what was all that about, then?

Here's a story some man in a bar told me this afternoon:

He got one of those mushroom 'grow kits' on the www from Holland - these things were legal at the time in Europe. Anyhow, the fungus was called he said, like psilocybin something or other. Well it grew like billy o, and after a couple of weeks he had a few grams dried and decided to give it a go. He chopped it up and mixed it with yoghurt and honey and left it overnight. Next day, he had it as dessert after Sunday dinner.

He said it lasted several hours and was a mostly unpleasant experience. There were pleasant patterns on the bedroom ceiling, (he felt poorly enough to go and lie down). The situation shifted or oscillated every few minutes. He was sweating and feeling uncomfortable, then he was happy and enjoying the colour scheme, then nauseous, then wanting to go for a walk, then only to sleep, then he was deeply unhappy, then he was laughing to himself.

Only echoes, he said, only a very, very poor and distant relationship to the Shepherdess: the common point was the perception of the banality of all electronic media. Really, it was a waste of an afternoon. Only at the tail end did he enjoy being pleasantly stoned. A bit.

"Fuck it. Buy us a beer?"

I did.