It’s important to reiterate that I had never actually seen a real live frog until fairly recently. Now, it seems every time I drink whisky with Clutch, one appears. I’m starting to think it’s the same one each time, and he’s followed us to Scotland.
It was chucking it down with torrential rain when Clutch and I walked from the hotel bar where we were drinking Bruichladdich 12 year-old (surrounded by an inexplicable Scottish toga party) to our Bed & Breakfast – and I nearly stepped on the poor thing and frightened under a car. Or perhaps it was Clutch’s girlish screaming at the near-fatality. Either way, it was alarmed, and hid.
Not to be deterred, I lay down in the puddles and grabbed a shot of our amphibious stalker. We take him as a good omen these days. Every time we see him, we have (or have just had) a very nice time. Let’s see if he turns up on Islay itself.