Come and see the toad, said seven-year-old Charlie. I humoured him by walking down the steps into our Pimlico road. There, sure enough, was a large toad. A real one. (It s a sad reflection on the times that our eldest son, William, thought it was a toad-shaped security device installed by the tenant in our basement flat.) How on earth did it get there? The nearest toad-supporting habitat is St George s Square but only a very lucky toad could have hopped across two London roads without being flattened.
William s unfortunate penchant for dropping defunct computers from our balcony to see what will happen has broken the cover to the rainwater drain; but a toad could hardly have made the foot-high vertical leap from the water surface. Besides, do toads live in sewers? Surely not.
A bird must have dropped it, proposes one friend. Or perhaps it was discarded by a child, who got tired of it, suggests another. Next day, the toad had gone, as mysteriously as it appeared. Toads are meant to be witches familiars. I think Prof McGonagall has been having fun with me.
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Robert Redford's Oscar and this week's unique royal funeral: Country Life Quiz of the Day, September 17, 2025One of Hollywood's greats is remembered in Wednesday's quiz.
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The Gallivant review: The Camber Sands retreat with show-stopping seafood and a penchant for happinessThe coastal hotel in Rye, East Sussex, is utterly unique and almost faultless, but is seamlessly eclipsed by the real showstopper, its Anglo-French restaurant, Harry’s.
