Mushrooms and I

Mushrooms and I are no longer friends. We had a bit of a to-do before Christmas which caused me to miss out on a few lovely parties. On the day I was dumped by T.P. I ate some mushrooms which really didn't agree with me, and continued to argue for a few days.

I've not really had them much since then but for some reason after returning from the pub (more on the pubbing later) it seemed like an excellent idea to cook up some suspiciously elderly mushrooms and have them on toast. This was an extremely bad idea, because of those dastidly fungi I spent slightly more time in the bathroom than my bedroom last night and I awoke with a fairly serious handover and aches in strange places.

It was sort of worth it though, not the mushrooms but the pub visit. I scampered down the road to Wimbledon to go drinking with Piqued and his lovely ladyfriend. It was an excellent pub visit. We talked about genetics, obsessives and large amounts of nonsense. Afterwards I was buzzing with good humour and so the walk back seemed fly by, which is probably why I thought that having some dodgy mushrooms would do me no harm.

I awoke this morning in pieces - absolutely ruined - but after a cold shower, a fresh shirt and a summer hat I feel like a new chap. One with a slightly fuzzy head but a new chap all the same.