OK, so yesterday I mentioned the frog, and that is where I thought the story would end; genuinely. However last night an eerie encounter harked back to the early hours of Wednesday morning.

Sitting in my room last night while working, I had the lights down low - just my desk lamp on - I was really aware at the movement of the house. You know, the creaking of floorboards, the odd dropping noises made by the radiator, that sort of thing. However as I sat I realised there was more noise than usual, but as you do you carry on, after all, it's just the house.

There is a large pile of laundry on the floor behind me. It's not just on the floor, but stacked up against the bed, and over my suitcase. Occasionally I pile it too high and something shifts, so when I heard stuff dropping several times during the evening, I just took it as read. Normal washing-falling-over things.

However, at about 1.30am, I put on the radio and started thinking about getting some kip, only to see a sock drop to the floor beside me, or anyway, what looked like a sock from the corner of my eye. This wasn't right though. There were no socks on the chair beside me.

On first inspection I couldn't see what had hit the ground until whatever it was moved very quickly and at a height straight under my bed. I got down on my knees and peered along the floor, up to the skirting and saw a frog climbing along the wainscotting. WTF? A frog? This was the second encounter with a frog in as many nights, and so you know what I'm on about, while I was heading back to towards Towers on Wednesday night after Hey Ewe, nature spotted a frog jumping about outside the main entrance, and almost certain of a drunken footstep related death. After a bit of fumbling (it's damn hard to pick up a frog when it refuses to co-operate) I finally picked it up and took it to Butler Swamp where I set it free through the railing and then I walked back home.

There are a number of ways a frog could have ended up in my room, and these are the conspiracies:

1. The frog hopped in our back door, through the kitchen and into my room without anyone noticing. A different frog to the one on Wednesday night.
2. The frog was brought into my room by a housemate and left to wander,
3. The frog I saved on Wednesday jumped out of my hand and into my coat pocket. This is incredibly unlikely as I am sure I would have walked home with my hands planted firmly in the pockets being as it is at the moment, friggin cold.
4. The frog jumped into my room four or five days ago when I took a photo outside and opened up the patio doors.
5. Frogs can teleport but they never told anyone.

Personally, I have no idea about which method. Number five sounds unlikely, but so does three and four. Surely I would have noticed being followed or being attached to a frog for the twenty minute walk home? If the frog had been in my room for four or five days, surely it would have either dehydrated or made itself known before, especially considering how high the damn thing could jump.

Trying to believe a housemate had done it either would be hard too. Sean wouldn't dare touch anything so slimey, Swanny didn't get out of bed all day, and even if he did the frog would have been faster than him, Jono categorically didn't know anything about it and Devito, well Devito could have done it, but only if he could be arsed, and I doubt that. Interesting quandary.

So anyway, there is me and this frog in my room at 1.30am this morning. Naturally the first thing I want is a photo, so I reach up to get my SLR (special occasion), only to find on my return that Freddo has only bloody gone and done a runner. This is where the fun began. I knew I had to get the little sod, because if I didn't he was going to expire under something and start becoming frog soup, plus my good nature told me it wasn't fair to treat one frog any different to another, so I had a duty of care to rescue the little amphibian.

Well, I lifted up most of the crap on the floor - folios, chairs, clothes - checked inside all my shoes - got out the maglite and did a full inspection of all the furniture, but yielded nothing. Freddo was clearly playing games. Up came the curtains, the bedclothes (this frog could jump, remember) and finally my bedside cabinet, where I found the little fella crouched in the corner in a bed of dust but looking fairly calm. I got my photo, but kept a careful eye on my wannabe Steve McQueen friend.

He didn't go without a fight. Clearly annoyed that I was shining a torch in his face he didn't voluntarily climb into my hands, but eventually I secured my hands around him and took him outside where I tried to let him loose near some bushes on the wet grass. Would he budge off my hand? Would he hell. For some reason Mr Frog was now more intent on sleeping on a nice warm palm than going anywhere anything wet. Eventually I tipped him off as I was having enough of standing in the garden at three in the morning wearing a pair of boxers my sandals and a frog.

The thing is, is this an omen or something? Two nights, two frog rescues. Is someone trying to tell me that I might want to consider a change in career - maybe the Steve Irwin of the lilly pond world? Hopefully not. I do like frogs, but if as I'm drifting off tonight, I hear a tap-tap-tapping on the patio windows, I'm going to run and never look back.

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