Wednesday, October 30, 2013

The Ohio State University Marching Band Performs their Hollywood Blockbu...

Friday, May 24, 2013

Cat years calculator.

It is of no use unless you have a moggy (and no one has developed one for a froggy!) but if you want to know the age of your moggy then use this:

Our old moggy Greebo is 80 years old apparently. No wonder he whinges an farts a lot. Doesn't smell of wee though...

More soon as I am hopping to Ireland and France soon. Ireland for one of the human's mother's 80th birthday for which I hope there is cake. Lots of cake. Paris 'cos we are meeting up with the Naked Financier and his sensible wife. This will be the first time since we saw them in Fiji 7 whole years ago. I wonder if he has any clothes on yet? Has his hair grown at all? Has the Porsche blown up yet, being an over-engineered piece of German junk. One shall let thee know.

Until then, keep ribbiting, which is better than croaking (it).

Below are two pictures of me being forced against my will (I am an aquaphobic frog, y'know) into the humans washing machine for a spin cycle and stuff. 'Tis  a god job that blogs don't have smelly capabilities as I was, er, pooing myself. And I haven't been that dizzy since Mr. Quinn produced his wallet. In broad daylight. Shocking!


Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Out and about in Bronte-land...

Greetings froggy fans.

It has been a long time since I last put these flippers to good use. So, firstly, the human being (the one with leukaemia) is still, amazingly, alive and kicking, as his his wifey. I have been resting, eating flies and generally re-aligning my shakra's (which is some kind of laying around meditating mumbo-jumbo, I think). Anway, the one moment of activity I can report occured in june 2010 when we wandered up to Haworth, North Yorkshire, which is where the Bronte family lived most of their lives. We saw the Parsonage...

...and met this massive black cat called Oscar prowling around the grave-yard.

and a few sheep : This one at Bronte falls..

Fortunately the hills (which were not alive with 'the sound of music' - Julie Andrews has a lot to answer for!) were very warm and sunny so we even braved a walk to Top Withens, the place, it is alleged, where Emily Bronte based 'Wuthering Heights' farm-house on. I am not sure if this is strictly true as other reasearch has indicated the no longer in existence High Sunderland Hall as the location. (Just search 'High Sunderland Hall' on Google). Anyway, Top Withens may have had its part to play and here is a photograph of me at it... (The location, not 'at it')...

and on the right is Top Withens itself.

The sign-post at the Bronte Falls (they'll say anything to get the tourists in ) said 1 1/4 miles to Withens. More like 3 1/2 miles, and it was hot and sunny (26C). The humans only decided to go for the last hill climb because they wished to avoid the football World Cup and a big political announcement telling the country how much of our wealth the Socialists had squandered. Still, we made back down safely, the male human bought lots of books and the female human another handbag. For me it was just nice to taste some foreign flies...

Stay cool world.


Saturday, January 02, 2010

Froggy and his New Year Resolution...

I just noticed that it is exactly 2 years since the frog last blogged. Bad form, huh? So, New Year Resolutions are:
1) Blog at least once a month.
2) Eat more flies.
3) Maintain my slimy but sexy amphibious form.
4) Scratch my 'bits' less often in public.
5) Refrain from any nude bungie-jumping from light aircraft that fly over the North Pole.
Meanwhile, here is a picture for all my fans out there in cyber-ville. I hope you both like it...

All thebest for 2010
Kerm and his humans

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Babes, 'bikes and the end of the Froggyverse...

Greetings froggy fans from around the globe and Colorado.

Sorry for the long silence which I attribute to the humans and the move to a new lilypad- something they have yet to do due to lawyers pulling out excuses to charge more money by making the whole process like 'War and Peace' but with the Russians replaced by Orwellian clones on 'phones. You know the sort..."Press one for customer services, two for a lobotomy"...etc. Furthermore Windows Vista is a pain in what passes for a frog's bum as it keeps on crashing and losing the male human all of his contact info. Technology - Don't ya just love it?
So, what has your favourite green slimy bundle been doing? Well, November meant the return of the NEC Motorcycle Show which meant another bevy of scantily-clad beauties wanting their photograph taken with me. This year I will only publish one because (a) she is quite cute for a human, (b) I look good and (c) she actually had a personality and was polite to me. Here she is...

Also at the same show the humans and I were fortunate to meet up with Gary the Crazy Human who drove the support truck on my hop down Route 66 last year, or should I say the year before as it is now 2008. At the time Gary was yet to be adopted by a bear by the name of Bearnard (pause for a groan at the name...) so I had not met him before but this year both had been let out of Americky and through our borders to sell more 'bike related trips. Here is Bearnard with me and then me in the leather jacket Bearnard and Gary kindly bought for me...Please note the complete set of Route 66 badges...

