Almost all Canadian gardens have space for a sweetcorn bed. The population is very fond of sweetcorn and the climate is perfect for a guaranteed bumper crop of sweetcorn ears.
The crop is watched on a daily basis as the ears swell and slowly become milky whitey-yellowish creamy, luxuriating in the humid heat of a Canadian summer. My aunt was no exception - she laboured mightily each year to bring her very own crop to bursting perfection.
That was the scene-setting preamble - now the story which I last night recalled begins (wasn't that a wonderful misuse of grammar !!??):
On this particular year said aunt strode forth on a designated morning to admire her burgeoning crop of sweetcorn and found it good. "We shall all have a sweetcorn roast tomorrow for verily my sweetcorn ears have reached the requisite state of perfection and won't get any better than this" she said and telephoned all her friends, rellies and neighbours who all
and said "We shall come".On the appointed morning she made many and various salads (the Canadians like their salads) and issued forth to gather armfuls of ripe, bursting with vits sweetcorn ears only to find that the local herd of rack coons had pinched the lot during the hot and sultry night. Not an ear was to be found and nor was a single rack coon.
The above is a true story which has caused many a larf during those story-telling sessions which occur among families when they get together.
The rack coons had reached the same conclusion as Toosh - the corn ears had reached perfection.
The moral is, if you want to eat sweetcorn tomorrow then you'd better stay up tonight.
at the end of the chain had been forced apart. 
)
They're back together now 