Here at the ALLDERBLOB, that blob of blobs, we rarely show our hand. Oh, them as can read between the lines know we take pride in that part of the city of Toronto known by locals as “the Pocket,” and may even figure out we hold a stake in the neighbourhood. After all, what else could it mean when we describe “chez ALLDERBLOB” as Seymour Jones?
Sadly our days in the Pocket are numbered.
Actually, the number is exactly 30.
We’ve sold our place, and are moving on to greener pastures.
Will the move affect the blob of blobs? Does a raccoon defecate under the back porch? Things will change. But we leave you with two abiding images: one is our kitchen, with the stove we rescued 13 years ago from the scrap metal collector down the street, and restored with a new manifold and all new valves;
the other is the fabled shed, the true castle of chez ALLDERBLOB, which resides in all its glory at the back of the back yard, hard by the subway yard and from whose second floor windows one could espy all kind and manner of goings-on.