Wilson and Byron burst into my room shortly after dawn, in a state of great agitation.
Between them they explained that W's tomatoes were growing 'all wrong' and they feared they were growing the 'wrong kind' of tomatoes.
I pulled on my dressing gown and they took me out to show me the plants, which now have a number of baby green tomatoes on them.
I said they looked like they were coming on well and told them they had both done a good job caring for them.
In unison, two sad voices objected that they are 'Tiny. And green!' 'We wanted big, red ones,' Wilson explained. 'Not ones that look like green peas!'
Following a night of intense electrical storms and torrential rainfall, I'm feeling pretty tired this morning.
It wasn't the storm itself that kept me awake, rather it was the two nervous anteaters who insisted on cowering in my bed 'for safety'!
I've been thinking about the Fathers Day card I got on Sunday, and how Byron signed it as well as Wilson.
Byron's a lovely lad, but I hope I haven't adopted him too — it's all I can do to cope with Wilson!
I expect Byron was just being polite.
Uncle Z has just strolled over to remark, 'The nights are drawing in... it'll soon be Xmas. I hope you all get me something better than last year!'
Towards the end of the day I went up to see how the boys were getting on at the Tomato Stall.
Wilson consulted briefly with his Sales Manager Tiny Toy, then reported that sales had been 'disappointing.'
'So how many tomatoes did you sell?' I enquired. There was a further consultation with TT before Byron admitted they had sold 'Less than one.'
'None!' Wilson confirmed.
After all their hard work I felt really sorry for them, so I said I would buy all their stock.
'So, three tomatoes at 75p each, that's £2.25,' I said, handing over a £5 note.
Wilson sighed and shook his head, before explaining to me, in the manner of one addressing a simpleton, that I didn't understand the laws of Supply and Demand: The first tomato was 75p, but once that was sold it increased the scarcity of tomatoes so the remaining two would cost £1 each... except that once there was only one tomato left there would be an even greater scarcity surcharge meaning that one would cost £2.
I raised my eyebrows in disbelief, but said only, 'So three tomatoes are going to cost me £3.75?'
Everyone nodded in agreement, but Wilson added that since he didn't have any change he was willing to round the price up to £5!
If this boy isn't a millionaire soon, I shall be astonished...
Today may be the Summer Solstice, but the weather is still miserable with heavy cloud cover and a steady drizzle of rain.
Undaunted by this, Wilson and Byron set up their Roadside Tomato Emporium early this morning, laid out their tomatoes and waited for the customers to pour in.
They haven't had any actual customers yet — a few of our neighbours have called by to say hello and generally encourage them — but nobody has actually bought anything.
Wilson blames the inclement weather for his lack of sales, but I'm more inclined to think it's his prices: 75p (~US$1) for a single tomato seems pretty steep to me, but Wilson explained that overheads are notoriously high in what he calls 'The Tomato Game'...
Today being Fathers' Day, Wilson has given me a home-made Fathers' Day Card, signed by both him and Byron, and a shop-bought tomato.
He said that I shouldn't eat the tomato until Tuesday, as he'd need to borrow it back tomorrow for 'display purposes' — whatever that means.
Both boys have been rooting round in Wilson's "Museum" (garden shed) looking for an old fold-up Gazebo that Wilson is certain was once one of his exhibits.
Byron is very impressed by the Museum, although understandably anxious about The Robot — which is now described as the "Killer Robot [decommissioned] [probably]."
The Gazebo is apparently an essential constituent of the Tomato Farm Shop which they plan to open on Monday.
I'm not looking forward to that — please drop by tomorrow to give me some moral support in case I have to put my foot down.
Or if you want to buy some tomatoes, I suppose...
