Tomatotown takes root

This is the long weekend in Ontario, in which we get to celebrate the only good thing the monarchy has given us: a day off. Oh, and Meghan Markle will do too, I suppose. Not much of a pay-off is it? A day off and a bit of phwoar compared to institutionalized genocide, theft, having to listen to endless discussions about whether we need a Governor-General or not and Niagara-on-the Lake. 

In true humbug style, I had to work (again with the editing), but thankfully my general sense of mental numbness was constantly interrupted. First by a phone call from my brother. This was noteworthy because he usually only breaks cover when someone is dead or dying, or he needs one of my kidneys. I looked quizzically at the call display for a couple of seconds before picking up, doing a mental note of how many kidneys I still have. But I still picked up and, amazingly, he just wanted to see how I was doing. This, I suppose, might be his mid-life crisis.

Then Mitch came round for socially distanced tea. Then Danny came round to fix our outside lights (he is the owner of a power drill and knowledge, neither of which I have). Then, then, then... then I gave up and contemplated falling off the wagon again. In the end I didn't, which meant I could do the work later on in the evening. Lucky me.