Bearnard has completed 66 several times and more of his adventures can be seen on the following links:
I feature a couple of times and so, (pause for echoy laughing cackle) the slow but sure take-over of the world by cute furry toys gathers pace. First the interweb, then Colorado, then Lilypad 101 followed by the world! We shall overthrow the tyranny of crazy Humans using us for, as the french say, 'object d'sex'. No more furry toy titillation for the nation!
Ohh. Errr. Sorry about that. Don't know what came over me...I guess I am just a little nervous after spotting this in a national newspaper...
"Disease threatens mass extinction of frogs...

An international campaign has been launched to help save the world’s amphibians from extinction.

Scientists fear the largest mass extinction since the disappearance of the dinosaurs because of a deadly disease which is sweeping through populations of frogs, toads, newts, salamanders and caecilians across the globe.

Amphibians are under threat.

Amphibians have thrived for hundreds of millions of years but as many as half of all species could perish unless a solution is found. The spread of the parasitic fungus amphibian chytrid, which has proved deadly for hundreds of amphibian species, may have been made worse by the effects of global warming. The disease has so far proved unstoppable in the wild and can kill 80 per cent of native amphibians within months once it has taken hold."
I hope this isn't my last blog...
Oh, both humans are doing well with the male one still not dead from the leukie stuff that is rattling around his bone-marrow.
Toodle-pip fans.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

Say hi to the Hei people...

Greetings frog fans.

Just a short blog entry as I am still recovering from the Guinness-induced ten days I just spent in the land of the rising leprechaun, otherwise known as Ireland. Once my thoughts have, like Indian butter, clarified, (<---Joke for any chefs out there) I shall present a full report and photographs... Meanwhile may I introduce the Hei People who are members of an art installation here on Lilypad 101. The artist is some guy from Finland...Here they are.Yup. It looks like a crowd of 400 people, much like those scenes from the film The Wicker Man with that human actor Edward Windwoodwoodward, or something like that, just staring. They are a little creepy and I can hear you all thinking, 'What are they looking at? Well, this...

...the view across the 'Pad to the North. And may I have the pleasure of introducing to you Rock and Roll Loony party councillor and Friend of the Frog, 'Mad' Mike Young. He is the one on the left in case you are wondering...

He was mentioned in an earlier posting about a year ago when he was about to defend his record as World Walk-the Plank champion. Unfortunately his plans for a banana-powered rocket strapped to his back for this year's contest along with his suitably yellow outfit was only deemed good enough for second place. He is now back in his shed plotting for the next contest...For those that cannot resist a link check out for more on these crazies.

Oooh. I have just had an Ireland flashback...Guinness does strange things to the ol' botty.

Must hop froggy fans. More shortly.



Thursday, July 26, 2007

Froggy birthday to me, froggy birthday to me...

...Yes, the 25th July was my birthday and I am now in double figures. Ahh I remember the days when I was just a tadpole in a very big pond and owning my own lilypad was a distant dream. Since then of course I have acquired a world-wide legion (or is that a lesion?) of fans and have, thus far, never had to experience something the humans call a 'bath'. I used to be a care free tadpole with no worries or commitments. Now I am just a 10 year old frog (10 in human years, that is) with no worries, commitments, sense of restraint, decorum, dodgy diseases that involve pustules or scabby bits nor am I shackled to anything. No mortgage to tie this amphibian down, although the humans are in the process of buying a new lilypad for me. I'm worth it!

Free spirit, that's me. Vodka, whiskey, gin. It the spirit is free then count me in.

I just looked at my passport on the page with the photographic i.d. Blooming hell I look young!

Right. I must hop. Somewhere out there is a bottle of jollop with my name of it.



ps: Send all gifts etc c/o Lilypad 101...

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Pond ponderings...

May I begin this post by offering my most sincere (snigger, snigger) apologies for the lack of froggy updating that has been occurring of late. I have been suffering itchy flipper to get to the keyboard but as one has yet to be invented for use by the aforementioned flippers I have had to wait for the male-human to get off his backside (Which he occasionally does just before it emits a botty-burp...But I digress). The delay, dear reader, is due to the male having some kind of virus which he got rid of eventually but shared with the female human who returned it from whence it came in a slightly different strain. This meant several weeks without alcohol for the pair of 'em but c'est la vie as they say in Venezuela when they speak French.

So, I have had several weeks to ponder all sorts of odd stuff and play couch-frog in front of the TV. My first pondering stems from an advert for some human called Sarah Jessica Parker (or is it Porker, I'm not too sure). Anyway, she is trying to flog her perfume with the line, "Feel good on the inside and smell lovely on the outside." or something vaguely similar. Can't these advertisers be more honest. Surely, "Okay on the inside and looking like a dog on the outside" is a tad more honest. I mean, how did this long-faced streak of American misery ever think she was attractive? Here is what attractive really looks like...

Yes, it's me sans dickie-bow tie at the humans' wedding in my senior position as Best Frog and yes, I am aware of how ravishing I look...

So, keeping with the American theme, I hold the Yanks responsible for two other annoyances which were spotted whilst on my enforced sojourn on the couch. Firstly, why can't the Americans pronounce the word 'harassment' properly? The stress is on the first syllable, 'har', and not the second, 'ass'. Even more irritating is that the BBC is beginning to pronounce it the American way. The same goes for the number after nineteen. Should anyone from Americky or the Beeb be reading this high quality blog then please note the number is 'twenty'. See. Quite simple to read and say. IT IS NOT 'TWENNY'!

