The whole thing stinks of a fix. People like Bill Oddie, Alan Titchmarsh, and all those ruddy Attenboroughs might a few minor plaudits for being seen to be working for the environment and world peace, but it’s the hard working silent types such as yours truely that deserve the big prizes. Not that I feel the need to justify myself to the world, you understand. Working so closely with the environment has given me a new peace of mind, even if it hasn’t given me the peace prize. However, why on earth would a man allow his much loved wife to go wading in muddy ponds collecting natterjack toad spawn if he isn’t going to be rewarded for his efforts? Didn’t I raise the alarm when I saw her slip and slide beneath the water? Did these Norwegians not realise how I risked the chance of pouring my flask of hot coffee into my lap just by pushing the car horn?
As usual, Judy is distraught and has sworn to have her vengeance on Roehampton’s toads. I’m in the mood for a bit of payback myself but I tell her that it isn’t their fault. The toads didn’t have a vote. It’s those damn Norwegians obsessing over the water levels in their fjords. I’ve always maintained that there’s something not quite right about the Norwegian habits of mind. Have you read any Knut Hamsun lately? If you have, you'll agree with me when I say that Norwegians are obsessed with digging ditches and painting barns. I think it's a problem of having too much cold weather, too little sun, and an excess of much whale blubber in their diets. There's nothing worse than whale blubber for blocking up the drains.
Since this means the end of my efforts to help Roehampton’s natterjack toads, I might as well give you a few of the facts I’ve picked up working with them. Considered by connoisseurs to be the premier licking toad, Roehampton toads excrete a highly addictive drug which gives