Toadstool

This morning the pixies came to chop down my toadstools. I don't know what the toads will sit on now. The chief of the clearance gang said that he, personally, liked toadstools, he was only doing his job, and had I tried mushrooms? Mushrooms! I walked three times round the hazel tree widdershins to calm myself before answering. No, I told him deliberately and calmly, I had not tried mushrooms. The day I tried mushrooms would be the day - I tried to think of an unlikely day but couldn't come up with anything. The day called Mushroomday, I told him. That would be the day I tried mushrooms. And since there wasn't one, it would be a long time coming. The pixie shrugged and got on with his chopping.

It's been like this ever since the fairies took over. They want everything neat and tidy, prim and prissy, to suit their air-headed tastes. They love everything superficial. Ask them a questions and the answer will always be - because it's pretty! My toadstool aren't pretty so they have to go. Have already gone as far as the fairies know. They don't have the first idea that the things they've cut down are just the fruiting bodies. They've taken the apples from the tree and left the tree intact. Beneath the ground my fungi are as fit and healthy as ever and will soon produce more toadstools. Maybe I'll paint them red and white. The fairies will never know the difference.