Real Deal

After all the doom and gloom, I figured I needed time off. Especially since my cousin was over from New York for a tournament: The British Open at The Queen’s Club.

Not that namby-pamby lawn tennis, where the object of the game nowadays is to fire that ball over the net as fast as is humanly possible, but Real Tennis; played in England and France in the 16th and 17th centuries by royalty and nobility. Both Henry VII and Henry VIII were proponents of the game. As is Prince Edward today. Okay, bad example.

Played indoors, in a doubly asymmetric court, with the ball served from the service, up onto the roof of the gallery to the hazard end and... Oh, who am I kidding? I still haven’t really got a clue how the game is played.

Years back, I stood in the middle of a court while the world number one seed explained the rules to me and within a couple of minutes I was hopelessly lost. Although that might have been because I had just been told that the first date he went on with his future wife he accidentally knocked her teeth out. He was Australian. Maybe it’s some antipodean courtship ritual. Still, it’s a skilful game and all about gaining a chase. That much I do remember.

As well as residing in the top ten world rankings, my cousin’s the head coach at a very tony racquets and tennis club in Midtown Manhattan. Which is good for him and which, from another perspective, means that visits to New York don’t accrue hefty hotel bills. Although the bizarre thing is, after every time I’ve visited, he’s moved apartments in the Upper East Side. Surely some coincidence.

Anyway, he and his doubles partner won this afternoon, which puts them through to the semi-finals where they play the current champions.

Meanwhile, back home, I came across the trailer for Fincher’s new film Zodiac, which looks just excellent.