Here lives an odd old couple. In the backyard of their garden, they plant tomatoes and mushrooms. In the past they made a small fortune selling rotten tomatoes to folk that came to visit the nearby pillory. Alas, recently, Grandfather Tomatoe has deceased. In the end of his life he started telling tall tales of talking birds and talking tomatoes (only on thursdays, and when you wore a blue shirt) and wee folk living in his mushrooms. He babbled of oversized mushrooms that had little doors in it: and rude blue figures with white hats walked out of it. Most folk think he ate too much of his own mushrooms. His wife always remained silent, not wishing her husband to end up in the asylum.
Grandfather Tomatoe was a frequent visitor of the lone STOOL, unsuccessfully trying to sell some of his toadSTOOLS.
Anyone visiting the place is welcome to stay for dinner, but do take off your boots - grandmother likes a tidy house. And watch yourself in the garden, the grass gets a lot higher in the backyard.