A few weeks ago, I was walking down a woodland path when I came across a toad. Some people aren’t too fond of toads, but I most certainly am. Something reassuringly good and honest about a toad; despite their rough and ready wartyness.
This one was just enjoying the sun and the view and making it clear that whilst he was perfectly happy to meet me, he’d rather just be left alone. Thank you very much indeed.
So, I snapped a shot or two and walked on, leaving him be. Soon I met another toad, and then another and then another. And before long, I’d met three dozen or more in an extravaganza of toadyness. Marvellous. Though it made walking a slow and tortuous process. The thought of stepping on a toad………
Some were more upright and in your face than others.
But most were engaged in downright inappropriate and lewd behaviour. But then that’s springtime for you.
Betty: “I saw that Dolores at number 32 yesterday. She’s got a new fella. Half her age, he is. And neither of them look like they’ve seen a bar of soap this side of Christmas. Dirty mare.”
Betty: “And her with her roots showing and fagbutt stuck to her lower lip. What the attraction for him is, Lord only knows. Her Barm Cakes probably.”
Betty: “Anyway ‘Arold love. I can’t lie ’round here with the likes of you all day long. Hurry up now and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea. I’ve got me pilates at 4.”