Something rather unsettling is happening on the Chayne tonight. From every sodden, murky corner, toads are emerging to congregate in the darkness, staring beadily at one another as if observing some ancient ritual. Along the short mile of track from the farmhouse to the start of the tarmac road, I saw more than thirty little shapes silhouetted in the car headlights, and even when I got out of the car to examine them and take photographs, I could hear the grass around me rustling with awkwardly webbed footsteps.
There must be an explanation for this mass appearance of self important little amphibians. I have every confidence that it is only a simple natural phenomenon associated with the coming of spring, but until I can uncover hard facts in the light of day, there is something faintly eerie about it all.