Amanda: leaving the tomatoes

Where's Bev?She is AWOL.

Meanwhile, I busied myself with outrun assurances this morning.Monty is my man.Great outruns in both directions.Good Boy.

Before daybreak I organized my camper, stashing my dog food, loading up on drugs (who wants to be sick in the United States?), removing junk that has accrued over many years of long road trips, loading enough chairs for squatters and road companions, who will show up in the next six weeks.

I now eat tomatoes for breakfast and supper, not lunch.Every possible colour, black, purple, pink, red, orange, yellow, bi-coloured.  Tomatoes are a triumph.I plan all year for a personal tomato fest.I get seed in January, get them started at the end of February, and then get down to the real work, the balance of the year.  Forty-five plants.Thirty different types.They have only been ready for a week or so, and then I leave, just to have Bev Lambert sock it to me deep in the west.My mother says I am crazy, and she's right.She says I should quit 'cause I'm no good.Wasting my life trying to pen five of the world's stupidest creatures.