More than just playwrights are buried here.

You may remember (because it was the subject of my only post - TO DATE! - about my London theatravaganza) that the Bush theatre is migrating to a new home in a former library just down the street from their old pub theatre. While they were mucking about in the shell of the old library, what should they come upon but a time capsule. A Victorian time capsule that everyone had forgotten was there!

If this isn't the best sort of time capsule, I don't know what is.

And isn't there something particularly marvelous about a theatre discovering a library's time capsule? The living archive picking up the trace of the documentary archive, forgotten but not erased? Is a time capsule a variety of performance? A medium until itself?