How about a couple of modern-day oxymorons? Rap music. When was rap ever music. Some (invariably) coloured gentleman or lady talking over a computer-generated backing track about the hard life they lead whilst fleecing gullible teenagers of their hard-earned readies to fund lavish lifestyles filled with badly dressed ho's (the modern vernacular, I believe) and tasteless lumps of gold strapped to themselves. A definition of 'bling': It is what morons call jewellery.

Oxymoron number two: Next year Liverpool is the European City of Culture. Methinks you would find more culture in a 3 month old lump of Rocquefort cheese. Liverpool gave us the Beatles and I still haven't forgiven them for that. What can the city have that could be considered as 'cultural'? A high ratio of car-thieves? That strange unintelligible accent? I don't get it.

Okay, my final whinge of the post; Australians. Been there, nice country, nice people, not bad at sport and rather out-going. Here's me at their zoo in Sydney...

But why oh why after all their sporting successes have they yet to devise a new chant. Aussie, Aussie, Aussie. Oi. Oi. Oi., is lame and boring. Surely the land that produced Rolf Harris and Dani Minogue could do better than that?

Wow. I feel quite worn out after that. Time for a slurp of some plonk from my own personal vineyard...Presenting Le Froglet wine...

Those with a keen eye will note the gold-embossed silhouette of yours truly on the label. As my fame precedes me I have also been offered the chance to have a photograph taken on the set of the next Harry Potter film. I'll let you know...


On that note, I bid thee adieu, frog fans.


Wednesday, May 02, 2007

I think I'm becoming a pandemic...

...'cos I have people from all over the global pond asking after me. Okay, 3 people then. One is one of those number-crunchy accountant types, one is an acquaintance from Americky and the other is the rather salubrious and dapper naked Financier from old Auckland town. All are asking after my well being and if I plan to hop anywhere in the near future so, as my dad (whoever he was) once croaked, "If they want it, give it to 'em. Hard an' slimy."

Actually, I haven't do to much lately, just slobbing about awaiting summer and return of all those delicious flies. (As the song goes, "I've got a tongue that's 10 inches long and I've learnt to breath through me ears"). Just one trip sticks out in my vast amphibious head...I was invited to the opening of an art exhibition!. Well, it wasn't actually me but the female human's ex work colleague's girlfriend that did the inviting. Following this?

The artist in question can be found at www. She is based in Cadiz (pronounced "Cadith") tho, I mean so, her art has a heavy Spanish influence. On the opening night she brought over a troupe/gang/harem (not sure of the collective noun here) of flamenco dancers to set the mood. Here's one of the senorita's doing her thing...

No, my flipper wasn't shaking, she was fast!

Naturally they all wanted to meet good ol' Kerm and requested a picture of me with them. Here I am being cradled lovingly by the artist herself...oh, and the lingo was no problemo, Jose as I taught myself how to say "Yes love, they are a cracking pair of maraca's"

Yes, we had a very good night, me and the dancers, although it was rather warm under all those lights and I was sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish shop. Still, one must sometimes suffer for one's art, I suppose.
I'm not sure where I will be hopping next, apart from Ireland in August. The 'uman beans are discussing Borneo as I think the female would like to swap 'him' for one of those orangy-tangy primate thingy's. Personally I would be amazed if she gets more than a bag of spanners for him. Perhaps we can get the Naked Financier to meet us halfway and, given his usual state of dress (or should I say undress) all we would need to do is fashion a loin-cloth by stapling a napkin to Jim and the twins and the locals will think he is a Sarawak tribesman.
Right must hop now 'cos me favourite soap opera is on (Frogoration Street).
Stay cool dudes and duds and anybody called Granny Mildew...
p.s The male human's leukie count has dropped by a lot from 0.641 to 0.017. So, still not dead yet so I guess I will cancel the hearse...See ya later if I don't see you first!

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Plastic Paddies of the world be sure, to be sure... be fake.

Conas atá ?

Which is Gaelic, apparently, for "How are you?"

Yes my legion of amphibious admirers it is St Patrick's Day yet again so no doubt we will have a plethora (now there is a big word for 7a.m. on a Saturday morning) of humans pretending to be Irish. The female human here is 100% Irish, has the passport and the birth certificate to prove it and not only kissed the Blarney Stone but swallowed it. She is, therefore, in a good position to know a Gaelic pretender when she sees one which, when she has, she declares to be a 'plastic paddy'. Or, in the great Monty Python tradition (and lovingly adapted from the Dead Parrot sketch), plastic paddies are quack, phoney, dud and bereft of any shamrockyness. Add to that the 30% of Americans that will proudly say they are Irish when only about 5% of 'em qualify for an Irish passport and that is a lot trickery fakery.

