the Mother of your people, stretching out your hand to protect us from politics, politicians and their grubby electioneering. Your Majesty is the focus of our unity, above politics, answerable to no-one but God and your conscience. For this, I salute you.

You are the symbol of all that is decent, and good, and stable in our tradition. You are the personification of our law, and God's Law. You are united to your peoples, and they to you. You are a symbol of continuity, a rock in the midst of change. You are the link between the Motherland and her many outposts, independent, yet always united, in culture, law, language, sport and love of our collective Queen. Those who have left the Commonwealth too, hold you in high esteem. Your Majesty's devotion to the welfare of all your people makes you welcome everywhere. Sir Winston Churchill had it right when he said: ""We honour her because she is our Queen. We love her because she is herself".

Because you are our Queen, and because you are yourself, Your Majesty, on your 84th birthday, your peoples around the world salute you.

God Save Her Majesty our Sovereign Lady Elizabeth!
LONG LIVE THE QUEEN!

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HM at 84

It's not "officially" her birthday. But we'll mark the occasion anyway:

Her Buckingham Palace office says the Queen has no official engagements on Wednesday but will be dealing with official paperwork — as she does every day except Christmas and Easter.

The King's Troop Royal Horse Artillery will fire a 41-gun salute at noon in London's Hyde Park to mark the birthday. An hour later, a second salute will be fired from the Tower of London.

Let's see if any of the political class display such modesty in the coming weeks.

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Add a little swagger to your step!

As English as the Eton collar, and as iconic as the bowler, gentlemen are encouraged to get their sticks and canes at Swaine Adeney Brigg.


The Royals above and below demonstrate the continuity of monarchy.

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"the nucleus of the Royal Canadian Navy"

Off the coast of the Florida Keys?

The CGS Canada, the armed vessel on which the nation's first naval recruits trained ahead of the official creation of Canada's navy in 1910, was later sold and renamed the Queen of Nassau before sinking off the Florida Keys in 1926.

Discovered by recreational divers in 2001, the ship has been probed extensively by U.S. Marine archeologists, who are now working toward designating the wreck a historic site because of its significance in the evolution of Canada's military.

"We're still in the process of writing the nomination," said Tane Casserley, national maritime heritage co-ordinator with NOAA, the U.S. National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

In the end Laurier's "Tin Pot Navy" grew up.

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The Architect of the British Empire

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Present at the Destruction

The Steyn on the Sex Pistols:

But that’s showbiz: ‘The industry’ doesn’t care whether you’re a Great Thinker like Rotten or the bass player from the Rollers (assuming they had one); it’s all the same. The big difference seems to be standards of personal hygiene, as US Immigration found out when they ill-advisedly examined Sid's underwear. At least, that's how Johnny tells it. It's the festering three-decade resentments that make this movie so much more enjoyable than The Great Rock'n'Roll Swindle.

Entirely by coincidence, back in 2005, I chanced to see this film the same day as a reissue of The Prisoner Of Zenda, the classic 1937 version with a veritable phalanx of Hollywood's English aristocracy - Ronald Colman as Rudolph Rassendyll saving the Ruritanian throne, David Niven as Fritz, and Sir C. Aubrey Smith as Colonel Sapt. How the archetypal Englishman evolved from Ronald Colman, David Niven, and Sir C. Aubrey Smith into Johnny Rotten,Sid Vicious and Malcolm McLaren in a mere 40 years would make a fascinating film all by itself.

Anyone familiar with Mark Steyn will know which side of the Niven / Rotten divide he sits on. The Sex Pistols were a watershed moment in British popular culture. North Americans still tend to view Britain through the lens of Masterpiece Theatre, Alistair Cooke, Brideshead Revisited and scores of costume dramas. The stiff upper lip, the jovial Spitfire ace puffing his pipe, waiting for Jerry to come back, the first Elizabeth rallying her troops before the Armada, and other sepia images of past greatness. Even the lower classes are portrayed with a certain grandeur. Dickens and Eliza Doolittle. The operative cliche was that all men had a divine spark, some element of the noble that could be appealed to, or betrayed. Whether you take human divinity literally, a gift from a supernatural force, or merely a metaphor for human aspirations, it set a certain base line to personal and public conduct.

