Aged 13, 14, 15 I'd walk out to the various mushroom sites. Morris silvan school playing field was near where I lived and after school in those soggy months before the frosts come, I'd be out there on my knees till it got dark. Others would join me. Others had there own patches. In an hour you could have a thousand or so liberty caps together.
I'd head off home and me dad would pop in for a shave before heading off to the pub. If I timed it right I could boil up a mushroom tea and have it down me neck in the time before he came in. To start with we'd eat them raw but as time went by it became clear that you could synthesise an awful but hugely potent brew. Early eating trips were 30 to 50 but mushroom teas began to synthesise the psilocybin of 2, 3 even 4 or 5 hundred mushrooms. This sort of trip means communication with other people can be hard. Also, the ascent from eating shrooms is pretty slow. A high dose tea shoots you in space rocket style from normality to another dimension. If my timeing went wrong or my dad spent more than five minutes sluicing and shaving for the pub the wall paper patterns would begin to slip and slide. Fractal patterns and growing organics subsumed the furniture. My fathers eyes would warp and distort, his lips evolving through slug like changes. His conversation made little sense. Micro organisms and robotic life forms could enter the room.
Worst of all would be the other ends of trips as he returned a slurring bovine farmyard animal. I would be enlightened from future beings or inter dimensional creatures. Ina crisp condition. A state of spiritual wonder. The farmyard animal would proceed to explain how drugs would be my down fall, oblivious to the oblivion of alcohol.
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