Okay, so I apologise for the really long, tenuously linked title, but you just won’t believe this. No, you really won’t. So we’re tootling down the boat road with Bert yesterday and a splash of white on the grass verge catches my eye. ‘Oh look’, says I, ‘there’s a huge mushroom over there’. ‘Ooh’, says Hubby, I’m having that for my breakfast tomorrow’.
Well, dearest reader. You could have knocked me down with the downdraft from one of those little whirly seed things that fall off trees.
Me: ‘You’re going to eat something that grows on the same grass verge where Bertie pees?’
Himself: ‘Too right I am – look at it, it’s gorgeous’
Me: ‘Are you even sure it’s an edible mushroom?;
Himself: ‘Meh, course it is, it’s growing in a field isn’t it? It’s a field mushroom, obviously’
Me: ‘You are aware that we’re travelling to the United Kingdom tomorrow in order to attend my cousin’s wedding, and for you to die in between times would be of enormous inconvenience?’
Hubby: *sigh*. ‘It’s just a bloody mushroom.’
So I gave up. Hubby picked the mushroom and we walked home with me muttering ominously about food poisoning, weird hallucinatory trips, certain death and other such mushroom-induced phenomenon.
Anyhoo, this morning he cooked and ate the bloody thing. AND he fed it to the bottomless pit that is our oldest child (he didn’t tell me that bit – I was in the shower). In my defence, I did forcibly march him to the computer and make him google pictures and descriptions of edible mushrooms, and what to look out for in order to avoid killing oneself with dodgy self-harvested fungi.
And they’re both still alive. Fancy that, eh? Oh and don’t worry, I checked our life cover.