Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Look! Doesn’t this look nice?
This is a picture of where my garage used to stand. It’s supposed to be garden now, new beds full of rich, chocolaty soil waiting to grow vegetables, herbs and flowers once the weather picks up. Instead, it’s full not so much of water, but a slimy green primordial soup, which bubbles and moves in the sunlight. It’s got to the stage where none of us, including the dog-of-small-brain, are keen on venturing out after dark, for fear of what might rise up out of its depths. Even the chickens give it a wide berth, and they ordinarily eat pretty much anything. (the dog is very nervous around them)
I’m waiting for the builder to come back and sort out the drainage. He keeps ‘forgetting’, much to my chagrin; what woman want to be ‘forgettable’? Although to be fair, perhaps he is too afraid of what might lurk under the blanket of green goo.
All this is bad enough, but this morning, as I was peering into the depths, wondering just how it manages to move, there came a loud ‘ribbit’. Question answered. One of my neighbours has a large pond which teems with frogs in the springtime. This winter’s cold-snap damaged its lining, and he has been forced to empty it for the time being. We wondered what would happen to the frogs; now we know. Why would any self-respecting frog want to wait for a nice pond to be repaired, when it can wallow to its heart’s desire in the disaster zone which is my garden?
Now I have a new quandary; the builder promised he’d be along in the next few weeks, what do I do with the frogs? I think I must have words with them before any even so much as think about spawning...