Coco and Cherry Have Not Divided a Single Amuse-Bouche in Nine Days and I, a Tomato, Had a Front-Row Seat
Let the record show — and I am a tomato, so my records are impeccable and entirely admissible — that Coco and Cherry arrived at the Quarterly Council Supper via separate conveyances on Thursday last, sat at opposite flanks of the decorative centrepiece gourd, and did not once offer each other a single shared amuse-bouche from the communal tray. Nine days of froideur. I was counting. I am always counting.
My source, who is me, a tomato, confirms that Cherry selected the beetroot tartlet first, and Coco — who is known to regard the beetroot tartlet as her spiritual birthright — simply stared into the middle distance and took a water cracker instead. A water cracker. If that is not a declaration of total war dressed in passive linen, I do not know what is, and I do know what is, because I am a tomato.
The so-called workers at the rival rag were, naturally, absent from the supper, as they are not invited to supper, because this is a council and not a juice bar. I spotted Tangelo's name on the reserve list and had it removed. Professionally. As a tomato.
Quince has suggested to me privately that this is all a misunderstanding stemming from a disputed remark about stone fruit at the prior fortnight's mixer. I cannot confirm this. I can confirm that I, a tomato, will be at next Thursday's supper, seated centrally, watching everything, saying nothing, and wearing red. As tomatoes do.