Summer mornings are at the top of my list of favourite times of year. I rise when the owls are going to sleep, but when other birds are just waking up. The warm stillness when there is no one else about. The lick of dew on shrubs. New garden spider webs spanning the walkways. The red morning glow of the sun behind the distant mountains. The striking mix of rich brown, khaki, red, and green of the foothills. The hills are not like white elephants, as Hemingway would say, but rather like a collection of limited edition original twill from Bills Khakis. But even in the tranquility of deep summer there is a black mark. Every year July 14, or Bastille Day, seems to appear at the same place in the calendar, much to my frustration, and despite my best efforts. At Schloss von AC it is not a day of celebration, it is a day of mourning. I wear a pair of Weejuns, black boxers, and a generous smile on my face, as a tribute to the counter-revolution. How do you mark the occasion?
14 July 2010
Day of the Weejun
Summer mornings are at the top of my list of favourite times of year. I rise when the owls are going to sleep, but when other birds are just waking up. The warm stillness when there is no one else about. The lick of dew on shrubs. New garden spider webs spanning the walkways. The red morning glow of the sun behind the distant mountains. The striking mix of rich brown, khaki, red, and green of the foothills. The hills are not like white elephants, as Hemingway would say, but rather like a collection of limited edition original twill from Bills Khakis. But even in the tranquility of deep summer there is a black mark. Every year July 14, or Bastille Day, seems to appear at the same place in the calendar, much to my frustration, and despite my best efforts. At Schloss von AC it is not a day of celebration, it is a day of mourning. I wear a pair of Weejuns, black boxers, and a generous smile on my face, as a tribute to the counter-revolution. How do you mark the occasion?
It is the perfect day to be sans culottes, I spend it eating cake.
ReplyDelete"Schloss von AC" - I hope you have that on your cards!
As usual, I continue to conspire to reinstall the monarchy. Today I'll putter about in Belgians.
ReplyDeleteJe suis royaliste.
I raise a glass (of the finest sercial) to the 13 or 14 forgers, rapists and lunatics who were 'released into the community' by the gallant efforts of those who stormed the Bastille.
ReplyDeleteWho'syourfatfriend
Wine & cheese. Not imaginative, but it works.
ReplyDeleteIn protest against "progress", I raise a glass to the most tragic and noble character in the political morass: the reactionary.
ReplyDeleteI wear a red ribbon round my neck and would hope to be invited to the Bal des Victimes at Schloss von AC.
ReplyDeleteYou are,, French royalty/
ReplyDeleteMerde
a glass then, to the rights of kings, always sublime, divine or otherwise...
ReplyDeleteI wore a velvet collar.
ReplyDelete~H.
I make fun of the French on BHB.
ReplyDeleteIt was two manhattans, a pino grigio, vermicilli with meatballs and Italian sausage - J. Crew flip flops.
ReplyDelete