Unfortunately, I didn’t marry a frog prince… but I did the next best thing and married the brother of a frog – well, not exactly a frog but definitely not a toad; he was a “Roast Beef” who married a frog, has lived with frogs for most of his life, and has a frog sprog, so by my reckoning my brother-in-law can be counted as a frog, albeit with a small “f”  (which doesn’t mean feeble, rather, fairly froggy). At any rate, Glynn lives in Le Conquet, Brittany, and speaks Froggish or French (si vous preferrez). Oh I do so love l’accent de grenouilles (so much more pleasant than an accent on miserable toads, which, incidentally, should never be kissed).

Whilst I’m on the subject of frogs, I’ll remind you that our friend Roland in Australia is a bit of a frog – no, he’s not French, just a bit of a frog… as the photographs taken a few months ago will prove (I was visiting his pad at the time).

To be honest, the main reason for the frog angle to my blog today is because I have a frog joke from none other than Roly.

An Unusual Pick-up Line