Two frogs have moved into my garden. I've no idea why as the closest thing we have to a pond is a small, moss-covered patch in one corner where the neighbour's cat relieves himself every morning.
One of the frogs is extremely small, about the size of a grain of salt that hasn't been feeling very well lately. The other is large and fat, like two boarding house manageresses squeezed into a Volks Wagon Beetle.
They have taken up residence under my azalea where, every evening, I can hear them singing shanties and frying slugs, snails and vine weevils around a small campfire. This is the sort of behaviour I want to encourage, although the sea shanties can get a bit raucous as the evening wears on. To this end I have supplied them with small cattle prods with which they can defend themselves against the neighbour's cat by prodding its nose until it sizzles. Unfortunately frogs are very stupid and difficult to train and so far they've burnt several of my wallflowers and left a nasty scorch mark on three articles of washing, namely my boxer shorts.
However, this is by no means a free ride for the little green shits! Clearing my garden of all manner of creepy crawlies is all very well and good but if the freeloading, asylum seeking bastards think they can pull one over on me then they've got another think coming. If they answer me back just once then I'll be forced to pursue them round the flower pots and batter them senseless with a Neolithic palstave until they either apologise and return to their pond or, alternatively, croak.
Monday, August 11, 2003
