Pond Dipping

The army of frogs that were in the pond a couple of weeks ago have disappeared leaving behind what resembles an enormous bowl of tapioca. Where on earth do they go? My sister has been pleading with me to post some frog spawn to her in the south, where it seems to be in short supply. I've agreed to do this in return for her sending an old SLR which she's promised to Hamish. His initial blipping interest has been waning and we think this may help to encourage him.

Our pond is very different from what was originally intended when it was built over a hundred years ago. In it's heyday it created the centrepiece of a formal garden, surrounded by rose beds. There was a fountain in the middle of the large red granite basin which stretches fifteen feet across. The edges are scalloped to suggest the petals of a flower. My grandfather buried the beautiful sculpture under rocks and conifers when he bought this plot of land in the forties. I expect it was thought to be ostentatious within the confines of a more modest garden.

The pond remained hidden from view for over forty years. Ian was curious and decided to investigate once we'd come to live here after my grandmother died. It took several days of digging to expose the beautiful structure and discover that it was intact. Nowadays, the area is an abundance of plant and pond life, as well as a constant supply of take away food for our visiting heron.

I was washing this Kilner jar and thought it was just right to carry my contribution of frog spawn down to Surrey. I filled it with a healthy looking clump of the stuff and topped it up with pond water, but the recess in the jar's lid caused air to be trapped and the contents to be in danger when shoogled about. I needed to completely submerge the jar deeply enough to flip the lid over under water, and this meant reaching as far as possible into the centre of the slime. I wasn't overly concerned about what happened next, until after rescuing my wet self and glancing up to notice the tiler, plumber and fitter, viewing the comedy from a window.

The well padded parcel is now winding it's way. I thought the better of writing 'FRAGILE - LIVE STOCK' next to the address, but I hope it has been carefully handled and arrives safely. More importantly, Sheeenagh will soon have a box in which to pack up the camera. NO MORE EXCUSES!