A plague of shroom pickers

A plague of mushroom hunters

Last week we had the misfortune to run into these guys, an unholy cross between this:

and this:

and this:

Just a couple of things. We go to the woods every day off, with the dogs, come rain or shine or high tide (some winter days we go to the beach, at low tide). Nope, we don't own the place, but you mugs turn up once a year and act like you do. I'm not invisible (not last time I looked). I'm a big, tall, fat, ate all the pies lump. I'll dodge oncoming idiots for a while, but sooner or later patience will wear thin and someone's gonna get shouldered into touch (sorry mate, but you were carrying a wicker basket and paying no attention to where you're going).

I've been lucky enough to catch glimpses of mice, woodpeckers, deer, and a snake while out walking. Wild creatures don't like noise. If there's no-one around, I enjoy the silence (the total silence – sometimes I think I could happily go the rest of my days without hearing another human voice), I don't like those old biddies who shrill and trill their way around screeching at their dogs. I have to go armed with the defencive iPod. No, I don't want to stop and talk, I want to walk. If I wanted to talk I'd phone a friend. These mushroom folk were babbling and jabbering and wittering on ten to the dozen. I didn't like that. Not one little bit.

What's the fun in training courses? I've been to school, got some certificates, got some whacks to the hand and the arse with a cane. That was then and I'm not doing it again in my free time as if it's some sort of fun.

The Fire Brigade can't organise a nice, tidy, first suicide for you to deal with, break you in gently, like. When I had to cut down the first self-hanging victim I'd encountered, I didn't say “I've not done this before...isn't there a training course I need to go on?” I took a deep breath and dealt with the situation. Likewise the first fatal fire, the first fatal RTA, the first dead child, etc.

You can't live forever, no matter how much of that health and safety rubbish you adhere to. There was an article in the Guardian about foraging. “Interesting” I thought. “Waste of time” I was soon thinking. The bloke was just selling his product – training in picking stuff that don't kill you, and he was hard-selling it big time (the way all these bods do): “you don't want to eat anything deadly...”

Jesus. There's about three truly deadly species, many that don't taste so good but do no harm, and some that're good eating. If you want to give it a try, buy a book, dive in, or go out with a mate (remember those? A pre-Internet phenomenon) who knows what they're doing. If you fall ill, go to A&E. If you hallucinate, lie down for a bit and enjoy it, there's folk pay good money for similar experiences. If you're that fragile or so important that you need to preserve your existence at all costs, nip down to Tesco. Stay away from the woods, love. There be monsters.