Remember, remember the 5th November 2018

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Its here, and given my mind isn’t what it used to be, i can remember everything that has happened today, in fact I can remember even further back to saturday when we alighted the train at Droitwich, sped home picking up some cans to take to the bonfire on the way, and having a cup of tea before heading out almost immediately.

The pub at the bottom of the road always has a large bonfire, with fireworks set to music. The various fairground rides are set up, the bouncy slides and castles, the shops selling glowing plastic shit to parents who vow not to waste such a lot of money this year on the stuff. Well better luck next time, the kids still clamouring for the glow sticks, a kind of anti-environmental sparkler, which invariably ends up in the hedge, in the bin, in the river and ultimately off to a large hole in the ground, where it will become the problem for future generations. So Saturday the 3rd November was the 5th November this year, of course it was and also Friday 2nd was the 5th November in Ombersley and it was Great Witley’s turn on the 4th to be the 5th November. Today, I’m not so sure if anyone was the 5th of November, not around here anyway, after potentially 3 days of the 5th November no one is likely to forget!

This year the soundtrack was harking back to the early 90’s rave culture, are they trying to appease the 40 something parents or are they blatantly saying that popular chart music of today is shite? I myself believe, and this is in no way a scientific poll, that pop music of today is shite, but what do I know?

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In woodland news:

There’s a new kid in town, balanced relatively stably on a purposely cut, some might say vandalised, inch wide baby tree (is that a thing? I’d like to think so). He’s a little of the path and visible if you know where to look, lets see how long he survives before the little terrors come to swipe him away only for him to end up in the hoover, into the bin and into a large hole in the ground to become a problem for future generations, we are screwed I tell you.

Jack Frost so far hasn’t spread his icy tendrils over the woods much yet, the leaf cover has been thick enough to withstand his chilly reach, but the leaves are falling rapidly now, and so the end of the mushroom season will be upon us, I wish someone could tell me, maybe the Good Doctor S, if these mushrooms are edible; theres been thousands scattered all over the woodlands this year, the season has been uncharacteristically long.

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Even the ring of tiny mushroom families huddle together waiting until the cold comes then they can all slope away to hibernate for the winter break, like the dormouse, who also hibernates. Uncorroborated Fact of the Day, of which there haven’t been enough lately, I’ll get the ministry to up their game, the summer break always has this effect on some of the greatest minds of Shrawley, we need the real cold to set in, to make the grey matter work harder to stay alive, to bring facts to anybody who wants to read this muck.

Its now over 10 months since I started this and I realise I have been slightly neglectful of the woodland matters, and so I will attend to this in due course, there has been whispers of dissent within the ranks and so we need to consolidate to remain strong. M returned tired and full of headaches form Valencia, I returned from Edinburgh, tired but tremendously pleased at having seen my Scotch (sorry Scottish!) cousins, C will be returning from a week in Portugal tomorrow i think, and has delivered to us what I think might be the only Portuguese mushroom to grace these pages, So well done, it’s an arial shot but what of the gills, oh the gills. fullsizeoutput_182c

M however tired and headaches did manage to provide us and you dear reader of a shot of some slightly Bluey tinged Spanish Mushrooms, and check out the gills on those babies, they are smokin’.

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I didn’t take any mushroom shots in Scotland as the mushroom doesn’t grow there and their love for the deep fried mars bar sits firmly in the nutritional space where the mushroom would normally sit, fortunately for me I managed to stay away from any where the mars bar may be found, there my be danger. Poor N has spent a week, feeding peoples G-Pigs and walking with Misty, but without human companionship. He was glad to have us back to talk bollocks again.

Right so thats me for the evening, here’s to the next 10 months and however many thousands of words I’ve written, just short of 135000 and around 335 posts give or take, an average word count of 401 words per post, which makes me happy and flabbergasted I’ve got this far down the rabbit hole.

This song includes mushrooms which makes me an official genius.

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