For a man who called himself, with dark irony, Johnny Rotten, there was no baseline. The Sex Pistols were denounced by the usual suspects, they instead should have been laughed at for their pretensions. The critical elite welcomed this gang of atonal thugs as an expression of the genuine anger and frustration of English youth. Their parents had endured the Blitz with stoical resignation, the children were to be excused their fascination with vulgarity for vulgarity's sake, after all there was a garbage strike on. Britain of the 1970s was not a pleasant place, yet human beings have survived worse than shag carpeting and the Bay City Rollers. The speed and decisiveness of the decline has always been a puzzle to Anglophiles. To have defied so many of history's worst tyrants, it was a bizarre anti-climax that a great nation was being undermined by mere yobs. The original barbarians at least didn't live off the dole.

Britain's dramatic shift toward socialism in the summer of 1945, the country becoming the Sick Man of Europe by the 1970s and the rise of Rottenism took place at what was, culturally, a breathtaking speed. Evelyn Waugh had spoken of a future dominated by the Hoopers, the bland and ineffectual men he saw coming to the fore in 1945. If only. Hooper was a way stop. The speed and energy of the decline was driven both by the collapse of Empire, an obvious existential blow to the national psyche, but far more important was the decline of the aristocracy. The misunderstood force of British twentieth century history was class warfare. Generations of working class British voters stuck with socialism not because it had improved their lives, though for a few years in the 1950s the welfare state did briefly raise living standards, but because it was revenge against the toffs who had ruled the country for centuries. The half century after the war can be seen as a slow motion version of the French Revolution. What began as an assault on unearned privilege degenerated into an attack on standards and values as such. The Sex Pistols were the sans-culottes of the Callaghan era. The Pistols anti-anthem, God Save the Queen, expressed this view with, for lack of a better word, eloquence. It was naked hatred of the established order. I have been denied my prizes, therefore none shall have theirs. It was envy and nihilism sanctified as a political philosophy and cultural movement.

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The Doctor who Saved the Edwardian Era

Whenever your mind wanders back to the Edwardian era, spare a thought for Lord Lister and Sir Frederick Treves. Old Bertie would not have made his coronation without them.

Lord Lister, the Pioneer Surgeon who saved the Edwardian Era
King Edward VII came down with appendicitis two days before his coronation. The surgeons did not dare operate without consulting Britain's leading surgical authority. The king later told Lister, "I know that if it had not been for you and your work, I wouldn't be sitting here today."

Edward's coronation of 9 August 1902 had originally been scheduled for 26 June, but two days before on 24 June, Edward was diagnosed with appendicitis. Thanks to developments by Lord Lister in anaesthesia and antisepsis in the preceding 50 years, he underwent a life-saving operation, performed by Sir Frederick Treves.

This was at a time when appendicitis was generally not treated operatively and carried a high mortality rate. Treves, with the support of Lord Lister, performed a then-radical operation of draining the infected appendix through a small incision. The next day, Edward was sitting up in bed, smoking a cigar. Two weeks later, it was announced that the King was out of danger. Treves was honoured with a baronetcy (which Edward had arranged before the operation) and appendix surgery entered the medical mainstream.

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The Entente-Cordiale

For a long time the British Empire had been on unfriendly terms with the revolutionary republic, with very good reason.

On this day, however, 106 years ago – April 8, 1904 – this would end. His Britannic Majesty entered as a party to the Entente-Cordiale with the revolutionary republic. Yes, that's the one. With the “Republic of France.”

A decade and a few months away were the fateful shots heard around the world from Sarjevo. And the British Empire was eventually to be on the same side as the revolutionary republic in that Great War that was to put an end to the Old Order that was.

