drowning in froglets

Just come in from the garden. It's hopping with frogs. After all the rain fall, which has filled trays full of herb pots, and weighed down the sweet peas, I've been rescuing plants in that ham-fisted way of mine, i.e tipping out the water from the trays, moving one or other from here to there whilst a thousand more freckles emerge on my pale but interesting skin. Yes. The sun is out again, as is the washing. And five minutes later it's cloudy. Ah well. That's England. Maybe it wasn't just rain yesterday. Maybe it was plague of frogs. Maybe I should be worried that next it'll be locusts. Mind you, they're lovely little things. Frogs. Not locusts. And if baby toads are lumpy then maybe these aren't all froglets. Which makes me think, I don't know why, about Jessica (the tube puller) and Ailsa (the forgiver of all things done to her). Why aren't they called twinlets? Like triplets and quadruplets etc? In fact they're more twinlets than anything. They were born at exactly the same time, in the same lift-out. No 'I'm the oldest', or 'I'm the youngest' tousle here. Twinlets. Yes. I like that name. Or twoplets. Tuplets even. That would do. Twins is so...what is it? Dated? I don't know what's got into me. Yesterday I was grumping about this and that and today I'm championing froglets and twinlets. if there's anyone out there remotely interested, I need diagnosing I think.