There are mushrooms at the bottom of my garden.  Not the fairy-friendly type of fungus, with neat spotted roofs on stalks  - but fat white cancerous clumps pushing their way through the chippings of bark to the surface.  They smell of damp and decay and they weren't there before. You can't turn your back for… Continue reading Scent

The Loaf

The bread's gone missing. When it's not sitting on the acacia board, waiting for action, it's chilling on the middle shelf of the fridge, in its very own drawstring 'fresher for longer' linen bag, super-seeded, with several slices left.  But it isn't. I don't remember finishing it or throwing bits of it to the birds… Continue reading The Loaf