It is late, or early, I have stopped keeping track, and I have been thinking about the shoe case. Stay with me, because there is a real idea in here and I keep losing it and finding it again.
Every racquet bag on earth advertises a shoe compartment, and every player on earth ends up with shoes loose in the main section anyway, because the compartment is full of something else by March. A separate case fixes that permanently.
This is a zipped shoe case from Dunlop under the Srixon name — the two are stablemates, which is why the badge moves between them — sized for a pair of court shoes, and its entire function is separation. Clay dust, hard-court grit, whatever the last three sessions put on the outsole: it goes in the case and stays in the case, instead of transferring itself to a folded shirt.
The second function, which nobody mentions, is that it makes the shoes findable. You are not digging.
They are the thing with a handle.
Down at the harbour mouth there is a Round Tower where a defensive chain was fixed across the water — an actual chain, drawn taut, deciding what came in and what did not. HMS Victory is in dry dock and is still a commissioned ship, which means she has never technically stopped.
Which is somehow Portsmouth, and here is why, and this is the bit I have been circling all night.
The Mary Rose was on the seabed for four hundred and thirty-seven years and is now standing in a hull-shaped hall next to her. Everything in that dockyard is about keeping things separate and keeping things intact, which is, I realise at this hour, the entire argument for a shoe case.
You will get use out of it everywhere from a wet away match to a summer tournament back home, and by the way, the Spinnaker Tower has a glass floor a hundred metres up, and it is worth doing on no sleep.
"Everything in that dockyard is about keeping things separate and keeping things intact."
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