Fungus

Today I was supposed to be on a museum visit with a friend but she cancelled yesterday with car troubles. You would think a nice lazy would follow. But somehow there is never a shortage of things to do.

I started with a piece of writing for my Wednesday evening group, cleaned the bathroom, prepared some material for the printmaking group website, made an appointment for Sky to have a vaccination and then took her to the vets, met a contractor to discuss an estimate for the bathroom refurb, made dinner and then went to the writing group meeting. Pause for breath. It was good to get a lot of odd jobs done but it wasn't a relaxing day.

I spotted the fungus growing in the garden. I wouldn't say I like fungi but I do find them fascinating, especially when they range from the edible to the ultra toxic. My gardening friend tells me she gathers mushrooms from the field adjacent to her house. Me? I wouldn't dream of eating a wild mushroom; not since I heard what happened to Nicholas Evans (author of The Horse Whisperer). Some years ago he, his wife and his brother- and sister-in-law ate some mushrooms that they had picked in the countryside. It turned out the mushrooms were not chanterelles as they thought but a rare and nasty species of Continarius which resulted in all four developing kidney problems. Evans subsequently underwent a kidney transplant. Better safe than sorry, I say.