Suddenly I’m hearing the croaking of frogs.

Suddenly I’m hearing the croaking of frogs. Not for a minute but the whole friggin night. This is next level. I guess there must be a running stormwater drain, or perhaps one of my neighbours has a water feature in their garden. These guys don’t shut up for a second once the sun goes down.

It’s extraordinary, that my street has become a breeding ground for frogs. Everything we are experiencing is described online: they’re calling mates ‘cos they want sex, they’re telling other guy frogs to piss off out of their territory. Meanwhile,  they’re inflating their revolting air sacs on either side of their mouths that make them look like they’re blowing bubbles with old grey chewing gum.

Apparently it’s going to end in early summer once the boys have got their rocks off. Honestly, I’m not one to contest nature, but I’m beginning to understand why the French eat their frogs, since it gets rid of them in a very protein enriched way.

Trouble is, with all this love flowing between the revved-up frogs, what we are experiencing is the building of a community for next spring when the new males are going to have to croak their way through the dating game. It’s like Froggie Tinder with a bad amphibious porno soundtrack.

I really thought they were reptiles, and now I have found out that, as amphibians, they have slimy skin, through which they basically fart for most of the day. Yuck.