I, as I sit here flapping my flippery bits over the keyboard and listening to groovy tunes on my i-pad (spot the play on words with i-pod here. Good, huh?!), am not so sure of my origins as it is hard to trace a froggy familial line when your mother spawns several thousand tadpoles at a time. However, I thank that maybe today and for one day only I can claim to be 'Irish'. This I can do for two reasons. The most obvious is that I am green. Anyone who as hopped into Ireland as I have several times will know that it ain't called the Emerald Isle for nought. Secondly, I have been sent a St Patrick's Day card with my picture on it. Here it is for your perusal and amusement...

A very good likeness, I think you will agree. It was made by a very good friend of the humans, Pennie. Cheers Missus! And here is a photograph of me actually in my natural habitat in Ireland checking for flies and any other tasty snack that may fly by.

Ahh, life does not get much better than that. Sunshine, running water and insects al-fresco. Perfect!

Tonight we are (if I can sneak into the female human's handbag) meeting with other genuine Irish people for a beer or seven. Guinness is GBP2.00 a pint tonight so I may get a little wobbly on the flippers later. I'll let you know...Until then frog-followers I am off for breakfast of the English kind. You know, eggy, bacon, sausage and stuff with a topping of lightly grilled blue-bottle. Yum!

Bain taithneamh as an deireadh seachtaine. (Enjoy the weekend).




Saturday, February 10, 2007

It's not easy being green...

...that is if you listen to all the doom-and-gloom global warming merchants that currently infest all of our news/radio/and interweb lives. Sitting here on my lily-pad I can easily dip the old flipper into the pond to literally 'test the waters'. Well, the H2O ain't any hotter or colder than a few years ago and the level has definitely not risen, I can still toe-dip the sludgy mud at the bottom.

And I am not sure about news reports that constantly go on and on about climate change. Does anyone else remember when what is now called' climate change' was once known by its more honest name 'The Weather'. Whenever warming is mentioned it is always in conjunction with the phrase 'since records began' here in England. The bit that the powers-that-be omit is the second half of that sentence, namely '...350 years ago' which, funnily enough, is known to be the time of the last mini ice-age Europe experienced.' What is wrong with these numpties? We are coming out of an ice-age so is it really a surprise that the planet is getting warmer? Recently the BBC had a report on the amount of ice breaking loose from the North and South Poles, the latter over-sized ice cubes daring to float up past New Zealand. Ice-shelves are collapsing all over if you believe the media but then, they always have. Ice-bergs have been around for thousands of years. They are nothing new! If it wasn't for an iceberg Kate Winslett would never have got her Oscar nomination! Palmer Peninsula in Antarctica is getting warmer but the main body of ice is getting cooler. The ice covering Greenland is getting thicker. Scientists have pinpointed 33 times when ice shelves have increased and retreated and will probably find more as they research more. Friends of the Earth blame humans and claim man is at fault. Friends of Science, a similar group but with solid facts and intelligence state that receding glaciers and calving of ice shelves aren't proof of global warming.

Apparently January 2007 was the second warmest January since, you guessed it, records began...The coldest being in January 1916. The logical line of enquiry for this is to ask what the hell humans were doing in 1916? No doubt the proliferation of gas-guzzling cars, millions of diesel-powered lorries and CFCs from all the refridgerators at the time were to blame...All that and WW1 too. Just to prove how hot it is here is a photo of me taken on the 8th of February during the current heatwave.

I can tell you, my chestnuts weren't roasting that day.

Scientists will tell anyone that will listen that a cow's bottom burp (aka fart, fluff, bum-squeak) is 17 times more potent as a greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide. Anybody killing the estimated 1.3 billion cows? Do people actually ask what catalytic converters on cars actually convert to make emissions better for the planet? No? Well, they take carbon monoxide from the engine and convert it into carbon dioxide, our favourite greenhouse gas!

The government and a few companies are cashing in on our carbon flipper-print if we fly anywhere. "Give us a bit more of your hard-earned readies"' they say,"and we will off-set you emissions." So what do they do. Plant trees. Trees are good at taking carbon from the air so it is imagined that this is a good thing. Fast forward 200 years and, assuming the tree has not been felled by a Pythonesque lumberjack in suspendies and a bra, the tree will die and rot and put carbon into the atmosphere. Even if humans chop it down before that the chances are the tree will eventually be burned giving off...I'll let you fill in the gap. The highest proportion of gases come from rotting vegetation so perhaps we should destroy all the rain forests along with the cows.

Has anyone ever seen an unbiased balanced news report on global warming? Recently a major UK news channel sent a team to the South Pole to report on the nasty deeds of humankind. Needlessly to say they flew there but on the first day the reporter, with a sound-man and three scientists sped by an iceberg in a dirigible. Seconds later a big chunk if ice fell off of the 'berg. "That", said the reporter rather smugly," is evidence, if you need it, of global warming in action." No it isn't you great dozy excuse for a human! All that proved was that you had destroyed a piece of iceberg with your boat's wash by flying by at a great rate of knots whilst shoving diesel fumes into a pristine atmosphere just so as you can get a story.

