What is it with young boys and all things wet and mucky? Actually, that is such a sexist and ageist thing to say, seeing as what has been occupying my son in the garden for the past hour has also prevented my husband from pruning the apple trees and myself from hanging out the washing.
I had asked Joe to take a stick and skim the tiny pond that Martin had shaped out from the stream for him. Duckweed clung in long, dripping strands to brown leaves which had drifted in from the masses of trees around, and whiled Joe dredged like a true trawlerman, up came the carcass of a dead mouse which we later had to bury. Nice. But then came all the excitement: Joe shrieked as movement rippled through the water, then a rather large brown head emerged from beneath the weed.
Funny how the metal watering can nearest the backdoor has also got a lot of jellied clumps in it, floating in an inch or two of collected rainwater. Think our little friend's been busy...
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