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Speaking of Dress

Anderson & Sheppard:

'People come in from around the world and say they want the Fred Astaire or Cary Grant suit,’ says John Hitchcock, the managing director and one of two in-house coat cutters. He has worked for the firm for 46 years, having joined as an apprentice aged 16. ('Lots of other cutters in the trade are called mongrels because they move around,’ he tells me. 'We are all thoroughbreds.’) He trained under Mr Bright, who trained under Mr Sheppard, who was responsible with Mr Anderson for evolving the firm’s trademark cut: a sloped, natural shoulder on the jacket, with a small, high armhole and loose upper sleeve that ensure the collar stays close to the neck. (Fred Astaire was known to dance about his fitting-room with one eye to the mirror to check that his collar didn’t move.)

Their website can be found here. Please watch the view in the 'About Us' section.

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Failure? The Possibility Does Not Exist

We are saddened to hear of the retirement - if that is the word - of J.K. Baltzersen from The Monarchist, of which I have been a humble scribe for some years now. I am far more sadden by the author's pessimistic reasons for leaving the field of battle:

Along the way, although there of course are exceptions, I have met very little understanding for the worldview which I advocate. I find that I am standing still. I am not moving. Not forward. Not backwards. Not anywhere.

This world consists of people – almost of all ages – proudly exhibiting their underwear in all sorts of public places, successfully asserting their right to political equality, but at least the world is moving forward.

Yes, forward over the cliff. The coarseness of the age is appalling. It is an obvious and trite thing to say, but one which needs to be said. It is the obvious things which need to be repeated, they are so easily forgotten. We accept it too easily. The cheapening of the human soul. Chesterton, Belloc, Ortega y Gasset and Rand all denounced it, each for their own reasons. What linked these minds - who would have disliked each other intensely - was their aversion to the modern. They were born in that last twilight of the liberal era, which ended in the barrel of Gavrilo Princip's pistol, nearly a hundred summers ago. The modern they despised was the levelling tendency, its worship of what Whitman sadly called the "divine average."

Statistics is not conducive to divinity. In its widest sense, divinity is never average. It is an aspiration. The average may possess it, but the desire is transcendent. The ordinary looking up. The Cult of the Modern is the Cult of the Average, it is anti-aspiration. The age before 1914 was distinguished not so much by its small and unintrusive government, its manners or arts. It was the last age in which ordinary people deferred to those in authority. Partly out of ignorance, but also out of respect for what such an authority represented. The university professor was a repository of, and skilled guide to, knowledge. He was not an otherwise unemployable crank. The minister of state was a guardian of the security and freedom of the realm, not a charlatan in a frock coat.

The human clay was no better then than now. No age suffers from a shortage of the wicked, the conniving and the morally lax. Same clay, however, different aspirations. People wanted to believe that those in authority lived to higher standards. They understood that some failed the ideal, yet the dream was all important. Somewhere, men are decent and noble and do the right thing. In her first television Christmas broadcast, made in 1957, Her Majesty warned us not to succumb to the "subtle corruption of the cynics." The rot was pretty well set in even then. The message is still relevant. If we don't try, we'll never be. This process of corruption has always had an especially obnoxious villain to my mind, Lytton Strachey. His Eminent Victorians sought to, and largely succeeded, in placing feet of clay on the giants of 19th century British history. The American critic Edmund Wilson said of Strachey:

Lytton Strachey's chief mission, of course, was to take down once and for all the pretensions of the Victorian age to moral superiority... neither the Americans nor the English have ever, since Eminent Victorians appeared, been able to feel quite the same about the legends that had dominated their pasts. Something had been punctured for good."

Hallelujah! We are all back in the mire! Rejoice! Strachey made generations of intellectuals, and those further down the effluence of thought, feel comfortable in their mediocrity. No one is better than anyone else, which is really saying that no one is better than me. My little vices, my little betrayals, my little failings are acceptable, I have no need to fight them, because the eminent men are just as bad as me. Men are not so much prone to evil as to sloth. Eminent Victorians was a license to moral sloth. What is first done with wit and grace, is soon enough done with vulgarity and obscenity. A typical British High Street is proof enough of that. Without discipline an army is a rabble. Without discipline, of some sort, the soul of man is no better than a rabble, driven by sudden emotion and instinct. Thought, consideration and foresight are the products of a disciplined mind. Of a mind that aspires to better than what it is and, through discipline has the tools to move in that direction.