Most agree that we should be nicer to our planet but all this bad information drives this frog crazy. Recycling good, Al Gore scare-mongering bad. Okay?!

The frog has now left the soap-pad (Amphibious version of a soap-box).

I feel better for that...time for a few flies...

Stay cool gang

Sunday, February 04, 2007

According to the Doctors I should be dead by now...

...Fortunately it appears they have got it wrong. Yes, it was Feb 4th 2004 when the medico's kindly advised that in a worse-case scenario I had 10 months to live (cancel me Christmas pressie mother!) or at best (snigger, snigger) 3 years. Those that are quick of brain may have already calculated that my three years is up today. Those that dabble in financial jiggery-pokery may struggle with the maths (Translation for any Americans reading this:maths = math) so to explain: today, according to the docs and consultants, is my last day on earth prior to whichever ponderous purgatory devout atheists go to. Of course there is a smidgen of a chance they are right and that when I wake up tomorrow morning I won't, if you get my drift. How will I know? So tonight, being Sunday night, we shall nosh on fine, dead NZ lamb with various vegetables (no, not Tony Blair, proper vegetables) and potatoes with a nice dessert/pudding washed down with a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape.

And life gets better (just before my apparent demise...)

Latest leukaemia counts are...

Bone marrow (ie; out of the pelvis by drilling) : 0.083
Peripheral blood (ie; Out of the arm) : 0.641

For those that are confused let me elucidate...The amount of dodgy leukie cells in blood and marrow are still in decline and I am in danger of establishing what the experts call 'a trend'. This may well be the first and perhaps only time if I am shortly to depart this mortal coil that I can be considered to be 'trendy'. All bodes well that shortly I shall achieve 'molecular remission' which means leukie has been battered so hard that, although we know it is there, the best test available cannot locate it. Good, huh?

Oh, here is a gratuitous photograph of Kermit for his fans. He is browning his green bits on a sun-lounger in the Netherland Antilles (Just a 50 mile hop North of Venezuela)...

Yes. We know he is topless. And bottomless. He knows no shame, our frog.

So, now it will be eight weeks until the next armful of blood is extracted and the next results due. Fingers crossed!

Yours, still not dead. Yet.

Paul C, Sun-soaked Sheppey


Sunday, December 31, 2006

Happy birthday to me and Happy New Year to you...

...Yes it finally happened and I am now 40 years old (although I will always be twelve in my head). We passed a nice and relaxed Christmas which began with a nice meal on Christmas Eve in our favourite restaurant. Apparently we 'spotted' two alleged personalities (I dislike the word 'celebs' as it denotes people who are as a rule famous for doing nothing of note). I say apparently 'cos I am still not sure who one of them was. Kelly Brook, reasonably attractive and not very literate T.V. wallah here in Blighty and some film star called Billy Zane. Can't say I have ever heard of him but wifey says he was in the film 'Titanic' as Kate Winslett's betrothed. Was he any worse than Leonardo Can'tactio? Do I care? Will I notice him if we meet again? Probably as much as he would notice me...

Christmas Day. A nice quiet family-free one which was spent with our neighbours for a couple of hours in a nearby drinking establishment followed by more wine and choccie until we passed out on the couch for a snooze (not with our neighbours, of course,. we are not that close!) Kermit took advantage of our slumbers to try and scale the Christmas tree as he thought he had spotted a solitary foil-encrusted chocolate halfway up. We caught him in the act...

Boxig Day (St Stephen's Day if you are of an Irish persuasion) was again quiet as we did nothing more than indulge in more food and a bottle of Vino Collapso.

29th December - My 40th Birthday! Trish had arranged for a trip on the London Eye, something we had never done as she is not a fan of heights. I keep telling her she should be more frightened of depths...To the right the frog gets his leg over above London with the Houses of Parliament in the background and Trish poses in front of the aforementioned Eye, wearing it like a halo..

Just to the right of Kerm is Downing Street, home to our very own War-monger in Chief. Tony B.liar. He was, of course, out on another freebie holiday.

Pressie's, I got a few...A nice shiny new genuine Mont Blanc watch, advanced motorcyle training and all sorts of stuff including a bone and a courgette from that very nice Mr Steele and Lady Helen of Vigo. It took a while to work this one out but I did put on my Santa List that I would like (Children Take Note -'Like' and not 'want') bone marrow so I guess a a courgette will suffice for now as it is the same family horticulturally speaking. As the consultant said I could be drug-free over the Christmas/Birthday/New Year period whisky was back on the menu so we invested in a 16 year old Islay malt called Lagavulin. With the assistance of our trusty neighbours it did not last too long. After this we staggered to the pub, got more leg-less, had a dance (something I never do sober!), met Mike who shares the same birthday and cringed as Trish acquired the singer's microphone and warbled out something or other. Not sure what it was but it cleared the bar...

New year? Probably an early night until all those b£*&^%d fireworks start at midnight. A prosperous 2007 to all and to the muppet that scratched a key down our new car last night - A thousand nasty diseases on you and may scabs and pus-filled boils forever grow on your genitals.

