I've been listening to a lot of Grant McLennan/Go-Betweens in the last few days.
It's not the anniversary of his death or anything, though I checked that because so often I find there's a spooky synchronicity in these things; something a little quirky did happen last night, mind.
I was knocking up a davyh tomato pasta and chatting with my lovely eldest daughter about Big Things like Death and God and The Universe (she'd had R.S during the day) when we veered off to the less profound but in my mind no less important subject of tomato soup.
She said she'd really like some more of that posh fresh one with basil in it from Waitrose and I said 'Hang on, we've more ripening tomatoes in this house right now than we know what to do with (see above), so rather than fork out for lar-di-dar stuff we can ill-afford, why don't we make our own?'.
Suddenly Grant, who had until this point been playing largely unheeded on the iPo in the background sang out, clear as a bell
I read about your death in the paper
When I was buying tomato seed
That fair stopped us in our tracks, I can tell you.
Grant McLennan - 'Hot Water' (1995)