Okay, so the photo on the right bears only a very tenuous connection to today’s story. But it’s the best I can do.

The vital bit of the picture is the particular pool via which I‘m waving at you (pond would be too grand a word for this over-large puddle up on the moor). Now bear with me - it’ll make sense in a minute.

On Thursday, a friend was lamenting that the frogs who annually grace her garden pond had not yet put in an appearance this year. Lo and behold, the very next morning, as I was scrambling down the bank to this pool, dozens of frogs leapt for cover.

They’re camera-shy, these fellas and lasses; so there’s absolutely no chance of me getting a picture of them without a great deal of stealth and a very different lens to any I possess. So you’ll have to imagine the scene: little back legs up-ended in the air, splashes and droplets flying left, right and centre. Then stillness. At least visibly. Audibly, the air was busy with what sounded like the hum of a motorbike (and, Joanne, I never would have described their croaking that way if you hadn’t pointed it out, but that’s exactly what they sound like!).

I went back today hoping for another glimpse but they must have heard me coming. No sign. Except for the masses of frogspawn around the edge of the pool.

But I’m tickled pink to have seen these harbingers of spring and hope I get to enjoy more of their antics. And I sincerely hope Joanne’s mini motorbikes turn up soon.