Kurma

I have been experiencing some strange tomato-based accidents lately. A few weeks ago in Perth, while carrying a shopping bag of tomato puree in jars while crossing an intersection, I slipped. The bag broke, the jars dropped and smashed all over the road, showering my legs and shoes with tomato puree and glass. Police on horseback happened to be trotting by and came to my aid.

This morning I went shopping at the South Melbourne Markets, collecting ingredients for tomorrow's class at Holmesglen College of TAFE. In the ride home, a tub of semi-dried tomatoes opened up and spilled oil all over the back seat of the taxi. The driver was less than impressed as I polished his vinyl seat to a glossy sheen with paper towels.

While carrying my groceries from the temple carpark, the box slipped and more tomato-scented olive oil spilled into the box.

While loading the coolroom I collided with an open can of tomato paste and smeared red all over my clean shirt. Finally while eating a salad lunch in my room, a couple of very ripe grape tomatoes exploded as I bit them and squirted seedy tomato juice all over my bed sheets.

Is there anyone out there who can decifer this bizarre chain of tomato-based omens?

Discuss (1 response) Comment [1] Trackback [0] Attack of the Killer Tomatoes

English critic and editor Cyril Connolly once said, "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self."

So I presume it's even better to have a self and a public. I'd like to think that I have a self. I definitely have a 'voice'. My writing teacher once told me that I do.

I checked my statistics today. Not my vital statistics, but the ones that describe how many people visit my website and where they're from. It's many thousands a month, and from over 47 countries.

So I'm alive and well, and so are my readers. Thank you.

Discuss Comment [0] Trackback [0] Hello? Is Anybody Out There?