20 June 2009 @ 11:50 am
Some over Lyne, to honour and great place / Some under Lyne, to infame and disgrace  
It's an annoying and ill-fitting historical fact that real tennis - a game in which one has to play with silly rackets, make one's own balls, and suffer the company of the sort of people that can spend hundreds a month on club memberships - saw one of its courts briefly glorified as the sheltering place for the birth of the revolution to begin all revolutions. The only place in the Washington metropolitan area with a functional court is run by a man who was raised at Hampton Court. It feels more inappropriate than ironic. I could wish they'd taken the oath in, I don't know, the stables? Out in the weather, whatever it might have been? But I suppose they had more important things to think about than satisfying literary convention.

In any case, this is a day much better suited to pointing out that it's the wine and not the vessel that matters, and to wonder then why I keep setting up new journals here and there and everywhere without any proper purpose for them. But as long as I fill it up with something slightly less ridiculous than people in silly headbands shouting French at one another, I guess I'll be ahead of the game.
Current Music: over the wall
Current Mood: drab
Current Location: harbor