Monday, 24 February 2014

Mushroom


 

Vol 33 mushroom

 

I don’t know about you, but I occasionally find myself fixated on achieving something a little left of field.  I don’t know why this is, this desire to be different certainly doesn’t make for an easy life and often leads to sideways glances meeting the determination to think outside the box.  As a friend once kindly remarked, perhaps a brain transplant would be in order.

Take this for example.  Sitting front of, but not watching as usual, TV one rainy afternoon I came to the conclusion that, though there was nothing whatsoever wrong with the currently resident coffee table, I was, fourteen years later, sick of looking at it.  So, while my other half whiled away the afternoon being benignly entertained by Real Deal, I amused myself dreaming up a much more engaging versions of the said table.

“Where can we get a log?” I asked himself at last, interrupting Mr Dickinson and his diverting skin.

Several drawings (ONE log/leg not four) and trips to garden centres (too small) , local farms (too triangular), websites (too expensive) later we eventually located the perfect log and carted it, suspension groaning, home in the boot, unable to contain ourselves until it dried out (about two years judging by the size of it) and set it, taking a lump out of the laminate floor in the process,  in pride of place and topped it with a glass … er top.  If a little wonky, it looked fab.

For the next few weeks we admired our perfectly wonderful wonky table until, passing through the lounge on the way to Asda for wine, we noticed a minor addition to the interesting bark,

“Aw cute,” me of course, “it’s got a little mushroom on it,”

and carried on, wine taking obvious precedence over mushrooms.   No exaggeration, over the next few days the cute little mushroom grew, fascinated photos being replaced with alarmed apprehension, to monstrously epic proportions until it had outgrown the log and the glass top and was heading for the couch.

On its final attached day, having shot multitudinous black spores all over the white couch and unfortunate dog, it was sliced off and hauled to work to liven up the day of weary colleagues who, no doubt, were keen to share helpful suggestions of bran transplants.

We should have gone to Ikea.