It’s a nice day, so I thought I’d take myself out for a little saunter at lunch time, down Brankenwall, the wooded valley that runs alongside the Centre. My plan was to take a few leafy, bucolic photos, perhaps stroll up as far as the bluebell woods … chill out … you know … stuff like that.

Part way up the path, I get to a boggy bit. I notice that a small, rapidly drying puddle appears to be moving. When I look more closely, there are tadpoles in it.

Cursing the stupidity of toads (for they it is who spawn in puddles, being the World’s Worst Mothers) I ponder my position. I’d like to go on and look at the bluebells … but I know perfectly well that the suffocating tadpoles are going to haunt me. So … I turn around, walk all the way down to the Police House, get a bucket of water, then walk all the way up Brankenwalls again, where I set about scooping up as many tadpoles as I can catch.

While I’m engaged in this (admittedly slightly odd) occupation, I’m passed by no less than 4 sets of walkers. Being British, only ONE of them expresses any interest at all in what I’m doing. The others greet me politely and carry on … behaving for all the world as if they come across neatly dressed middle-aged women scooping mud from puddles and putting it in buckets every day of the week. Perhaps they thought it was some bizarre local custom?

Anyway … ignoring the peculiarities of the walking fraternity, I lugged the bucket back up the hill to the Centre.

It now stands outside the back door, ready to be transported home to my wildlife pond.

Those tadpoles will never know how lucky they were … or how many people thought they saw the local fruitloop that day.