Tomatoes die shocking death

A man who can move mountains. That is what I have become after successfully reducing the pile of debris in the yard to zero by filling, moving, packing and tipping about 70 bags of rubble. What is that expression about bringing the mountain to Mohammed?

It was on the way back from the tip, with the sun out once again that we spotted The Spur pub at Slindon and diverted at the last moment for a couple of pints of Courage Directors, a tipple of which I used to partake in my youth at the Derby Arms in Aylesbury. In no way can that be to blame for a short siesta. It was the exertions of moving several hundred tons of rubble that caused me to seek solace in my pit.

My picture today was taken after lunch on Sunday. It is of Arundel Castle cricket ground, one of the most beautiful in England, and where Uncle Fester, a Currencies Direct client, apparently played a lot of his cricket. Under the influence of alcohol I suggested that he may like to join us in Australia for the Golden Oldies Cricket festival later in the year in Adelaide, but thankfully when I awoke with a start on Monday morning and realisation dawned on me of the magnitude of the mistake, he made it clear would be unable to be there.

Arundel Castle cricket ground

That nice lady decorator shocked me today when she exclaimed she had “killed two babies”. After a brief moment of doubt it became clear that she was referring to her tomatoes. She also ate a fully grown one which, by implication, seems to suggest that she finds murder in some circumstances socially acceptable. Let me explain; she went to pick a tomato from the plant in the yard garden and in doing so inadvertently pulled off two small green babies. She was distressed about this but then went on to munch a fully grown one. There is a message here. All tomatoes deserve to die horrible deaths as they are the spawn of the devil. I am afraid I do not have the stomach for such a horrible act, that must be left to people who like the taste of the filthy things.

Cooked tomatoes are perfectly OK. Once they have been exorcised of that horrible earthy taste, they are perfectly edible, indeed baked beans are so socially acceptable now as to be described on the Heinz can as one of your “five a day” fruit and vegetables, a fact that I only discovered today. Fruit pastilles cannot be far behind.

Rather unbelievably the weather forecast today is good (after an early frost, obviously) so there is a very good chance that we shall indeed play tennis this morning. Knowing what a traditionalist one of my opponents Mr Panto is (chorus; oh no he isn’t) I have gone to special lengths and ironed my tennis kit. I am sure that he will like my lime green matching shorts and shirt that I had made to measure in Kenya for the princely sum of £4. I am hoping for praise and adulation from my fellow tennis players for my daring tennis fashion statement (my style guru,Mr Humphries, if he were free would understand) but have a feeling I cannot quite define that the colour green may give rise to an outburst of the green-eyed monster, jealousy. It is clearly a “must have” two piece that any self-respecting tennis player would love to own. Hopefully he and fellow tennis player, similarly to Mr Panto a public schoolboy and university graduate, Mr Clipbeard, will be able to contain their jealousy and will be better behaved than normal, but I suggest you remind yourself to look at this column tomorrow just to be sure.

Chris France