There are some jokes that never grow old. But seriously, mushrooms have always fascinated me. It's the annual October half term treat; a walk in the woods kicking up the leaves and spotting the mushrooms.
This obsession started with a spotter book. It had such a pretty picture on the cover and there were so many to find. At the time, I collected stamps, knew all the flags for every country, tapped messages out to my sister on the radiator in Morse code. I was a nerdy, mystery story reading nine year old.
Finding the mushrooms in the book proved to be impossible. There were so many and lots of them looked the same. You had to measure them to make sure which ones they were. As I've grown up, free food has really appealed to me but this appeal has never stretched to mushrooms. Not being a risk-taker probably has something to do with this. It is so easy to confuse an edible mushroom with a psychotropic or poisonous one. I always thought that death by mushroom soup would be a terrible way to die, although it would be a rather cunning murder weapon.
Walking the dog this morning I found two mushrooms.
I think the first one is a Chanterelle and edible but I'm not going to risk it. The second one looks deadly to me but is probably delicious.
Yesterday, on the sound hunt with the foundation stage class a little girl jumped on a mushroom and announced, "Well, that's a surprise! I thought it would make a squeaking sound." I believe that they do squeak on the Ben and Holly TV program and I can understand her confusion, after all, life is supposed to imitate art.
When I told the Long Suffering Husband about it he didn't agree. "She should have known that mushrooms are designed to be quiet."
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