Of all the fifty shades of grey, this morning is decidedly autumnish-grey which seems to affect the grey matter, so before starting to ruminate on what made me settle this far south of the Brisbane Line, I busied myself with the washing-up in the kitchen which had reached Steptoesque dimensions, and took out the garbage bin for tomorrow morning's collection.
With the day's chores done, I rummaged through the pantry and discovered a packet of dates nearing their expiry date. I've always enjoyed dates, even blind ones and the ones I had to be blind to enjoy, and with these promising to be pitted, I lustily chomped into them, only to stop dead when I heard and felt a sudden crack.
As it turned out, one of the dates had not been pitted and what I had heard and felt in my mouth was a whole date pit and a chunk of tooth I had broken on it. Looking at the package again, I found this on the back, "Product of Iran". Never trust those Iranians!
