My Kingdom for a Tadpole!

It is inherent in human existence that we can never know the answers to all of life's mysteries.  The very fact of our presence here on Earth is the greatest conundrum of them all.
And so the question that has been taxing my brain these past few months and which has remained unsolved, must now be aired in public.  It is this;
What has happened to all the frog spawn?
Admittedly, the breeding cycle of amphibians is not normally uppermost in my mind (except, obviously, on Thursdays) and to be fair I don't suppose that frogs are overly concerned with human procreational habits either (not even on Thursdays).
However, having installed a small pond in my garden a year or so ago, which is now established with a second season of healthy-looking plants, I wanted to introduce some wildlife to supplement the one beetle, one pond skater and ten dead and bloated worms that had found their own way into what is obviously a less than attractive natural habitat.
The Expedition started in early March in a casual manner; whenever I happened to be near a body of still water larger than a puddle, I had a quick look for the telltale mass of speckled jelly.
Later I started to make special trips to local and not so local ponds, clutching a suitable container for the transport of the precious cargo, while at the same time trying not to look like a nine year old schoolboy. (Actually that bit is quite easy!) But every location was characterised by a distinct absence of amphibious activity. Nothing but beetles and dead worms, and I had an adequate supply of both of those.
If you believe the wild life programmes on television, the forests and moorlands flourish with all manner of animals and insects, while the ponds and lochs are home to tsunami-inducing quantities of life actively reproducing at prodigious rates.
To which I reply with the only phrase in the English language in which two positives make a negative.
"Yeah, right!"
I must now await a Biblical plague of frogs to descend on my garden.

Time is Money

I've spent the past week sitting at a desk! My accustomed routine of getting up late, having a leisurely breakfast, going for a walk or spending time in the garden (officially known as pottering), has been swept away at a stroke.
I've got a job, albeit a temporary one, but they have promised to pay me so I suppose there are advantages to getting up early and driving 40 miles every day.
The only thing that hasn't changed about my lifestyle is the speed at which I operate and the passage of Time.  I wrote previously about how Time is evil and slows down to extend idle moments.  I expected the reverse to be true when I started working - pressure, deadlines and all that.
But, despite being seemingly desperate for me to start this job, nobody appears to have been prepared for my arrival.
I'm sitting at someone else's desk with a small cleared space big enough for a writing pad and a couple of files.  I can't use the computer because no-one thought about setting me up on the system.
My colleagues are usually rushing off to meetings or conducting long conversations on the 'phone and the few tasks they have entrusted me with have so far taken no Time at all.  When I ask what else they need there is much shuffling of papers and sideways glances.
Ok, I'm getting paid to be bored but Time and its evil hand is weighing heavily on my shoulders.  It's made ten times worse when everyone around me is claiming that 'there are not enough hours in the day'.
Hours are a commodity that I have a surplus of.  So, I could sell them some of mine to supplement my income amd spend more time at home!
How much is an hour worth?
What am I bid for the next sixty minutes?  Each one is brand new; never before used; guaranteed to contain sixty perfect seconds and yours to do whatever you want in.  I'll even throw in an bonus five minutes to the highest bidder.
It's the ideal gift for that special person in your life, or a harrassed parent or busy executive.
After all, as the saying nearly goes - "There's no present like the Time" .