Today was the second day I stumbled across a frog in our garden. (We have no pond and no neighbours with ponds). I go all shivery when I see a frog unexpectedly. Or even expectedly. That slimey pulsating wee torso. Beautiful, yet repulsive too.
So, both times I managed to coax the frogs into a bucket (shiver, shiver) and then took them to Bingham's pond and set them free.
Bingham's pond is not as romantic as it sounds. It is beside a petrol station (with an M&S) and 'The Pond Hotel' (concrete travelodgestylee). However the pond itself is large with many bull rushes, ducks and general pond life. I'm hoping the Kermit guys are happier there. When I take Hugh back there he asks me to 'find f'og' again. Needle in a haystack now, mate.
There's a programme on BBC1 tonight (Imagine, 10.35pm) featuring the career of Tom Jones. I will probably be in bed, as 10.35pm is way too late for a 5-times-a-night breast feeder (cheers, Tess). I may seem blasé about trying to catch it later on i-player. Will I find the time? I should find the time, as I'm very proud of my brother who directed it.
In childhood, my sister and I used to tease our brother remorselessly. In teenage years, we mainly ignored him (unless we wanted to borrow his Wrangler denim jacket). During his first job, as a kitchen help in a fancy restaurant, he tried to shell the Mange Tout. Our eyes widened. He what?! We witches of Macbeth.
Now, even if I don't catch all his programmes, I still feel proud of him in a warm way. There's a hero-ism in always doing your best. I still remember the boy who went off crab fishing, for whole days (with just a few limpets and some fishing line). I recently found a map of Islay with his child's hand-writing on the sea surrounding the island -'good', 'okay'and 'very good'. The crab fishing guide for nine year olds.