Happy New Year!

Paul, Trish and Kermit


Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Merry Frogmas to all...

Morning froggy followers.

It's been a while since my last posting but I have been a tad busy what with sleeping, slurping, sloshing, Irish weddings and, of course, Crimbo. So, where to begin...

Early November myself and my humans took themselves off to Ireland (flights 17 and 18 of this year) to the wedding of the female human's brother in Sligo. They found a nice hotel. Here is your amphibious bundle of green checking ot the view...

The mountain is callen Benbulben or something and beyond it is the Atlantic and then next stop Americky.

Naturally the bride and groom insisted I was made best frog for the event and pleaded and begged to have their picture taken with me. The groom is on the right...not sure if he was still sober at this point though...

We (the humans and I) even managed to go a bit cultural and took a drive out to the Lake of Inishfree where W.B. Yeats apparently did most of his scribing. As you can see from the photograph below it was raining rather heavily and this frog does not like too much water. Still, I look cool with the Isle of Inishfree in the background. The humans got a bit of a soaking too but that was just an excuse to go back to the hotel and consume hot port and whiskey. Also, the wedding went well (if you discount the groom setting fire to himself the night before) and a good time was had by all. Froggy good fortune to the happy couple!

Whilst sat at the airport in Shannon the humans rather sadly calculated that they had flown 40,000 miles and spent something like 60 hours in airports. Serves 'em right, I say.

Right, I'm off to eat the choccies on the tree. More tomorrow lilypad-lovers.



Wednesday, November 08, 2006

This is not me...

It appears I have a rather randy clone trying to pass itsself off as me. I wish to state publicly that this is NOT me and I do not s**g bunnies. Sheep are much easier to catch and more useful for the post-coital Sunday roast and winter jumper...

Thank you.


Tuesday, November 07, 2006

On yer 'bike...

And so it came to pass that the humans decided to wake me up at 05:30 and drag me to the National Exhibition Centre in Birmingham which is about 150 miles north of my trusty lily-pad. Naturally, due the shortness of my green but perfectly formed leggies motorcycling and I are not familiar bed-fellows. I do, however, get regularly thrown into the pannier or rucksack and taken places, in this case the NEC. The humans were apparently hunting for a new leather jacket for him and a new crashy-helmet for her. Why do they call it a crash-helmet when that is the last thing you would want to do in it. 'Tis a bit like having a 'near-miss'. Surely a near-hit is more truthful? Discuss...

The humans rather embarrasingly were dragged up onto a stage to play something called the Yes/No game in which they had questions fired at them but could not answer 'yes' or 'no'. The female lasted 28 seconds and the male 14. Pathetic. So, they blew the chance of a free pair of Dunlop tyres - GBP200.00 (USD USD360.00, NZD480). S'okay though as the male only uses Bridgestones.

They went to see this machine. 1400cc and 170 (270 kmh) should be fast enough. Also me and Mrs Froggy can have some horizontal samba in those large panniers. Ride me baby!

They also saw this...

Italian, so it will probably break down often and you may notice that there is no perch for the female so I think this is a non-starter.

So, after dragging me around various stands and stalls things began to look up when I saw and met these fine specimens:

Then, just when I thought things couldn't get any better I met this fine wench...

She was okay but I have had to conceal her 'phone number from Mrs Froggy...

A fine day was had by all, including the neighbour who did the driving. Thanks Bruce! More tomorrow fans. I am knackered and need sleep.

Tata- for now.



Thursday, October 26, 2006

Hair of the frog...


Where did that last month go? The last thing I remember was stumbling into the back garden of the humans after a 'GOOD RESULT' knees-up and now I seem to have mislaid the end of September and half of October. Oh, and I am getting flash-backs of semi-filled sick bags. Hmm...

Still, the show must go on. Fortunately that hammer is gone from my head and I have regained my taste for beer...

This was apparently taken during the missing month but I am buggered if I can recall drinking it, which is a shame 'cos it is the best ale in the world. Made locally by Shepherd Neame Breweries (who are the oldest brewers in the UK : Est 1698) Late Red is made from the last of the hops. Luvverly jubberly!

Of course, somewhere in the month I managed to fit in a 4 day break with the male human and his biker buddy, Phil 'Who stole my arse' Hills. Here is me in Weymouth Harbour in the South West of Blighty and Mr Hills. No, it is not a trick, his head really is as big as his 'bikes top-box...

As if that wasn't enough travelling the 'umans then dragged me 300 miles north to Manchester for some leukaemia conference. Honestly, I have been up and down like a bride's nighty lately, and I can't remember a bloomin' thing about it! Still, here is your favourite amphibi-god at Old Trafford...

Beckham? Could have taken him with the flipper-over whilst at the same time showing Keane what hard was!

