The tabloids said Jack was looking for fame and attention, which is rubbish. It wasn’t even the mushroom house when he moved in. He didn’t pawn his guitar for a packet of magic spores, either. He never had a guitar to start with, and who wants magic spores?
He took the mushroom house because the rent was low. He had a pretty good job, but have you seen the prices in that part of town? Jack lives alone and smokes eighty a day. He couldn’t afford a damn bedsit on his budget.
Now, he did know that there was a damp problem. We all knew that. You could feel it in the air, smell it, taste it. There was mould on the walls, and mushrooms in the bathroom, and all I can say is I’m surprised that you couldn’t hear the damp, it was that bad. Well, what Jack said was that his lungs were pretty much ruined already, so if they breathed in some fungus or other they’d probably see that as a welcome break.
Not very much happened at the mushroom house until he got back from a trip to Ibiza, and he found it hovering in the air. First he wondered if he’d taken something that hadn’t quite worn off yet, if you know what I mean. But when he looked again, it wasn’t hovering at all: the foundation had been lifted up right up out of the ground and it had a new foundation, and that was mushrooms. Or maybe one mushroom – it was hard to tell. So what was he going to do? He was tired, and the whole thing seemed pretty solid, so he climbed up and went to bed.
That’s when the mushroom house became the mushroom house. The next day it was twenty feet up in the air, on top of a giant mushroom that was bright white and just standing there like a plinth. Jack couldn’t get down, and anybody who tried to climb up just slid down and died from the toxins in the mushroom, so Jack stayed home with his PS4.
By the next day it was one hundred feet up, and the helicopters had arrived, but nobody knew what to do. Cut it down and risk Jack’s life? He said he was pretty happy and didn’t want to come down, that the mushroom was providing electricity, water, and waste disposal just fine, but if the helicopter pilots could please bring him a pizza that would be nice because he had a lot of Netflix to watch.
That was the last I saw of the house itself. Day after, it was all the way up in the clouds, and after that – well, I don’t know. Space? He still sends emails, though. Said he had a neighbour who was a pretty good guy, just very big. There was a corner shop with beer and cigarettes and frozen meals, so he was all set up. And he wasn’t lonely since he’d got a new pet goose that wasn’t even aggressive. Could he pay his cable bill in gold, though?