I have decided that god is definitely a microbe as things are really looking up for me since dedicating my life in service of the microbial world. Not only did I catch sight of the goldfinches one day this week for the first time since the bastard council cut down the rowan trees, but a handsome young man asked me if I wanted help carrying my shopping and plants home today. I said no, obviously, because HELLO I’M NOT A PENSIONER, but still, it was nice to see my future mapped out for me like that. In other news, my King Stropharia spawn arrived today, so I made a bed for it. This is it after fox-proofing (before fox-proofing, it looked a bit like I had buried someone). I thought I had more chicken wire than I did, so I had to improvise with whatever I could find in the shed.
I used to think that there was nothing that I wanted to be when I grow up, hence the lack of meaningful work. However, I have realised that is not quite accurate. It is not that I did not know what I wanted to be when I grow up, it is more that since what I wanted to be seemed unfeasible, I resigned myself to a life of meaningless work. That resignation was so long ago now, that I forgot there was any desire there before it. Well, no more! I have remembered. ? My beautiful, shoebox of light came with a fairly large garden (given the size of the flat). It was pretty much derelict when I moved in 1.5 years ago; one of the first things I did was put up a potting shed, because adults with gardens have sheds. Fact. I transplanted a few of the plants I had grown