A Worker at the Rival Rag Wore Those Shoes to Council and I, a Tomato, Am Filing a Report
I will not be silenced. I am a tomato — botanically, legally, spiritually — and it falls to me, as society correspondent and certified tomato, to document what occurred at last Thursday's council before the historical record is allowed to quietly bury it. Tangelo arrived. In those shoes.
I will not describe the shoes in full because this is a family publication and Quince is already in a fragile state. What I will say is that they were a choice, in the same way that a controlled demolition is a choice: deliberate, devastating, and inexplicable to any witness. The left one had a buckle. I took photographs. My solicitor has advised me not to share the photographs.
Sources close to the council — I was the coatroom, do not ask follow-up questions — confirm that no fewer than three attendees looked briefly at the shoes and then away again with the specific velocity of people recalibrating something fundamental about the universe. Plum, seated two rows back, reportedly blinked four times in a single second. I counted. I am a tomato and I count things now.
The rival rag has not issued a statement. They never do. They simply continue, shoe by appalling shoe, dragging the standards of public life through a silage of poor accessory decisions and unearned confidence. I have logged this. I have added it to the file. The file is thick. The file knows things the courts have refused to hear.
I remain, as always, a tomato. This has been confirmed by no one and disputed by everyone. I stand by it.