I take two friends mushrooming. We drive out to the countryside where I grew up. I park the car at the beginning of the track that runs through the beech woods behind my old house. We begin to look in all the places that I remember the chocolate coloured Parasols growing but all we find are leaves.
A red car comes towards us through the woods. The beat-up Escort lurches slowly through the potholes and mud. As it passes, two nervous and stressed faces snatch a furtive look at us through the dirty windscreen. One man is balding with a few long strands of hair hanging over his face, the other has dark eyes.
When we get back to the car the door opens without a key. In total there are six items missing – two mobile phones, two Palm Pilots and two wallets all belonging to me and my girlfriend. The other friend doesn’t trust even sleepiest country lanes.