Such a Fungi!

Well, looking on the bright side – he turned up. As for the rest, I don’t think so. Don't get me wrong - he was a nice person, but I just don't want to be the responsible adult all the time. 


It all seems to be a matter of extremes where I’m concerned. One minute it all goes pear-shaped with someone who is afraid of long words and the odd metaphor, the next minute I’m in the presence of a practically Nobel Prize winning super-brainy scientist, but nevertheless someone who is remarkably childlike.  And, what is worse, someone who has yet to learn that, according to internet dating etiquette, you don’t immediately ask if your date wants to see you again: you go home and write a message. Like normal people.

And so it is that I find myself having said yes to another date that I absolutely don’t want to go on. Oops! It’s not as if I haven’t said no before on numerous occasions, this case being the most notable, but he was so diffident and yet puppy-dog eager that I couldn’t find the euphemisms to convey the no word.  

Anyway, he wasn't for me for a number of reasons. I could overlook the fact that he was six years younger; I could overlook that he had young children (been there, done that); but I couldn't overlook that each time I gazed into his eyes this is what I saw. Only fatter, rounder and greyer, and just a few inches short of seven foot tall. 

This is because when I was at uni I shared a flat in a hall of residence with two microbiologists. We called them Mr and Mrs Mushroom; they lived in a room in which the curtains were never opened and from which emanated pungent aromas of the fungal kind. Other than going to lectures, Mr and Mrs hardly ever emerged and seemed to do everything else that might have meant coming into contact with other people (e.g. cooking in the communal kitchen) in the dead of night. But quite the most fascinating thing about them was the noise they made. The rest of the flat sharers - six of us - would pile up on the bed of Mr and Mrs Mushroom’s next-door neighbour (should you ever come across this blog… Hi Aled! Did you ever resolve your sheep issues?), put glasses to the wall and try to figure out what exactly was going on. Weeeeeell… we were nosy and stupid young, naïve… Always willing to take the mick to learn.

Her: Mia-ooooooow...

Him: Woof! Woof!

Her: Mia-ooooooow...

Him: Woof! Woof!

Her: Miiiiii-aaaaaaia–ooooooooooooooow. Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Him: Woof. Sniffle. Woof, woof.

And so on and so forth, all resulting in massive crashing about and then rhythmic pounding noises which we assumed was them at it, having completed the, ahem, imaginative foreplay. 

Ah, halcyon days.


I wonder if I can bring myself to do it? Hang on… Miii-aaa-ooooow… Purrrrrrr... Mi-a-oow. Nah, not a Cousine Bette kind of scenario really, is it? 

Oh bugger! I do soooo hope he finds someone more interesting – and quick! Oh, wait a minute! Stella has three pussies... 


What do you think? A bit of recycling again?