Now, just when I am back to some kind of normality I find out that next Friday I am being dragged (okay, I want to go) to the Motorcycle Show in Birmingham where, if lucky, I will get a photo taken with some of the MCN babes. They won't be able to help themselves. After that we are flying again! I make it flight number fourteen of this year, which reminds me, I haven't show you me passport yet. More stamps than a philatelic orgy! Soon, munchkins, as soon as the male human gets his finger out.

Well, must hop. Beer to dri.., er, sample.


XXXX (<--- One for each cheek).

Monday, September 04, 2006

A drug a day keeps the leukie away (I hope)...

So, we finally received the results from the hospital and for the fourth time in a row (or is it third?) and the amount of leukaemia in this knackered old body is on the run. To paraphrase Corporal Jones of 'Dad's Army' fame, "They don't like it up 'em." We are heading back to a stage called molecular remission, which is not like the normal remission people know but means that the best test available cannot detect anything at molecule level.

The test, called a Polymerase Chain Reaction test, or PCR for short takes a hunk of my bone-marrow (which ain't nice) and cells are grown in a lab. The test is capable of testing up to around a million cells and the result in this case is shown as a percentage of good stuff to bad stuff. Obviously the lower the percentage the better. It also indicates that the lower the leukie can be kept the less the chance of it progressing onto the next stage. Oh. You want the result? Okay...


Good, huh? I guess I may live a little longer, which would be useful as I have just signed up to do (and paid lots of money for) a 5 year English Langauge/Literature Honours Degree Course. Should be fun. Presumably now I am to be a student I can shower once a fortnight, grow my hair and get cheap beer in a bar...Hang on, I'm am almost grown-up so can do that anyway. Beer leads me onto...the frog.

Yes, frog fans, despite Trish and I attendng the annual Hop Festival in Faversham this weekend because of the drugs I was unable to imbibe, restricting myself to a couple of pints of Spitfire our little green amphibian did the partying for me. I am afraid to say his Bacchanalian side was let loose and he fell from his mighty lily-pad with an almighty 'PLOP' and discovered dark and murky depths not seen since Dante's Purgatorio. (Sorry, I feel the need to make these classical references now I a student). Not only did he have to be physically restrained from the nearest pole-dancing club (he can't even dance) his current missus, Kermeeta, has him firmly in the dog-house. Kermit suspects that she is nagging him but fortunately he cannot hear her as some b£"&^%£d is banging a drum between his non-existent froggy ears. (Anyone know of any good frog hangover cures?)

He eventually hopped back to base around 3am on Sunday morning and we found him in the back garden looking like this...

Not only did he down a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape but managed to neck a bottle of pure Polish vodka and half a flagon of Potcheen and , yes, he is still feeling rather delicate. I think you will agree he deserves all he gets...

Must rush, Kerm needs another sick-bag...


Monday, August 21, 2006

This is the l closest I'm gonna get to a bath...

...pond-induced frolics exluded, of course!

Good afternoon froggy fans the world over. Been rather busy of late doing nothing in particular but finding time to do nothing else. Last weekend we took a spin down to Bath which, as I am sure you will know is so named 'cos the Romans had baths there on the site of a naturally heated spring. Here is me taking a look but not taking a dip...

Shortly after this I was approached by two female Japanese humans who were obviously taken by my come-hither slimy style. Below is my female human and her good friend Pennie doing some silly human stuff...

The humans and I spent a nice weekend with these other humans and went to a rather strange place caled Rode which is a small village just outside Bath. The village has no churches as 3 witches covens apparently put a curse on the land in the 17th century, therefore all religious establishments are outside of the boundaries. Oh, and there are still 3 witches covens in the village. I just hope they have moved on from 'wing of bat, eye of newt' and various froggy body parts.

Next week is earmarked (what are ears?) for a trip across to France on the motorbike. I suspect I will lurk in the back-pack knowing what the Gallics might do to my legs...

Ribbity croakery to all.



Monday, August 07, 2006

Falling in love is hard on the knees... sang Aerosmith. Well, so is rolling around garage cleaning the motorbike.

Today I went to the hospital, again. This time to give more blood and to obtain a matching needle wound on my right arm to match the left, which is still black and blue from last Wednesday's assault. Or as today's nursey put it,

"Bloody 'ell. What did they use? A mallet and a knitting-needle?"

Today's hospital visit was of course a precursor to tomorrow's visit to get results of liver tests and all that malarkey. Oh well, I'm not dead yet...On the same vein (pause for groans) a though crossed my mind today. Quickly I plugged a finger into each ear so as it could not escape and then I examined it. Carefully. Yup, definitely one of mine. It was this: If I were sad and stupid enough to be a drug addict then the State would give me freee methadone or whatever I needed. (Since when did giving another version of the same drug stop addiciton. Anybody?) If I were unlucky enough to be diabetic all my prescriptoins would be free but, as I only have leukaemia (with no cure so far) I have to pay for my medication. As Terry Wogan says, is it me?

Her Royal Trishness meanwhile has been muttering about wanting to go on holiday. Morocco and Vietnam have been mentioned. I think she has morphed in to Judith Chalmers but, whilst thumbing through various photographs I think I have found out her plans....