I hold onto the monarchy for many reasons, one of which I will honestly admit is a perverse streak of the reactionary within me. It is a mad impulse which sometimes becomes irresistible. I am the only person I know who does not own a pair of jeans. This causes some discomfiture to friends and co-workers. I do not explain why. It may well be an irrational impulse. I recall one of my teachers in high school, in a fit of honesty, admitted that his father thought him immature. Exhibit A in the father's case was that said son still wore jeans. The aged veteran of HM's forces thought only teenagers, children and workmen should wear jeans. Men wore pants, you see. The thought was a bracing one. A bit of reactionary rebellion. It is logically nonsense to imagine that an item of clothing confers on one any sort of superiority, yet the concept of a fashion statement is perfectly understandable. Clothing is symbolic. The wearing of jeans was once a militant statement of youthful and proletarian solidarity. The rebels having taken over, it is now a uniform. Jeans are "comfortable" we are told. Not really. The material is more rigid than that which is typically used for trousers. Jeans are comfortable only in the psychological sense. They telegraph to wearer and viewer than the wearer is "off duty" and not in a serious frame of mind. "Please don't take me seriously, I'm not really trying." They are the dress of militant informality.

The monarchy is like the bespoke three piece suit. A piece of militant formality and defiant aspiration. The Queen is the epitome of propriety and dignity. There is an ordinary human being beneath the crown, one that behaves as we all do at our worst. Yet she has dedicated herself to a certain code of being, a sense of duty higher than ordinary. With discipline and application you can be better than you are. That was part of the point of monarchy, as Victoria and Albert re-imagined it, a model for the nation. We are told, with the smug assurance of a wise man explaining the dawn to a simpleton, that monarchy is out of date. The modern age admits no hereditary privilege. Most of those who say that plan on bequeathing to their children as large an inheritance as possible, as well as a first class education (if they can still get it). What irks the republican is not some strict constitutional principle, it is a political as well as spiritual egalitarianism. They are too vain to admit that anything is better than they. Today it is a monarch, but the levelling tendency is fanatical and will seek new victims. The Australians have a saying about cutting down the tall poppies. The Queen is simply the tallest poppy.

We began by mourning the pessimism of some toward the modern world. The jacobins are now very busy indeed. They are headlong into bankrupting the United States. They have, through stealth, rendered Queen and Parliament no longer sovereign in Britain. The popular culture is utterly obscene, so much so that to mention its nature is to invite boredom. Yes, yes, decline and fall and all that. Part of the ether. Protesting is pointless. There is nothing inevitable about today or tomorrow. The world of a century ago was the product of centuries of preceding effort. The Britain of the 18th century looked a lot like the Britain of today. The future is always contestable. You just have to say. A thousand acts of small defiance. A refusal to accept the well accepted. We must be outrageous for the sake of restraint. We must be radical for the sake of propriety. No, madam you do not have a different lifestyle, you are a slut. No, sir, you are not being pragmatic, you are being dishonest. Insist that sophistry is not a sign of sophistication. It is a sign of cowardice, as it was when Aristotle patrolled the agora. We lose only by accepting that what is is right. Our opposition is strong only in numbers. Sloth, when it is revealed plainly as sloth, is a weak rallying cry. Aspiration is a strong call forward. We have only to call their bluff and never, ever, surrender to the "subtle corruption of the cynics."

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Signing Off!

I have through several years now been using my pen in defense of an older order – an order distinctly different from the one in which we all live.

Along the way, although there of course are exceptions, I have met very little understanding for the worldview which I advocate. I find that I am standing still. I am not moving. Not forward. Not backwards. Not anywhere.

This world consists of people – almost of all ages – proudly exhibiting their underwear in all sorts of public places, successfully asserting their right to political equality, but at least the world is moving forward.

I see that those claiming monarchy to belong in the past may have a big point – at least when it comes to the kind of monarchy that I advocate. In any case, my viewpoint and my writing is getting neither me nor my cause anywhere.

It has been fun.

But it is time now for me and the world to move on. As Dr. Paul Craig Roberts did just a few days ago, I am signing off!

Happy Easter!

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