Today was the day I knew that the grass had to be slain. My lawn was at least knee high, whereas the bit that Huw does is Wimbledon with stripes. Mine was so high that it had fallen over and turned into a blanket that snuggles up frogs.
They knew that I hated them, but they waited until I started mowing before leaping out at me, despite me running around over the grass trying to tell them what was about to happen.
I've always been a bit embarrassed about being frog phobic as it is a bit pathetic. I'm quite up for them in theory, and no longer drain bogs to get rid of their habitats, but in practice their sitting and pretending to be a leaf then leaping out at me frightens me to a point of sprinting away screaming. So, I've tried to keep quiet, knowing that a stifled scream is better for the soul than having a brother rub one in my face.
Since having the girls, I am aware of the importance of not passing on one's fears - and also I feel that Charlotte will be the type to tell me to shut my eyes and open my mouth (she got that one from her father) as soon as she is fast enough to catch one.
However, today I started mowing as Huw and Charlotte were rally driving around our yard (10x10 yards) and the slimy little sods were leaping about everywhere. At each appearance I would have to abandon the lawn mower and run shouting "Jee-sus-Christ" around the garden, no doubt stepping on a few of his mates as I went. I saw four altogether before I gave up and phoned Stuart Coyle to come and tarmac the damn place.
This evening has been Little Women as I have made 14 jars of marmalade from of out of date Marmade for the local fete on Monday. Huw has spent three hours making a lasagne, then disappeared, exhausted, before the washing up managed to get done. I will have to get the girls to make the lables tomorrow and then brace myself for a bout of village sh*ts.
Karma is a funny thing. After having tried so hard not to cut frogs into strips, but being secretly pleased to see the occasional foot scattered around the place, I was driving back from the shop on a late night quest for more sugar for the marmalade, and nearly rolled the car trying to miss a toad. Basta*rds.