… creep in their petty pace to ripeness. For yes! Today is the day, a bit like Apple Day in the US, when Tomatoes starts up again. In case you weren’t listening the first time I told you, Tomatoes is so-called because once a child misheard the name of the Church of the Martyrs and called it ‘the church of the Tomatoes’. This was before our time so I don’t know who it was, but the story has become apocryphal and not only are we summoned to breakfast with a big Tomato sign, but also on church holiday there is a big flag on our part of the beach with a tomato on it.
But! my tomatoes – or most of them – remain stubbornly green; and it’s the first week of September. I have cut back the buddleia and stuck some of the blooms in a vase where they promptly wilted, though it is interesting to look at them up close and observe that in the middle of each purple flower there is a tiny red spot. Perhaps that, as well as the smell and pollen, is what attracts so many butterflies – in the summer they are covered with peacocks and red admirals. By the way, am I wrong to think that red admirals were once endangered? I seem to remember thinking they were very rare when I was a child.
I’m pleased with what I’ve done in our small yard: we have tomatoes, potatoes, a pond, some shrubs – and three compost bins. I am currently rationalising the compost as it was threatening to take over the entire area, as David Crosby once said about his hair:
And how true.
We also have some wild strawberries which I ate as soon as they ripened and which were like tiny, cold clouds on the tongue.
Yesterday I wrote a short story about school television programmes. There is a lot of talk at the moment about the imminent death of TV, which makes me think more than ever about returning to our oral traditions; to the old, bardic ways. I feel very strongly connected to this, and I think I always did, ever since junior school when I would gather the children together in the playground and tell them a story.
So today I guess I shall be mostly attacking what remains of the compost. And going to Tomatoes, of course:
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