It’s so predictable isn’t it. Mention fungi and you can guarantee that someone will produce the usual pun. My mate Daniel was leading a fungi walk in the park for a local society and I tweeted about it, sure to be really interesting and funny as Daniel himself is. Damn it – I walked right into that one.

The weather that morning wasn’t funny at all, but perhaps appropriately wet given that lots of fungi absorb quantities of water to power their fruiting bodies – the mushroom bit – up through the soil.  Despite the rain I’d talked Malcolm into coming too, and we were surprised to find a largish soggy group already at the park caff meeting point.  I was suffering from low blood sugar, so while the other folk made polite Dulwich conversation, we lowered the tone by snarfing crisps – the only thing in the cafe which cost less than a fiver.

From one of those tool boxes for nails and whatnot, Daniel magicked fungi he’d found earlier. I can identify shockingly few fungi species but love their names – in the same way I enjoy the sound of moth names. I couldn’t resist the Velvet Shank mushrooms – each with a rich chestnut graduated cap and velvety black stipe or stalk – growing in a photogenic clump. The Sulphur Tufts were almost as nominatively [is that a word?] satisfying, and even I should be able to recognise this yellow zinger which Daniel said he’d seen growing on pavement edges.

An hour and half later we’d had a wealth of mushroom info and a sociable woodland potter led by a fun-guy. Malcolm and I agreed we’d really needed this – an unholy mix of nature and comedy – to get us, and keep us, out of the house on a wet autumn Sunday.