On the left is Trish with 2 policemen 11000 feet up in the Andes. On the right she is with 2 more Rozzers on Santa Monica Pier at the end of our Route 66 jaunt. Methinks she has a uniform fetish...

One last thing before I dash off to watch 'Emmerdale'. Next Sunday is the day of the International Walk-the-Plank Championships. Our good friend and very nice chap Mad Mike Young is hoping to win the title for the third time in a row. Queenborough Harbour is the place to be. Not sure what he has planned for this time but an inflated crocodile and winged boots have been mentioned.

Toodle pip peoples.

Froggy will return tomorrow...

Paul and Greebo the Wonder Cat

Thursday, August 03, 2006

There's a hole in my pelvis, dear Liza, dear Liza...

A very good evening from the movie-icon bereft island that is Sheppey. Okay, so Michael Crawford, he of Frank Spencer fame was created here but we don't like to talk about that. Instead let me tell of the fun day I had in London yesterday...One bone-marrow biopsy completed with minimum fuss. So painless was it that I barely felt the anaesthetic needle go in, although I was aware that it went in a bloody long way and the old botty is a little sore today. A few bits of blood and bone-marrow juice made a feeble attempt to dribble onto the operating couch but as I was bum first towards the man fortunate to stare at my rear end for 20 minutes I missed it all. Bum-cracks lead me, of course, to the man in the pictures below...

We met him in Adrian, Texas, during our Route 66 expedition in the Midpoint Cafe. Adrian is exactly 1139 miles from Chicago and 1139 miles from Los Angeles. As we sat in a diner slurping a coffee (cawfee!) I noticed this man had a hole in the back of his shirt between the shoulder blades showing off a tattoo. He caught me looking and proceeded to show us that he had all of the Route and landmarks tattooed over his bod. I know, you are asking, why the link between the bum-crack line at the end of the last paragraph and this chap. Weeeeelll, we did wonder, but did not ask, where he had the Grand Canyon on his map...Think about it!

There was a bit of good news from the hospital visit insofar as the armful of blood drawn in a rather vampire-ish manner in April was tested by a method known as F.I.S.H. (Fluoresence In-Situ Hybridisation (You will all know leukamia terminology by the time I have finished with you!) This takes 20 cells and tests for the translocated chromosomes (9 and 22 if you are interested) that cause all the problems. Well, all 20 came back leukie free and are hopefully a good indication for the big results due in 2 weeks time following yesterday's extraction.

To continue the 'Only in America' theme herewith are some pictures of the Cadillac Ranch in Texas. It became obvious to us as we rode across America trashing the ozone layer on our big Harley that 'Only in America' wasn't a joke and that Americans appear to have no concept of taking their old cars to a scrapyard. The pop-art financier that owns this lot decided to make space by burying them nose first into the ground. People then came from far and wide and left their mark by spraying or signing them, as we did.

Over the next couple of weeks we shall be putting a few pictures onto previous postings so as some may actually make sense.

Now, as some once said (Samuel Pepys, methinks) "And so to bed."

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

I need a holiday...

Good morning frog-fans from a worn out Kermy.

I've not been back two weeks and I feel like I need another holiday. Jet-lag does not sit well with this amphibian: If I was meant to fly then the great lilypad-sitter in the sky would have designed me with a built-in air-hostess to ease away the stress of getting through Customs. I mean, what is it with humans and stuffed toys, not that I consider myself as such. I must have been x-rayed more times than George W. Bush has mispronounced 'newkleer' and all because it is assumed I may be a drugs mule. Do I look like a bleedin' donkey?

Anyway, as expected the myriad fans that were well met on my global gambolling have been pushing for a few insights into my trip and a few pictures of my slimy but Adonis-like frame. Okay, just one person then, and he is from Auckland and may not count seeing as he is a financial 'guru' and maybe, just maybe, one dodgy chicken drumstick short of a vomit. So below are a few choice snaps of my adventures...

Above (bored yet?) we have myself posing by the Prince of Wales geysers at Whakarewarewa Geothermal Valley just outside Rotorua town, NZ. Lots of bubbly mud stuff and very hot under flipper, so hot in fact that at one point I became concerned that my legs might cook. That added together with the fact that you never know when a frog-leg eating Gaul may appear kept me moving. (Apparently, I taste like chicken...)

The mugshot below is me again on the shores of Lake Rotorua, NZ. I am practising this pose in the hope that Huge Huffner may call and want me to be centre-fold in Play-frog.

The humans seems to have recovered and are going about there business, she working from home, he riding the motorbike. Tomorrow is bone-marrow biopsy day for the male human so flippers crossed it doesn't hurt too much. He can't decide which will be worse, the procedure, having to endure a British Rail train journey back from London with a hole in the pelvis or Trish driving the last 10 miles back to Croaky Heights. I will update...

A big ribbit to David and Heather (and the Quinlets), Anne and Marlene (working hard in Tassy and Sydney) , October and Ed (Just departed Fiji).

More pics Thursday if the male can sit down comfortably.